Brutal Husband (Brutal Hearts #3)

Chapter 7

7

Rieta

T he swollen head of Nero’s cock pushes just inside me, making me gasp and grab his shoulders. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight of his thick, veiny length held tight in his strong hand as it plays over my flesh.

All the ways I imagined I’d lose my virginity, it was never like this. Actually, there was only ever one way I imagined losing my virginity. In a huge, expensive bridal suite, in bed, with my husband, on our wedding night. The only way a good Bianchi girl should lose her virginity.

With my fiancé, on his desk, in the middle of the day? This is better. This is hotter . Officially, I’ll lose my virginity the proper way when the time comes, but what happens in his office right now is just for me and Nero. No one has to know.

“Please, I want you, Nero.” No condoms. No precautions. Just me and my future husband with nothing between us.

I feel like a woman for the first time in my life.

An exultant smile spreads over his lips. As he claims my mouth with his, he thrusts his cock inside me. I cry out, our lips sealed together. He feels huge inside me, and there’s a blaze of fire deep in my belly.

Nero breathes raggedly and kisses me again. “Mine. All mine. You’re so tight around me, cara mia . You’re perfect for me.”

He pushes forward another inch, and it hurts. Oh, fuck, does it hurt. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. Nero pulls all the way out, and his length is glistening with my wetness and smeared with fresh, bright blood. Groaning softly, he takes his cock in his hand and strokes himself up and down, twisting himself in his grip.

“So fucking beautiful. Can you take a little more, for me?” he asks, his brown eyes meeting mine.

I nod, my lips pressed firmly together. I’m no baby. I can take it.

The second time he thrusts, tears well up in my eyes.

The third, I’m braced for more pain, but the ache is easing.

The fourth, I cautiously begin to relax, and I feel him thrust even deeper.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, planting soft kisses on my face and throat.

“It’s starting to feel good,” I pant.

“We can do better than good .” Nero pulls out of me, goes down on his knees, and runs his tongue up my sex. It feels so good that my head falls back in pleasure. “I’ve been dying to taste you. You’re delicious, cara mia .”

His wicked tongue works against my clit with such precision that my face flames with heat, and flames lick up my body. My thighs draw up around his head, and with a panting cry, I climax, his strong hands holding me tight.

I’m weak from my orgasm when he stands up and turns me over so my feet are on the ground and my body is bent forward over his desk.

When he thrusts into me again, I cry out at the top of my lungs, but from pleasure this time instead of pain. This is a world of difference from how it felt before. Each powerful thrust of his cock has me whimpering and clawing at the wood. The new angle makes his shaft rub against a heavenly spot deep inside of me, and I lose all control over myself, begging him to fuck me harder. To finish inside me. To burst apart from pleasure in the same way he’s made me feel.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. I need to stop.” He’s talking to himself more than to me, his voice low and agonized.

Shouldn’t what? We’re already having sex. What else is there to worry about? It’s too late for regret now, and Nero doesn’t seem to be regretting anything. His thrusts are as deep and greedy as ever.

“What difference will it make? Why shouldn’t I fill my bride up with cum? My beautiful little slut will look so pretty when she’s brimming with me.”

Heat flashes through me at his filthy words. So that’s what he’s so conflicted about. I don’t want him to pull out. I want his beautiful children. I want to feel him finish inside me, hard and deep.

If I’m pregnant with a swollen belly as I walk down the aisle toward him, I’ll be so proud. To hell with what everyone thinks.

I arch my back to drive him deeper and gaze over my shoulder at him. “Nero, please.”

“Fuck, cara mia . You want my baby?”

“Please, Nero. I want your baby. Make me pregnant.”

Nero’s eyes darken with desire. “You want me to fill your pussy with my cum and drive it so deep that I knock you up right here?”

“Please, Nero, please.”

He drives into me harder and harder, every thrust lighting up my insides. “My beautiful girl. My fucking wife. I’ll give you my baby.”

He pounds me so hard I have to hold on to the edge of his desk. It’s messy, wild, and glorious, and I love every second. Nero’s fingers dig into my hips, and he comes with a shout.

His thrusts slow, and he draws deep breaths into his lungs. His cock is still lodged deep inside me as he runs his fingers over my back. “I want to remember you just like this. My perfect, flushed bride, filled with cum. Always mine. Forever mine. Say it.”

