Sold to Mr. Giordano

Arielle

Angelo arrived early for breakfast to keep me company for the day. Arabella was off visiting her aunt, where once again Antonio had left before I woke up.

My brother looked better than when I saw him at my wedding. His limp was barely noticeable and his previously purple and black bruises now a fading yellow tone. Being Made Men you have to bounce back quick—injury is weakness and an opportunity for enemies to strike.

Being with Angelo makes things feel alright. Angelo, as of the moment, works for Antonio and aside from Carmelo will actually give me some information on his whereabouts. I’ve never felt so distant from a person like I have with my husband. That taste of love I received from him on our wedding night awakened something deep within me that craved me. I crave the glimpse of a husband who treated me as his wife and dread his cold I-don’t-care-about-anymore act.

“The Bratva attacked yesterday,” Angelo says while rubbing at his face seeming annoyed and agitated. “They’re relentless and were short-handed. The attacks… we’ve lost so many men this past week. It’s making Antonio look…” my eyes widen and Angelo shakes his head. “He’s going to ask Dad for more help.”

“And is Father going to help? I mean he has to, right?”

“Not without something in return.”

“What would that be?” When Angelo doesn’t answer right away and averts his attention to the floor, I think of the only answer that makes sense. “Arabella. He wants to move up the engagement? The wedding?” 

Angelo sighs and nods his head. “I know how much you’ve grown close to her but—”

 “She’s the only friend I have here! Being married to Antonio is hell and Arabella is the only one to keep me company. To keep me from going absolutely crazy!”

“We both have known from childhood that our lives wouldn’t be our own. We are owned by the Famiglia and will do whatever benefits it. Your marriage to Antonio helps both the Outfit and New York.”

I bang my fists on the table in frustration. “I want out! I don’t want to be married to him anymore!” I try not to meet Carmelo’s gaze coming from the corner of my eyes. He was sitting in the living room nearby but the pounding noise I made caused him to get up. Probably making sure it wasn’t Angelo beating me up or something. It wouldn’t be beyond Made Men to hit women—mother, sister, wife or not.

“I know you do, Arielle,” he places his hand on top of mine. “I’ll always be here for you. If he… if he puts his hands on you. If he beats you or forces you, I want you to tell me.”

 “Why?” I snort. “So then you can kill him? Get me a one way plane ticket to Switzerland?”

 “Maybe,” he says with seriousness. “Plane tickets aren’t that much and I know a guy who can get you a fake passport.”

“If you help the Capo’s wife escape, you’ll be killed.”

“It would be worth the risk if Antonio—”

I shake my head cutting him off, “He doesn’t.”

“Good.”

“Has he said anything about me to you or anyone?”

“No. Made Men don’t particularly talk about their wives or girls unless to talk about how good they are in bed.” My eyes widen. “Antonio hasn’t said anything about you though. If anyone brings you up though he shuts them down. He’s got an unspoken strict no-talking-about-my-wife policy.”

I sigh in relief and slump in my chair groaning. “What exactly has he been doing. He won’t even talk to me or tell me anything that’s been going on.”

“It’s Famiglia business, I shouldn’t be discussing matters with you.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

“Why, because I’m a girl?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Yes,” he says and I give him an angry look. “Listen, like I said he’s been dealing with the Bratva and going on missions. He’s the Capo because he’s the best soldier, he’s needed to enforce Mafia dominance. You understand. Dad was never home either, he always had to deal with the Bratva and enemies of the Famiglia as well as people in our debt who still haven’t paid.”

“So, Antonio has been killing people?” Even if I know the answer is yes, it still shocks me. I can’t get over the easiness Made Men have in taking a life.

“These are not matters for you to worry about. Why don’t you go to library, or make some new friends with the other wives? Maybe go shopping or—”

“I signed up for online classes.”

Angelo scratches at the back of his neck. “Oh, I guess that’s good. It’ll keep you busy.”

“Why don’t you seem happy for me?” I frown.

“I don’t know what you would need a degree for. Antonio makes a healthy amount of money, enough to take care of you more than comfortably.”

“I just want to do something for myself. Make something of myself,” I shrug.

“Fine,” he raises his hands in surrender. “Just as long as you aren’t getting yourself into trouble.”

“Angelo, we were born into trouble,” I give him a pointed look. “I did online classes for a reason as opposed to actually going to a university and sitting in on classes.”

He nods. “Good. That’s a good decision.”

Angelo stayed as long as he could for a few hours before heading off to some can’t-speak-about mission probably with my husband. Arabella still wasn’t back yet so all I had to entertain myself with was Carmelo and he’s a stick in the mud. He claims he can’t be distracted while protecting me, but I don’t see how a game of Monopoly in my own home is distracting him from all the ‘dangers’ surrounding me.

Eventually I talked Carmelo into a game of Go-Fish and it only temporarily kept me happy and distracted before I became bored. So, I decided to call my mother to see if maybe she had some advice. I know for a fact my mother didn’t warm my father’s heart nor does Father have a soft spot for her, but maybe she can tell me how to make conversation or make Antonio see me as a friend instead of a business deal. The line rang and no one picked up, I tried twice before calling the home phone. Our housemaid answered and when I asked where my mother was the only reply I got was ‘busy’ before being hung up on.

I’d have to try again later.

I made my way upstairs to take an early shower at six in the afternoon. I still can’t get over how nice the shower was or how soothing the water jets felt when I set them and aimed them at my back. Maybe that’s what I’ll do soon, book myself and possibly Arabella a massage. I shut off the water and wrapped myself in a towel before heading back into the bedroom to fish out a clean pair of sweatpants and sweater.

When I enter Antonio is sitting in one of the leather chairs with a drink in his hand. He’s sitting up straight, white shirt buttoned half way down revealing chest hair. His legs are spread and the glass in his hand is resting on his knee while he’s still holding it. He’s facing the bathroom door as if he was waiting for me.

I clutch my towel tighter around my chest and ask, “How was work?”

“You don’t want to know,” he downs his entire drink in one gulp. His eyes never leave mine and I can’t tell if the look in his eyes are lustful or spiteful.

I nod my head and walk toward the dresser Antonio appointed for me. I grab the first clothes that catch my eye and rush to the bathroom to change. As I turn toward the bathroom Antonio grabs my wrist and holds me against him.

 “I’m just going to get changed really quick, then we can talk if you want.” My heart begins to race out of my chest and I’m almost certain something bad is going to happen.

“Get in bed.”

My eyes widen. “What? No!”

“No?” Fire burns in his eyes and now, he’s pissed. His grip on wrist only slightly tightens and I try my hardest to inch out of his firm grip.

“No. You don’t talk to me since our honeymoon and now you expect sex?”

“We have talked since our honeymoon.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant actually talked. Like two human beings and not like the one way conversations I’ve been initiating. I refuse to have sex with you after you’ve treated me like… like dirt!”

Antonio’s grips tightens so bad it’ll most likely leave a bruise. But just as quickly as his grip tightened, he let go and turned to leave out the door.

He didn’t come back that night and I spent the night alone in our bed praying for some big life change to happen, because if this is what the rest of my life is going to look like…

Well, then I’d rather die.