Rules

Vienna

I hate my life.

Or at least what has become of it.

I stayed in my room for two days after my disastrous wedding, not leaving except for that one time I confronted Marco is his study.

Wrong move by the way, that man is as dangerous at home as he is outside.

The way his hands moved on my body reminded me so much of the things I can never have.

The man I can never be with.

I met some people the first day I came here – the domestic staff, some dangerous looking men dressed in dark suits, and a blonde lady I couldn’t place.

My mother came to visit on the third day and she had some kind of flimsy excuse about why my dad couldn’t show his face.

“He is humiliated,” she states.

“Humiliated? He made a deal with the devil and shoved me headfirst into the crosshairs of a man whose best friend is a gun and he is the one who is humiliated? I am beyond humiliated, I am heartbroken, torn to pieces, disgraced and worse, I can't reach –” 

I break down and my mother pulls me into a hug. It is not comforting at all, because I am beside myself with pain but it is something and I appreciate her effort.

“I can’t reach Rafael.” All the messages I sent to him remains unread which is not unusual if he is kidnapped and my heart breaks whenever I think of him that way.

Beaten, broken, bloodied.

“I’m so sorry dear,” my mother coos, “You father, he — it’s hard for him too. Losing you to the Rossellinis. He is trying to keep a strong façade because the other lords are not backing down and the members of The Vices are not people to be messed with.”

I slump. “Of all the people I could marry. . .”

Of all the people I could marry, I married a Rossellini. A man who despise looking at my face.

“What does Alberto think?” I whisper. My brother is the hot-head of the family. He takes that from my father and I know how angry he will get if he found out I married a Rossellini.

“He doesn’t know yet,” my mother replies, not looking at me, “And we wish to keep it that way.”

“What? Alberto is the one person who can save me!”

“Your father is taking care of everything mi chica,” she soothes my hair, “it might take a moment but for now, keep your head above water. There’s no need getting Alberto involved in this. Your father has a lot to lose, we can't afford a war right now,” she explains and for the hundredth time, I try to imagine what it is that Marco had over my father’s head to make him bend to his will.

“I gotta go now,” my mother declares, rising up from my bed, “Your father has a meeting with the other lords and I should stand by his side.”

What about me? I want to scream. Who would stand by my side? Who will fight for me in the Rossellini home? What will happen if Marco Rossellini decides that he wanted to be more physical with his revenge against the Mahonnas and take it out on me? What will happen if he decides to consummate our marriage?

But I swallow down my questions and wait till my mother leaves before I burst into tears again in my new room.

The room is so unlike my old childhood room. Agreed, it has the king-sized bed and walk-in closet but that’s about where the resemblance ended. This room is an impeccable shade of white and indigo. It has a large vanity table that is so unlike mine. There is a couch by the side of the room, a gold statue that looks like a naked Egyptian and some kind of painting that hangs above the bed.

Like I said, this room is nothing like my old childhood room and I absolutely hate it.

Like who the fuck ever thought the first thing a girl wants to see when she wakes up in the morning is the sight of a naked Egyptian woman?

I rapidly wipe away my tears when the doorknob twists and I gather my gown around my body as the door opens.

Marco Rossellini steps inside my room with that imposing smug look on his face and close the door behind him with a loud thud.

I hate to admit it even to myself but I’ve got to give it to him, the man is gorgeous. He is six feet and six or seven inches and his build is one that was designed to make people fear him – broad expanse of shoulders, triceps that flexed whenever he moved and a body that looked too fit to be real.

His black eyes are hard and cold, set in a face with an impeccable chiseled jaw line, and a mouth that looks too attractive to be stern.

I hate the man, but he is one attractive bastard and my brain is a fool for recognizing that.

“What are you doing here,” I ask him, turning away to stare out the window so he wouldn’t see my tear-streaked face.

I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

From the corners of my eyes, I see him light up a cigar and take a long puff. “It’s my house,” he declares as some kind of explanation, before balancing his lithe body on the couch.

I scrunch my nose. “The house is a huge one,” It really is, even bigger than the Mahonnas mansion and although I’ve not had time to explore it, I’m sure it is bigger than most if the mansions in Newark. “You can be anywhere you want to be. Besides, you said you didn’t want to see my face.”