My cheek is pressed against his desk, and I smile. “I’m yours, Nero.”

He reaches down between us, and I feel him wrap a thumb and finger around his cock, right up against my pussy. I’m slippery from my wetness and his cum. “I can’t wait to call you Mama as I watch your belly swell. You’re more my wife now than you will be on our wedding day.”

After several minutes of Nero touching me and humming appreciatively to himself, he finally pulls out and gathers me up in his arms, turning me around to face him. He takes my face in his hand, and an intense expression like I’ve never seen from him before fills his eyes. “No one will ever come between us.”

Nero’s so adamant about it that apprehension twists in my belly. What is he so worried about? Nero’s acting as though there are unseen forces working against us, and I can’t help but wonder…

Is someone trying to tear us apart?

Things move quickly after that. Nero wishes for us to be married as soon as possible, and so he books a church for the wedding and a big downtown hotel for the reception. I stare at him in shock when he tells me the date.

“That’s just two and a half weeks away, and there will only be forty or so people at our wedding. A ballroom at a big hotel will feel cavernous with so few people.”

Nero hands me a sheaf of papers. “I’ve invited nearly three hundred guests, including your family. Here’s the list.”

I go through the pages, reading name after name I don’t recognize. “Who are all these people? I thought you didn’t have any family.”

“I don’t. These are my business associates.”

I keep leafing through the pages. Actually, I do recognize some of the names—from the news headlines. Money laundering. Homicide. Perjury. Illegal gambling and trading. Very few of them were ever convicted.

“But I don’t want these kinds of people at our…”

Nero’s eyes narrow.

Maybe it’s better I don’t think about this too much. I stop going through the pages and hand them back to Nero. I know what my father did to make his money, in essence if not in detail, and it wasn’t legal. He would often socialize with his associates at weddings.

It’s one of my fiancé’s “cold days,” as I’ve started calling them privately. We’re alone in his house, but his mood is low, and he hasn’t kissed me once. I reach for my bag, bid Nero goodbye, and head out to my car.

I’m pulling into my driveway when I see that I have a text from him.

Sorry I wasn’t talkative. It’s been a stressful day. Meet me for dinner tomorrow night? I want to eat you.

I smile as I type out my reply, saying I will meet him. We all have our bad days, and I know when I meet Nero tomorrow night, he’ll be his usual, charming self.

The days pass swiftly as there’s lots to organize. Nero is handling the venue, florist, wedding cars, cake, and caterers, but there are many other things to be decided quickly, like my wedding makeup, bridesmaid dresses for Isabel and Mia, table settings, and the honeymoon bookings. I wanted my fiancé and I to choose everything together instead of splitting things up like this, but Nero wants it done this way. He doesn’t care where we go on our honeymoon, so I book a week in Paris. I’ve never been to Europe before, but everyone loves Paris, don’t they? The city of love. Away from everyone who knows him, Nero will be the Nero I love best, talkative, charismatic, and, well, dirty as hell.

Very soon it’s the morning of our wedding, and my stomach is in knots of nerves and hopes. Isabel and Mia help me into my dress and arrange the curls that have been set into my hair. I can’t stop smiling.

“Aren’t you the radiant, blushing bride? Are you actually in love with Nero?” Isabel asks.

I gaze at my reflection in the mirror while I think about my groom. I am radiant, aren’t I? “I wasn’t expecting to feel like this, but yes, I think I’m falling in love with Nero. He’s reserved and quiet around you all, but when we’re alone together, he’s so charming. So warm. Nero’s a strange man, but he really cares about me.”

“Strange how?” Mia asks, a suspicious expression on her face.

I hesitate. “He’s not a people person. I don’t think he trusts easily, but his heart is in the right place. I’m sure he’ll relax in time, and you’ll get to know him as I do.”

“Hold still, darling,” Mom says in a brisk tone, approaching with a long lace veil in her hands. We’ve barely spoken since the basement incident. “I need to pin your veil in place.”

Mom doesn’t meet my eyes as she pins the veil in place. She’s so thorough about it that some of the pins scrape my scalp. I wince but I don’t say anything.

