Stone's Revenge, page 6
“Miss Parisi,” Frederick says, turning to me. “I have some paperwork for you to review and sign before your wedding.”
Wedding? I’m not one to fantasize about a big party and long, flowy white dress, but I sure as hell haven’t ever dreamed of a marriage of convenience. Not that this is convenient for me. I still have no idea what Stone is getting out of it. Some vendetta against Lorenzo. Or is it Antonio? Do they have a pissing match and marrying me is a way to put Stone on top?
No, I doubt that. I’m not that much of a prize.
Frederick looks to Stone for guidance, who gives a curt nod without even opening the files. The lawyer or business partner or whatever he is picks up the files and crosses the room to me, placing them on the table in-between the two leather chairs. He opens it, taking out a pen from the inside pocket of his coat which he then hands to me.
“If you’ll sign where I’ve indicated.” He flips through the stack of papers, pointing out the blue tabs next to the signature boxes.
“Don’t I get to read through it first?”
“Sign it,” Stone barks from behind his desk.
I don’t like to be bossed around like a little girl. I spent eighteen years of my life being treated like a worthless human being, only good for dressing up and making Lorenzo Parisi look like the quintessential family man.
Ignoring Frederick, I toss the pen to the table and stand, crossing the room to the massive desk and the pompous man sitting behind it. I grip the edge of the desk and lean toward Stone. “I’m not signing anything until I know what I’m getting myself into,” I whisper harshly so Frederick can’t hear me.
“Out,” he orders, to me or Frederick, I’m not sure, but then I hear the door close behind me. The vein in his forehead reveals itself under pressure.
Pressure I cause. Stone rises to his feet and wraps his hands around both my arms, pushing me back against the row of windows.
“Don’t ever question me, especially in front of my employees,” he grits the words between his teeth.
My chest rises and falls between pants of air. His massive body presses up against mine, giving me no space to breathe. I can’t let him see my fear. Men like him prey on it. Reaching deep into my gut, searching for the confidence I pretend to have, I scowl back at him.
“If it’s some stupid prenuptial agreement, I don’t care. I don’t want your money. I don’t want you. I don’t want any of this. All I want is my mother’s and my safety.”
“I already told you she was safe. You saw for yourself.”
“So why the paperwork? What’s this all about? Why do you want to marry me? It sure as hell isn’t for the sex because I’m not giving it to you. You can put that in the paperwork, then I’ll sign.”
Stone presses his body even harder against mine and I swear I feel him grow thick and hard. My eyes open wide with fear and...no, not excitement. I don’t want Stone in any way, shape, or form.
“As my wife, there will be...obligations.”
I swallow the lump of fear in my throat. I’m not sure if it is Stone I fear or my racing heart. “I don’t sleep with men who whore around.”
I get the clenched jaw this time. I inwardly smile at being able to piss him off. Our gazes lock as a million thoughts run through his mind. I haven’t a clue what he is thinking, or even the direction of his thoughts, but I know I got to him.
My breathing slows and he relaxes his hold on my arms but doesn’t let me go. His gaze drops to my lips, and I unconsciously part them. Not for a kiss. I don’t want him to kiss me. I don’t want him to touch me even though I ache where his hard center held me captive.
If he had ground his cock against me or rubbed his hands against my breasts, I would have kneed him in the balls. At least, I’d like to think I would have. But he didn’t. And I didn’t. Finally, Stone releases me, stepping back and taking a seat behind his desk again.
The vein is back, and his breathing still isn’t stable. I have no idea what just happened between us. A test of wills. A stand down. A truce. I don’t know. Stone holds his cards close to his chest. I have no other option than to trust him. Knowing I’m not going to get the real reason behind this imposturous marriage, I take the high road, but not without some negotiating of my own.
Brushing out the pretend wrinkles in my crumpled top, I return to my seat as well, head held high. “I’ll sign your stupid papers as long as you add one amendment.”
