Chapter 5 - Cunti

❦ Rosalind ❦

“Rosa. What are the odds?”

This can’t be happening. My vision pulsed with the pressure of my fight-or-flight mode.

Orlov Conti, who I had blocked on my phone and the little social media I kept, was standing in front of me.

I realized I still hadn’t responded, and that the back of my palm was now pressed into his lips. Goosebumps rose on my skin. I looked sideways and caught the eye of one of my soldatos. He put one foot forward immediately, heading toward us.

Orlov grinned into my hand. “Whose cock did you suck to get into this event?”

I snatched my hand back.

“I should be asking you that, Orlov,” I said, my tone controlled despite the storm inside me.

“You’re not wearing your prosthetic. Just out here waving that disgusting stub around, are you?” he purred.

Just as my soldato bodyguard reached my side, his armed hand hidden in his pocket, another man appeared beside Orlov.

“Miss Rosalind, I’ve looked forward to your attention all evening. My condolences and prayers.”

The imposing man, an older, gray-haired version of Orlov, spoke with a small bow, and a hand over his heart to depict heartfelt sympathy.

“Thank you. Mr…?” I asked, noting how Orlov looked between me and the man in confusion.

“Giancarlo Conti. I had the pleasure of meeting your father a few times in business. I see you’ve met my son, Orlov.”

I glanced at Orlov, who was smoothing down the front of his suit, an irritated expression on his face.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure. Orlov and I attended the University of Boston. Congratulations on graduating, Orlov.”

My voice was saccharine sweet and confident now that I realized who held the power, who had always held the power.

Orlov sputtered something unintelligible, and his father, Giancarlo, patted his back with a wide smile.

“Well. I’ll leave you two to catch up. I wanted to introduce him since you’re back in New York, but I’m happy to see that you’re well acquainted. He can show you around if you need company.”

With that, Giancarlo walked off, leaving a stunned Orlov glaring at me.

“YOU’RE Rosalind Marlow? What is this?” he growled, and I felt my soldato stiffen protectively beside me.

I took a step forward and whispered, “I thought I’d cut you out of my life for good. But now that you’re unfortunate enough to be in the same city as I am, I suggest you avoid me like death, because that is what will befall you if you so much as think about trying anything.”

As I walked past him, I sneered. “Have a good evening, Mr. Conti.”

The tremors did not abate even after I’d left the building, sliding into the back seat without a single backward glance at the event I was supposed to be hosting.

Marcus slid in beside me, and I flinched back in surprise. He usually rode in his own car with soldatos, leaving Dante and my bodyguards to ride with me. I had come to associate Dante with safety, and now that he wasn’t here, my mind went haywire.

I tried to calm myself as Marcus turned to me.

“I must say, you handled that really well.”

“W-what?”

“The charity-memorial. All major blogs captured you donating money to just causes and your elegant hosting of all noteworthy attendees.”

“Oh, thank you.”

I clasped my right wrist with my left, hiding my stub from Marcus. If he asked, I wouldn’t know what to tell him. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I felt nauseous and cooped up, the speed of the car worsening my discomfort.

How could I explain that I, the daughter of George Marlow, allowed a man to abuse me during our two-year relationship on campus?

That I didn’t know Orlov had mafia connections because, just as I’d gone by my mother’s maiden name and kept a low profile, so had he.

I ran a flower shop as a hobby, and he was a renowned self-portrait artist on university grounds. We met when he came to buy flowers to use as a live prop for one of his shows, and hit it off almost immediately.

I was young and infatuated by the dangerous aura he exuded. And by the time he started to physically abuse me, after emotionally and psychologically abusing me, i was in too deep to get out.

My eyes stung with tears as I remembered refusing to see my father on his monthly visits, in an attempt to hide my bruises and dark circles, knowing he would kill Orlov if he ever found out the truth.

When I finally got the courage to break up with him, he cut off my finger during a fight, and I stabbed him with a knife. He had looked scared, surprised that I had defended myself for the first time.

I had gone to my best friend Dahlia’s house from the hospital, only to walk in on her straddling Orlov. Right after he cut me.

I remember running all the way to my apartment in tears, my heart in pieces. Dahlia had advised me to break up with him, only to be fucking him behind my back the whole time.

“I’ll be getting off here, Rosalind. I will attend a meeting with a few dons and capos. You will be driven home, and I will fill you in later.” Marcus’s voice drew me out of my reverie.

My gaze snapped to his. “What do you mean? Aren’t I the one whose presence is needed?”

“Rosa.”

I glared.

“Rosalind,” he corrected, “these are dangerous men. Someone killed your father. You shouldn’t be walking into dens.”

“The hotel they’re having the meeting in literally belongs to me. I will attend this meeting because I am the head of this family now.”

I reaffirmed a decision the day I discovered Orlov’s and Dahlia’s betrayal, trust no one.

“Rosalind…”

“You will be driven home, Marcus. You must be tired. I will fill you in after,” I said curtly, and slammed the car door, cutting off his speech.

Dante and four soldatos immediately got out of their car, marching to me as the car Marcus was in screeched out of the parking lot.

I hold the power. I make the decisions. And as long as they’re reminded of that, they will never cross me.

Without a word, I motioned for Dante to lead the way.