As we drive to the church in the grand wedding car that Nero chose, my nerves multiply. Will he smile at me as I walk down the aisle toward him, or will I see only coldness in his eyes because he’s uncomfortable in front of so many people? I mustn’t expect too much of him today. Tonight when we’re alone together, that’s when he’ll become the man I’m falling in love with.

And yet, I can’t help but hope. A smile? Can I expect a smile at the altar? A kiss that says, You’re mine, Rieta ?

I pass through the huge double doors of the church and walk down the aisle toward my groom. My long lace dress trails on the ground as I clutch a bouquet of hopeful daisies. Long, white candles are aglow with tapered flames. Sunshine streams through the stained glass windows. Huge bunches of daisies and white and yellow roses adorn every surface. Strangers fill the pews, the men in somber suits and women wearing elaborate hats.

I keep my gaze fixed on my soon-to-be husband, but I can’t see his expression through the lace. My stomach is a riot of knots, wondering how he feels watching me approach. Is he even half as nervous as I am at this moment?

I arrive at Nero’s side. He reaches for the edge of my veil and draws it back, and I can finally see him.

My breath catches in my throat.

My heart pounds.

Nero’s dark hair is swept back, and his deep brown eyes are gazing into mine with an expression of love and wonder. He looks only at me. Everyone else in the church has ceased to exist for him.

I’m so happy that tears prickle my eyes, and my smile wobbles as I struggle to control my emotions.

Nero leans closer, love filling his eyes as he whispers, “I’m going to remember you exactly like this forever. You’re beautiful, cara mia .”

When he takes my hands in his, I grip them tight, holding on to him with my life, with my heart. I’m so focused on my husband that I’m barely aware of the wedding ceremony, repeating the phrases automatically until the priest says, “You may kiss the bride.”

Nero takes my face in his hands. He gazes at me for a moment, hesitating not from fear, but from anticipation. He kisses me in front of all these people. A beautiful, loving kiss, straight from the heart.

Everything’s going to be all right.

“I love you, Nero Lombardi,” I whisper. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Nero’s smile freezes on his face. He stares at me for a moment, uncertain and confused, and then pulls me tight against his chest. His chest is shuddering. His heart is beating wildly.

Did I do something wrong?

I said I love you , and he didn’t say it back.

Should I not have said that? This is an arranged marriage, not a love match, so perhaps I caught him off guard. It’s clear he cares deeply for me, so maybe hearing the words I love you too, Rieta is only a matter of time. It’s my wedding day. Of course I believe that.

The wedding reception is a whirl of faces, colors, and sounds. Nero and I are bombarded with kisses and well wishes. I keep an eye on my husband, wary that he might become overwhelmed by all the attention, but he’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him around other people. We dance together. He kisses me. We cut the cake.

It’s the wedding of my dreams. A dream I didn’t dare hope for.

I stumble off the dance floor several hours later, panting and smiling and desperately in need of a glass of cold water. There are hundreds of people I don’t know all around me, but I accept their congratulations with smiles as I pass through the crowd.

I’m halfway to the bar when I see a man that I recognize from somewhere. He’s sandy-haired with a receding hairline and slightly protruding front teeth. I don’t think we’ve met, so why does he seem so familiar?

As he turns his head, I see him in profile, and recognition grips me. I’ve seen him on news websites. Six months ago he was in court after being accused of sexually assaulting two sisters, aged nine and twelve. The case fell apart for some reason, I don’t remember why, but I think there was a legal technicality, or the children couldn’t or wouldn’t give evidence. I remember reading that it wasn’t the first time this man was in court on the same charges. Two years earlier he was accused of the same crime in another state across the country.

My happy world stops spinning. My body turns to ice. There’s a child sex offender at our wedding, and he was invited here by my husband. Reflexively, my hand goes to my stomach. I’m not pregnant yet, but I’ve been thinking constantly about children and the safe, happy world Nero and I will build for them.

I whirl around, searching the crowd for my husband, and see him standing by the wedding cake talking with two men. I hurry over there and motion that I urgently need to speak to him.

“Is something wrong?” Nero asks with a concerned frown when he approaches me.

“Yes, there is,” I say in an agitated whisper. “What is a child rapist doing at our wedding?”

Nero’s eyes widen in shock. “Who? Where?”

