Mafia Puppet

FRANCESCA

MY WEDDING DRESS is discarded on the floor, and I’m sitting here, naked. I’m a mix of relief and rejection. A phone call saved me.

In the middle of everything, he gets a business call and rushes off to the bathroom.

I pull the soft blanket tighter around me and settle into bed. I’m waiting for him to leave so I can do something—anything. I’m not sure what he expects from me now.

The bathroom door creaks open and my heart pounds in fear. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, almost naked, and I quickly look away, scared of his proximity.

Without even a glance in my direction, he strides into his walk-in closet.

I try to listen to what he’s doing, but he’s silent. He moves like a panther, undetectable. I pull the duvet closer, propping myself up on my elbows.

I can’t help but sneak a peek when he steps out. He’s dressed in a dark suit that fits him perfectly, guns holstered behind him. I know there are more hidden away.

A mob member, especially the Don of the Giordano Family, wouldn’t leave the house unprotected. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s wearing a bulletproof vest under his black shirt.

“I won’t be back until late. Don’t leave the house,” he commands, catching my reflection in the mirror.

I nod, surprised that he’s even speaking to me. Men don’t usually tell their women where they’re going. Well, he didn’t exactly tell me, but he gave me a hint.

It’s more than my father ever did.

His hair is slicked back, no gel needed. His high cheekbones and sharp jawline are evidence of his workout routine. I can’t deny his attractiveness.

A bitter taste fills my mouth as I consider the possibility of him having a mistress.

Dons are respected if they can keep multiple women without causing a fuss, especially from their wives—from me.

He adjusts his gold watch before turning to leave. He’s out the door before I can even blink. I let out a sigh of relief.

He didn’t take my innocence this time, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s only a matter of time. I don’t know him well enough to know what to expect.

My phone rings on the side table. I’m surprised he didn’t take it when he found it in my secret pocket. He just placed it on the bedside table and continued his inspection.

My father never allowed my mother to have a phone. He didn’t trust her enough. He was even reluctant to lend me one, but I needed it for university.

He didn’t want me asking for help and ruining his reputation as a respectable businessman. It was too risky.

I ignore the call, hoping they’ll give up. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone and my head is pounding. But they call again.

I pick up the small black device and see Sophia’s name. I haven’t forgotten about her. I’ve just been avoiding her. She doesn’t know where I live, and I’m hoping she’ll forget about me.

It’s been days since we last spoke. I wasn’t allowed to.

But I can’t bring myself to block her. She’s the only “normal” part of my life. The only person who cares enough to check on me even after school is over.

Despite all that, and how much I want her in my life, she needs to stay away. I don’t want her death on my conscience. If the Don finds out, he’ll kill her.

I end the call before getting up, forgetting that I’m naked until a cool breeze hits my bare skin. I’ve always been uncomfortable with nudity, even when I’m alone.

It makes me feel like I’m being watched. It makes me paranoid. I quickly put on my panties and rush into the walk-in closet, hands covering my breasts.

The closet is large and cold. New suits hang at the back on the right with more formal clothes, while casual clothes hang at the front. The left side is empty. It’s meant for me.

The gesture warms my heart. It’s different from home where my mother’s clothes were crammed into a small space because my father was obsessed with buying new suits.

Some he never even wore.

My bags aren’t here, so I grab a shirt from the wall and pull it over my head. I’m not going to walk around naked and hopefully, he won’t mind me borrowing his clothes.

I don’t have a choice. He left me space but not my clothes. Maybe I can change before he gets home. But that’s impossible unless I wear my wedding dress again, which I won’t.

It’s too tight and itchy. It’s not even my favorite dress, just the most expensive one.

I leave the closet and head to the bathroom to wash away his touch. I feel dirty and used. He’s my husband, but he’s still a stranger.

I’m not comfortable and I can’t tell him to stop. I don’t have the right or the courage. That’s what I’ve always been told.

The bathroom is luxurious. It’s large and comfortable. With two sinks near the door and a separate bathtub and shower, it’s a dream.

I like the bathroom best. Maybe when he’s not home, I can relax in here, play my favorite music, and eat. Maybe I can even pretend to be a queen.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and freeze in horror. The marks on my neck are ugly. They look like bruises, like the ones my mother had when she was abused.

I can’t stand it any longer. I don’t look at myself after I undress. I know I won’t like what I see. Hickeys aren’t pretty.

I close the glass doors, resisting the urge to cool the water. I want his touch burned off of me. At least for now.

The man whose ring I wear may be a handsome and honorable mafioso, but he’ll always be a devil. My ultimate downfall.