He waits a beat—Stone is too good with the dramatic pause—then asks, “And what exactly would that be?”
“If you cheat on me in any capacity, which includes first, second, and third base, not just the actual deed of sex, then whatever I’m signing is null and void immediately.”
“Baseball analogies?”
I picked up on a few terms while living in America and in the books I read. Italians watch baseball as well, although Stone is probably too busy torturing people, swindling money, or doing whatever the Italian mafia does to watch the game or understand euphemisms.
“You said you’re a man of your word.” I’d angered him more than once by insinuating his integrity and honesty were lacking. Why that made him angry, I have no idea. Being married to someone as dark and mysterious as Stone will be...scary. Interesting. Intriguing.
As long as he doesn’t physically hurt me or Mama, I can endure the emotional and mental abuse of this marriage.
“You said two years. Then I’m free?”
He gives me a curt nod. “Could be sooner if all goes well.”
Two years of torment in an ivory tower being held captive by a gorgeous yet dangerous man. There are worse scenarios that have played out in my mind for the past decade. “I’m not waiting two years to see my mother. I expect to visit her. Soon.”
Again, the long, drawn-out silence. Stone steeples his fingers under his chin, not taking his eyes off me. The vein has subsided, so he isn’t angry anymore. The eyebrow quirk is a signal of amusement, I guess. It lifts as quickly as it lowers.
“As long as you do what you’re told.”
“I’m not a child. You treat me like one, I’ll act like one. You treat me with respect, and I’ll respect your...requests.”
“Requests.” It isn’t a laugh, isn’t a snort, isn’t a sigh, but something in between. Again, I’m pretty sure I amuse Stone Parlatore, and if I am right about my hunches—as I often am—Stone Parlatore isn’t amused by much.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Requests. Callista Parisi, or rather, Gia Smith is nothing like I’d imagined. She has a little of the devil in her. Not the evil that lurks in her father’s blood, but a spitfire mouth that I can’t help but fantasize about.
A mouth that is sure to taste of sugar and spice, with a lot of bite. I don’t think about kissing women. Ever. Not even Sebastiana. Her blood-red lipstick never appeals to me, except when leaving a mark around my cock. I don’t want it to mark my mouth. Ever.
But Gia’s unpainted pink lips promise to give me more than I can imagine. I’m a breath away from sucking her bottom lip between my teeth. It takes all the willpower of a Parlatore not to grind my heavy, needy cock into her. She feels it. I see it in her eyes.
The woman doesn’t balk, though. She stays strong and fights for what she wants, which I respect. She also realizes defeat but tries to cover it up with her own terms. Something else I can respect, after I stew in annoyance. I don’t like to be questioned or given ultimatums. Gia’s, however, intrigues me.
It’s a win-win all around. She’ll sign the papers and I’ll get to fuck her morning noon and night. If she is taking away my outlets, she’ll have to be my only source. I have no problem with that. It isn’t like I need a variety of women.
I simply don’t want the mess that comes with being with one woman. Sebastiana is different. She creates her own life and loves being the mistress to some of Italy’s wealthiest. We have an agreement. When she is working—fucking—someone else, she lets me know.
It disgusts me that Gia assumes I fuck young girls. Hell, I don’t even like fucking women in their twenties, and I sure the hell don’t force any woman into stripping naked and letting me have my way with them. Gia has accused me of that one too many times. The women I fuck aren’t forced into their position by anyone in their family or by me. I make sure of it.
I let Gia off the hook only because of her past, the kind of house she grew up in. With Lorenzo Parisi as a father, no wonder she doesn’t trust easily. I can’t blame her, and again, I respect her for that.
My respect doesn’t come easy, and never this fast. I’ve only known the woman for four days and already she’s gotten under my skin. Not a good sign if I plan on keeping my head straight while I execute my life’s mission.
Revenge.
I tap a button on the side of my desk, and Frederick enters a moment later.
“She’ll sign.”