“I also said I don’t like answering questions,” he takes a puff, “Or did you forget that particular phrase?” another puff, “Trust me, I don’t want to see you as much as you don’t want to see me. But I’m here to hand the rules of your stay here. You break it and you know what’s at stake.”

“Go on,” I whisper.

“Good,” he keeps me waiting by taking another puff from his cinnamon scented cigar, “First things first, you can never leave the house.”

I swivel around, “What?”

“At least for a month. If that’s how long it’ll take to reel you in. You will only be seen outside with me by your side and you are to never visit the Mahonnas household during this one month,” he pauses, “not that I think your father will welcome you with open arms.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he levels me with a taunting stare, “The Mahonnas don’t fuck with the Rossellinis.”

“I’m not a Rossellini. I’m a Mahonnas.”

“Tell that to the man who spent half his life destroying the Rosselinis. You became one of us immediately you wore my ring on your finger,” he shoves his hand into his pocket and provides the diamond ring, rising to drop it on the table beside the bed before going back to his spot on the couch “Never take it off in public. That’s the second rule.”

Fuck the second rule. “My father told me to do accept the ring! He told me to accept you!” I remember that tiny nod that shattered my world. He can't really be mad at me for obeying him, can he?

“Doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Marco shrugs indifferently, “You are a Rossellini and you’ve become exactly the person your father despises. Surely, there must be a reason he didn’t come to see his precious daughter today.”

“He-” I try to remember what my mother said, “He had to deal with the lords of The Vices. You put him in that position.”

Marco stares at me like he thinks I’m the most stupid child there ever is. “You believed that?”

“Ye-yes.”

“Danielo Mahonnas is the most powerful man in The Vices and you think he has to answer to the men he leads? Don’t be daft kid, I thought you knew your father well enough to know the truth behind his silence.”

I turn my attention back to the window, biting my lips as his words echoes in my head, stinging. “You’re lying. My father would never abandon me.”

“Yet he gave you up to a man like me.”

When I look back at him, he has this glint in his eyes that tell me just how dangerous the man is.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care,” he deadpans, taking another puff, “third thing, you don’t have to worry about me consummating the marriage. It’s never going to happen.”

A sigh of relief escapes me, “Never?”

“Never. Like I said, I’ll rather fuck a pig then stare into the eyes of another Mahonnas. Much less, fuck one.”

When he said he’ll never consummate the marriage, I felt relieved. Now I just felt like a dirty piece of rag that will never be touched.

I think of his fingers on my body, his breath against my ear.

Am I bummed that I’ll never feel that from him again?

I shrug it off, “Why did you marry me then? If you never want to look at me, why did you keep me permanently in your house?”

“Oh trust me, it’s not permanent. Long enough to strip you and your father of every shed of dignity you ever have but not permanent,” he declares and I don’t know if I should feel relieved again or scared.

“And Rafael?” I ask, “what deal are you making that way?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing? You said if I play nice, you’ll hand him over to—”

“The Conti will be released when the time is right.”

“The Contis will fight back.”

“They will do no such thing with you in the crossfire,” he smirks, “and if they attack regardless, we’ll be waiting for them.”

I slump, accepting defeat. “I need to get my things.”

“You’ll go with Antonio and every old belongings you have will be replaced. Nothing leaves the Mahonnas home to here. Nothing except you.”

“Who the hell is Antonio?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he stands to leave, “you’ll be introduced to the full Rossellini household in a week’s time. For now, just follow the rules and stay out of my way.”

I stand up, “Marco?”

He turns to face me, “What?”

“You’ve got your rules, I’ve got some of mine.”

He regards me with something that looks like the tiniest bit of respect. “Spill.”

“Whenever, you’re here, knock before you barge into my room.”

He gobbles up the space between us and towers over me, scowling. “This is my house, and no one tells me what to –”

“And never,” I cut him off, “never smoke that vile thing in my room either.”

His lips tug in an amused smirk and I expect him to hit me with a spiked comeback but instead he steps back and says, “Fine.”

I blink. “Fine?”

He gives me a mock bow, “Whatever the missus wants, the missus gets.”

I’m about to retort back in the negative, but I swallow my words and accept my win.

It is barely a win but with Marco Rossellini, I’ll take whatever victory I get.