Claimed

12. The Power of Blood

Chapter twelve

The Power of Blood

I took a quick shower. The steam from the hot water filled the small space, fogging up the mirror and making the tiles on the walls glisten.

Droplets of water clung to my skin.

The clean, perfumed scent of hotel soap filled my nose—rose and jasmine.

I wouldn’t let the water get my hair, but I did wash off the makeup.

I also did my best to avoid getting the bandage wet on my palm, but it got soaked anyway and fell off.

Fuck.

Once I finished my shower and stepped out, I dried off and then tenderly tapped the towel on my slashed palm.

I hope it will be fine. Will I need another bandage?

No blood seeped from the wound which was a great sign. The line had puffed up from the water.

The cut hadn’t been super deep, but it was enough to forever remind me of the moment I’d become bound to Gianni.

Sighing, I thought back to that moment and the blood that had spilled on the altar.

Blood.

In the Italian mafia world, it was always about the blood.

Bloodlines.

Blood ties.

Blood spilled.

And now a blood bond.

That cut by the priest said that our marriage went beyond vows and rings.

I stared at the wound some more, still trying to believe the situation I’d found myself in.

The edges of the cut were puffy pink and very tender, but they were knitting back together, just as I felt my heart already trying to knit itself to Gianni.

By no means was the priest’s metaphor lost on me.

Wounds healed, but they also left scars.

Blood dried, but it also stained.

And flesh, once torn, was never quite the same again.

Just like Gianni and I would never be the same again.

Together we would forever be changed.

Alright. Alright. Get ready.

I slipped into the lingerie Gianni had chosen for me and just like I’d guessed, it hugged me so good that I swore it was a second skin. The feeling was foreign, but welcome because. . .I felt so damn sexy.

He knows my size, but of course because all the wedding gowns fit. I just wasn’t paying attention there, but now. . .I’m fucking assessing.

I turned to look in the mirror.

Well damn. Not bad at all.

The woman in the mirror was a seductive creature of pure desire.

While the pearls on my straps added just the right amount of sophistication, the white lace displayed my breasts, slim waist, thick hips and ass in the most sensually lewd way.

I slowly turned.

Not bad at all.

All these emotions surged through me.

Nervousness.

Excitement.

Anticipation.

And it was Gianni who had brought out all these feelings in me, stirring them up in my heart with his fierce possessiveness.

Alright. You’re ready.

I gazed at my reflection one last time before stepping out of the bathroom.

Now what?

The suite was still empty.

Gianni had not yet arrived. And I knew my security and the twins would continue to wait outside my door.

And what will I do?

I decided to wait for him by the balcony, where I could lose myself in the rhythmic sound of crashing waves and get some fresh air.

But right as I headed past the bed, I spotted a phone on the nightstand.

Oh shit.

It was in a red phone case with a black rose on it.

Did he get this for me?

It didn’t matter. I had to use it.

While I’d been surprisingly enjoying his company this evening, I had not fully forgotten about the ballet and Melanique who at least deserved some sort of explanation for my unintentionally ruining her premiere night.

Damn it. How will I get her to understand the craziness that is the mafia?

Taking in a deep breath, I picked up the phone and dialed her.

After three rings, she answered.

“Hello?”

My nerves flared. “Melanique, it’s Erica.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay?!”

“Yes. Yes—”

“They just carried you out of your dressing room pointing guns at us. I said I was going to call the police and then your father said he would kill me so. . .”

“You didn’t call the police. Right?”

She let out an exasperated breath. “No. I’m sorry, Erica. I—”

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do. My stepfather and brother have many of the police on their payroll. If you had, well. . .he might have returned to. . .” I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry. . .I never told you about them because. . .I never thought they would return to my life.”

“Where are you? I can get you. How can I help? I’ve been so worried.”

I opened my eyes. “So. . .I’m in a hotel suite. It’s been. . .a night, but I’m absolutely fine. . .and I’m married.”

“What?”

“I know.”

“You’re married?”

“Yeah. That’s why they carried me out—”

“To get married?!” Her voice shrieked at the end.

“Yes.”

“Well. . .are you sure we can’t call the police—”

“No. No. Don’t even think about it, Melanique. Please. I want you to be safe.”

“But they can’t just make you marry someone. There are laws.”

“One would think,” I swallowed. “But in the world that I'm in, the laws are different.”

“Are you safe?”

I didn’t even know how to truly answer that. What was safe when you were a woman in this world—a commodity to make power deals?

“Melanique. . .this is more complicated than it seems, but yes. . .I’m. . .safe.” I walked over to the balcony’s opened doors and stepped out onto the balcony.

Out there, the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the dark ocean waters. Waves crashed against the shore. White foam shimmered in the moonlight.

The salty scent of ocean air was crip and cool.

Melanique spoke, “Are you sure I can’t help you?”

“There’s no need to try and help me.” I sighed. “I’m fine. Truly, and please promise me that you won't do anything rash like calling the police or trying to rescue me.”

“This is insane. You were just dancing on the stage and then. . .”

“I know. I know.” I shook my head. “Anyway, speaking of the ballet. What did you do? Did my brother and stepfather ruin it completely?”

“No. The understudy performed. Granted, no one cheered for her. Several journalists were asking about you afterwards, but they said they loved it.”

“So. . .you should get excellent reviews?”