I watch as my trusted lawyer of the past decade lowers to the seat across from Gia. It doesn’t matter that he is twenty years my senior. He works for me. I pay him well to keep his mouth shut and to tip me off with leaks related to Parisi or Rossi.
He is one of the few people who know the reason behind the marriage.
Gia picks up the pen she’d thrown down earlier. “Before I sign, Frederick...”
My lawyer glances my way, confusion in his eyes, surely because he isn’t used to people talking to him like this either, but he knows better and follows my lead.
“Yes?” he asks.
“You need to add an addendum somewhere in here.” She picks up the stack of papers and hands them back to him.
Again, Frederick looks over at me. I lift my chin in agreement.
He clears his throat. “And what would that be, Miss Parisi?”
Gia points her pen at me while keeping her attention on Frederick. “That if Stone Parlatore cheats on me with any other woman, all the contents of this...this contract are null and void. I retract whatever it is I’m signing. No hanky panky. No getting down and dirty. No touchy feely or lip-locking with anyone.”
I bite back my chuckle. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to what I do as hanky panky. I fuck. I don’t get touchy-feely and I sure as hell don’t lip-lock.
I wave my hand through the air, giving him permission to add whatever terminology Gia wants him to write. As long as I have her sweet tits to hold on to every night, and her hot, wet core to fuck, I don’t give a shit.
Every night? Since when do I imagine every night with the same woman? With any woman? I instantly regret agreeing to any terms with Gia. She is too smart to cave so easily. She has something up her sleeve and I don’t know if it annoys me or turns me on that she thinks she’s gotten her way.
No matter, I’ve won. I watch as Frederick finishes writing the gibberish Gia requested. He carries it over for me to approve.
I, Rocco Parlatore, agree to a monogamous marriage. If I break my wedding vows with Callista Parisi, this contract will be immediately ineffective.
I nod my approval, and he brings the papers back to Gia to sign. I watch as she runs her tongue across her upper teeth, bites on her bottom lip, taps the pen to her chin—holy fuck, that mouth—before signing.
“You can go now,” I say to Gia, indicating the door. Her mouth drops open and all sorts of illustrious thoughts and images come rushing to my mind. To my dick.
“Really? That’s it?” She pushes herself to standing and storms across my office, leaning once again over the expanse of my desk. “Do I need to remind you of the mutual respect thing we agreed to, Rocco?”
I bite back the string of curses I want to mutter. I force myself to stay in my seat instead of lunging at her, pressing her body against mine as I remind her who is in control of this business transaction. If Frederick wasn’t here, I would have done so, but my employees never witness me losing my cool.
No, only Gia has managed to get at my resolve.
If I tell her not to call me by my given name, she’ll use it every chance she gets. I learned that about her quite quickly. Instead, I ignore the comment and let out a sigh, making her think she has the upper hand.
“Lunch will be ready soon. Would you like to join me in the dining room?”
The tension in her shoulders lessens, as does her hold on the edge of my desk. Since I brought her here, she has eaten every meal in her room. If people are going to believe this marriage, I need her to act the part. I should start giving her some freedoms.
“I can leave my room?” she whispers, the lines in her forehead softening.
“You’re free to walk about the estate. You’re not to leave the grounds.” Tio or Lucca will be two steps behind, twenty-four seven.
Gia turns and hurries out of the room. I bite back a smile, as I imagine her running through the halls trying to figure out the quickest way to escape.
“Mr. Parlatore, if I may.” Frederick slides the papers across the desk for me to sign.
I’ve read them a dozen times already, and I trust he hasn’t altered them. Still, a thirteenth time is in order. I flip through the pages and wave my hand, giving him permission to speak.
“I’ve known Father Paul Michael for thirty years. He’s a respected priest. It already goes against his belief to marry you and Miss Parisi without the counseling and meetings. And to marry you outside of the church...if he doesn’t believe you two are in love, I worry he may...” Frederick lets his words trail off.