I put my hand on my husband’s shoulder and turn him toward the man, pointing him out across the room. “Him. Something Shields. Paul Shields, that’s his name. I didn’t recognize the name on the guest list, but I recognize his face from the news. Don’t tell me ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ Twice he’s been accused of assaulting children, in two different states. Maybe that’s not enough for the courts, but it’s enough for me to never want to come within a hundred miles of the man, and it should be enough for you as well. There are children here.”

Nero stares at the man as I speak, and his face slowly darkens in anger. “You’re right, he shouldn’t be here. I’ll take care of it.”

He heads toward the man, but before he can leave my side, I grasp his wrist. “Wait. Why did you invite him in the first place?”

Nero glares for an angry moment at my hand on his sleeve. I’m manhandling my husband, and he doesn’t like it. I’m being demanding and accusatory. I’m not the wife he wants me to be, but right now, I’m too angry and upset to play the meek little woman.

“I said I’ll take care of it, Rieta.” His face has become a cold, furious mask.

I let go of Nero, though he hasn’t answered my question. My cousins have brought their sons and daughters to the wedding. Little children have been running around the ballroom all evening, many of them the same ages as the children that Shields molested. I feel sick to my stomach.

Nero glances at his watch, takes an angry breath, and shoves his hand through his hair. He looks at the man I want gone and then back at me, seeming conflicted about something.

He takes my face in his hands and says in a low, urgent voice, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You may as well be the only woman I’ve ever met.”

I don’t understand his words or his sudden change of mood. “Why are you saying this now?”

He opens his mouth, and then shakes his head. “There is only you, cara mia . I only wish to protect you.”

“Stop being so cryptic,” I beg him, squeezing his hands and imploring him with my eyes. “Protect me from what?”

Nero slants his mouth over mine and kisses me deeply, holding me so close in his arms. He whispers against my lips, “I will always be yours.”

Then he’s gone from my side. I press my fingers against my tingling lips, slightly dazed from his kiss.

My husband strides toward the man I want gone from the wedding. I see them exchange a few terse words, Nero’s severe and Shields’s faux-bewildered, and then they leave the ballroom together.

I wish I felt relief at seeing Shields being escorted out, but my husband’s strange behavior has put me on edge. I turn this way and that in a crowd of strangers, uncertain what to do and how to act naturally.

Mia approaches me. “What’s wrong? Where’s Nero?”

I nibble on the edge of my lip. Do I tell everyone that there was a disgusting excuse for a human being at my wedding, invited by my husband? What Paul Shields did is so sickening that I have to believe Nero didn’t know about it. He couldn’t possibly have known and still invited him.

But how could he not know?

I can’t tell Mia about someone as horrific as Shields. Not right now, so I force a smile. “Nero, um, he had to take care of some business. He’ll be back soon.”

Only he’s not back soon. For the next two hours, people approach me and ask where my husband is. I make excuse after excuse, trying to sound convincing and hiding the fact that I’m on the verge of tears. My extended family are painfully kind, giving me pats on the arm and sympathetic words. The other guests find Nero’s absence so strange that they start to leave, abandoning half-eaten desserts and glasses of wine. The ballroom empties out hours before the reception is due to end. The waitstaff stare at me, the bride who’s been abandoned at her wedding reception by her husband, and they whisper behind their hands to each other.

Mom breezes past me without a word, and there’s the hint of a nasty smile on her lips as she collects her coat and leaves the ballroom without saying goodbye.

I can’t take the stares, the pity, or the pretending any longer. I pick up my long, heavy skirt with both hands and run from the room like Cinderella when she hears the clock chiming midnight. Nero and I are staying in this hotel, so I don’t have far to run. The elevator takes me all the way up to the bridal suite, and I’m confronted by the sight of a huge bed strewn with rose petals.

The room is empty and silent. Nero should be here with me right now, kissing me and calling me his wife. Getting his hands beneath my dress, snapping the suspenders on my white lace bridal lingerie, and saying something filthy. Making me smile.

Making me love him even more.

I can’t help but feel it’s all my fault that Nero’s not here, but I had to do the right thing and get that vile man away from the children.