“I should. . .and a bit of a scandal due to your disappearance, but scandal sells tickets, and that’s what I need to do this month if any other theater in Obsidian Bay will give me another chance.”

“You should be proud of yourself. You did an amazing job.”

“And you were the entire ballet. You captivated the audience.”

“Hey. Vaslav helped.”

Melanique sighed. “You’re married?”

“Yep.”

“And. . .would he mind if you finished the ballet?”

I blinked.

Would he?

I’d been so flabbergasted with everything; I hadn’t even brought up my ballet career. I’d been too busy trying not to get my hand cut off.

I cleared my throat. “That is something I will be talking to him about later tonight.”

“Okay.”

“But. . .I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come back.”

“Of course I understand. You have quite the excuse, missy.”

“I know. Right?”

“I’m more worried for you. This sounds. . .dangerous.”

“I’m fine. I’m in a high-end hotel, standing on a balcony and looking at a perfect view.”

“Will you be able to call me every day? Not just about the ballet, but just to. . .check in with me.”

“I will do my best.”

She sighed. “Good.”

Suddenly, a loud gunshot shattered the air, and with it, my fragile sense of safety. My heart pounded.

What the hell?

“Uh. . .I have to go.” I left the balcony. “I’ll call you again soon.”

“Please do—”

I hung up without saying goodbye, too nervous about that gunshot. It sounded like it came from the hallway or maybe even a room nearby.

Another gunshot sounded.

Oh shit.

I rushed back into the suite, got to the door, and opened it a little, making sure to keep my body hidden.

My twins stood there.

I raised my eyebrows. “What was that?”

One spoke, “It is coming from a few suite’s down, Mrs. Fortunato.”

“Okay, but do you know if the person is okay?”

“Don Fortunato is in there, so I am sure he is fine.”

“He’s. . .in there?”

“Yes.”

“O-kay.” Slowly, I closed the door.

What the fuck?

Another gun shot came, but this time it boomed.

The noise was followed by muffled shouts and cries.

Fear quaked through me.

My hands shook as I clutched the phone.

For some reason, I started pacing.

What else could I do?

The luxurious suite now seemed like a gilded cage, its beauty tainted by the fear and uncertainty that surrounded me.

Who did Gianni shoot?

One thing I knew, no one had shot him or there would have been many more gunshots.

Jesus. This is my life again. Violence and being left in the dark.

I stopped pacing and stood in the middle of that extravagant suite with the phone clutched tightly in my trembling hands.

God, this reminds me of back in the day.

How many times had I woken up to gunshots and screams?

How many times did I have nightmares?

I shook my head.

That same sort of mind-numbing fear coursed through my veins.

It wasn’t just the gunshots, though those were terrifying enough. It was the realization that I had returned to this life where violence was the norm, where gunshots in the night were just background noise.

And yet, I wasn’t even part of it, not really.

I would be on the outside, looking in—just like all those Mafia wives I used to pity when I was a kid.

Fuck this.

I had never completely felt bad for them due to the wealth and power they enjoyed.

That was the part everyone envied.

No.

What I pitied was the ignorance, the way they were kept in the dark while everything happened around them.

I had seen it firsthand with my mother, how she would go about her day, shopping or hosting luncheons, while my stepfather orchestrated deals, planned hits, and ruined lives.

She never knew the truth, never wanted to know it.

She lived in a world of designer clothes and perfectly manicured gardens, all while blood was being spilled in her name.

After mom died at the hands of my stepfather’s enemies, I’d declared that it wouldn’t be me.

It still won’t be.

I wouldn’t be that kind of wife to Gianni.

I needed to know what was going on, to understand why the violence was happening and what purpose it served.

He’s just going to have to be okay with that.

I wasn’t going to sit idly by while chaos erupted around me, while men were shot in the next room and I was left pacing the floor, wondering if the next bullet would come for me.

Hell no.

If I was going to be part of this world, then I needed to be part of it fully.

No secrets.

No lies.

No bullshit guessing.

Gianni needed to understand that I wasn’t some delicate flower to be kept in a gilded cage. I would never be content with being the pretty, silent wife who only asked about shopping and dinner parties.

If there were gunshots, if there were screams, I needed to know why. I needed to know who was hurt, who was dying, and why it was happening so close to me.

Because I couldn’t live like this.

Not again.

I had spent too many nights in my stepfather’s house waking up to gunshots and screams—things no child should ever have to hear.

Back then, I had been helpless, a powerless girl who couldn’t do anything but bury her head under the covers and pray that it would stop.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

I was Gianni’s wife now, and that had to mean something.

I glanced down at that cut on my palm.

Our marriage had to mean that I had a voice.

A right to know what was happening around me.

A right to protect myself if I needed to.

I forced myself to take a deep breath.

And don’t be shooting people around me.

I frowned.

It’s too much. This is a nice hotel and you’re turning it into the fucking Wild Wild West. Let’s have some decency.

Then, suddenly the suite’s door creaked open slowly, and I froze.

My heart pounded.

Gianni’s figure appeared in the doorway.

Damn.

He entered, shut the door behind him, and then towered over me.

Well. . .I’m still going to tell him. . .just nicely. . .

A dark shadow fell across Gianni's gorgeous features, his handsome face now twisted into a scowl. His brows were furrowed, and his lips were drawn into a tight line.

The light in his usually sparkling green eyes seemed to be snuffed out, replaced by a cold, hard stare.

And even more. . .his hands dripped with blood.