I’ve been worried about the same thing. No matter how hard I try to get Father Paul Michael on my payroll, the priest won’t cave. His integrity, his faith, is impeccable. It is one of the reasons I demanded he marry Gia and me. His approval will cast away any doubt that our marriage is a sham. It needs to be believable for me to execute my plan.
Ignoring his concern, I sign on the dotted lines and shove the papers back at him. “I’ll see you on Saturday for the marriage. You’ll have our certificate and all the other paperwork necessary, yes?”
“That’s only three days–”
I stand, not letting him finish, and walk out of my office. I don’t need Frederick or anyone else telling me what to do. My eyes are set on the prize.
Gia.
And vengeance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I can’t believe I signed my life away. Two years trapped in this...in this...mansion. I don’t care about the opulence of it. I grew up in a home similar in size and style and I hated everything about it. Maybe not when I was young. I loved playing hide and seek with my nanny and the few friends I was allowed to have.
They stopped coming over on my tenth birthday. Mama wouldn’t allow it anymore. No explanation. No consoling. I was cut off from the outside world in the blink of an eye. It took seven years to learn why, and the final year to concoct a plan of escape.
That final year, before I turned eighteen, Lorenzo pushed Antonio on me every chance he got. I almost wondered if he wanted his business partner to rape me. He is only fifteen years older than me, but at seventeen, thirty-two seemed ancient.
If he had been a nice man, if he didn’t make my skin crawl with his creepy stares and touches, I wouldn’t have been as repulsed by his age. The more I learned about my father’s business and how tight he and Antonio were, the more I hated him.
Hated both of them.
That is the only thing holding me together now. The obvious hate Stone has for Lorenzo. I hope he had the same vendetta against Antonio because both have been searching for us. Father wants Evangeline. His wife of twenty years knows too many secrets. And Antonio needs me. I discovered in my final months that I would secure his ties to Lorenzo. I’m not aware of all the details of the deal they have with our marriage, but it can’t be good.
I supposed that’s what I am for Stone as well. A business negotiation.
Rocco. His legal name isn’t too far off from Stone. I wonder why the change. I’ll keep pressing his buttons to see if using it bothers him. If it does, I’ll continue. I don’t have much leverage over anything and will take whatever scraps I can find.
I make my way through the labyrinth of hallways, poking my head in every door, whether they are opened or not. There aren’t as many doors downstairs. A giant archway leads to a beautiful bright and sunny kitchen that seems incongruous to Stone’s disposition. Dark green cabinetry covers one wall while gleaming white granite counters and a green and white mosaic tile backsplash shine in the sunlight.
Dark beams make stripes in the tall ceilings, and a wall of windows looks out over a green field of gardens that dip down to the vineyards below.
The center island is twice the size of the giant bed in my prison upstairs. The cabinetry on the island is whitewashed, and the countertop a dark wood, similar to what is in Stone’s office. Eight black iron stools are tucked around the island.
I can’t imagine Stone eating at the center island. It’s too domestic, too normal for a man as dark as him. Another archway leads to an elaborate dining room. This is where I can see him eating all his eight-course meals. With a table long enough to seat thirty, and high-backed upholstered chairs all around, I still imagine him eating alone. He isn’t one to make small talk or have friends he palled around with.
Sad, really. Although, my life is pretty pathetic as well. I turn the corner and bump into a woman wearing a traditional maid’s uniform. Not slutty, surprisingly, which is good since the woman is my mother’s age.
“Hi. I’m Gia.” If I’m going to be here a while, I might as well make nice with the staff. Besides, it isn’t their fault I am trapped in Stone’s castle.
“I know. Welcome. I’m Maria,” she says in a strong Italian accent. “When you have a moment, will you make a list of your favorite foods? Foods you don’t like, those you require at each meal. Please inform me of your expectations.”
Had I not grown up in a similar lifestyle I would have been impressed with the opulence and service. Living paycheck to paycheck in America for the past few years gives me a swift kick of reality.