I haven’t touched any alcohol all night because I’m not old enough to drink at my own wedding, but right now, a drink seems like a great idea. I take a single serve bottle of white wine out of the minibar, screw the cap off, and drink it down in several long swallows without bothering to pour it into a glass. Warmth spreads through my belly. I don’t feel better, but I do feel different. I eye a second small bottle but decide against it. I don’t want to get drunk. I want my husband to come back and tell me everything is all right and our marriage isn’t cursed to fail.

I take off my wedding dress and unpin the daisy decorations from my hair. There’s a lump in my throat as I undress all on my own, and I keep swallowing the tears down. When I realize I left my daisy bouquet down in the ballroom instead of joyfully throwing it to the unmarried women or taking it with me as a keepsake, I can’t hold the tears in any longer. I give in to a few minutes of sobbing, and then I go into the bathroom and turn the shower on to blast my body and face with freezing cold water.

A short while later, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a bathrobe. Even with every light blazing, I feel terrifyingly alone. Everything about this feels wrong, like I’m trespassing in some other happy couple’s bridal suite, and at any moment, they’re going to burst in and be furious with me.

The clock on the wall ticks past midnight. Then one a.m.

Finally, at nearly two, the bedroom door opens. Nero enters the room, and for a second my heart flares with relief and happiness.

Then I see the blood and bruises on his face. His dark hair is in disarray. His tie is missing. Buttons have been ripped from his shirt, and it’s hanging open. His knuckles are bruised and bloody.

I gasp and hurry over to him, guilt flashing through me. I’ve been wallowing in self-pity because I’m alone on our wedding night, and my husband has clearly been fighting for his life. “Nero, what happened? Was it that Shields man?”

I touch him, and my husband wrenches himself away from me and seethes, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Nero’s eyes are nearly black. There’s so much fury in his bloodied and bruised face that I flinch away from him.

“I’m—I’m sorry. Is your arm hurt? I’ll call a doctor.”

“You’ve done enough. Shut up and get away from me.”

The waves of anger rolling off him seem dangerous, and I take an involuntary step back. “Nero, please tell me what’s happened to you.”

My husband walks slowly up and down the room, fists clenching and unclenching, moving like a wild animal in a cage. Finally, he turns and glares at me.

“I’ve been thinking about us.” His eyes are flinty, and it’s plain to see that they’re not good thoughts he’s been having. “You’re not the woman I thought you were. I thought I could let it go, but I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“I can’t trust you,” he seethes.

My mouth falls open. “Not our first date again. Nero, that wasn’t a lie. I didn’t owe you a detailed breakdown of my movements that night. I had every right to go see my sister without running it past you first.”

He shakes his head. “Not that. What kind of woman sleeps with a man before she’s married?”

“You mean…you? You’re angry that I slept with you?” I fist my hands in my hair on either side of my head, despair and hopelessness slamming into me. What is wrong with my husband? This is worse than most arguments I’ve had with Mom. At least with her, I knew when I’d broken one of her rules and why she was angry with me. Nero seems to be making up reasons to hate me.

“I know what kind of woman,” he accuses. “A woman with no self-control. A woman who has no dignity.”

His cruel words sting. “You wanted it too. We’re both responsible.”

He sneers coldly and heads for the bathroom. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything about men? You’re nothing but a lying slut, Rieta Lombardi. And to think I’ve given you my last name.”

The bathroom door slams behind him. The sound echoes in my heart, growing louder and louder until I’m drowning in it. I sink into the bed and fall onto my side, curling up in the fetal position. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even feel like crying.

Nero stays in the bathroom for a long time. Exhaustion overwhelms me, and I fall asleep.

The oblivion of sleep is sweet. So are the few moments of confusion upon awakening when I don’t know where I am. Then it all comes rushing back in a great, miserable wave.

My husband is asleep on the sofa in the next room. I can see him without getting out of bed. He’s taken off his wedding clothes and covered himself with a spare blanket, and his beaten face is even more swollen and painful-looking this morning.

Mom was right about Nero, and about me as well. I was too naive, thinking everything would be all right.

Should I leave? If I go home, Mom will crow and laugh, and I’ll feel worse than ever.

I don’t know what to do, so I turn the TV on with the volume low and flick through the channels. A news story catches my eye. A body was discovered in a burning car under a bridge in the early hours of the morning. Just about every bone in the victim’s body was broken, but they were able to identify them.

It’s Paul Shields. He’s been murdered.