The Marriage Debt: Chapter 8

Clutching my glass of rum, I stare through the windows of my penthouse at the beautiful view. Watching the common folk go through their life down below has always been one of my favorite things to do. But today, it barely manages to brighten my sour mood.

“Something wrong, sir?” asks my most trusted guard, Marco. He comes inside and places a new set of guns and knives on the table for me to inspect.

When I part my lips to respond, there’s that scream again, and it interrupts my train of thought.

“Want me to give her some meds to shut her up?” he asks.

I turn to face him, and I point my glass at him. “Never, ever suggest that again.”

He averts his eyes in submission. “Of course, sir. My apologies.”

I stare him down for another second before taking a big sip of my rum. “Are these from the new shipment?” I put down my rum and pick up one of the guns.

“Yes, sir. Our seller told us this is a new line.”

I play with it a little, tugging on the handle. Checking the chamber is empty, I pull the trigger.

“I like this one. I think I’ll keep it with me for now,” I reply, and he places the bullets on the table for me.

“I can order more if you like,” Marco says.

“I want to test these out first before we do,” I answer. “But keep them on our side. Pay them extra for the wait.”

“Of course,” he says.

Another squeal makes us both look up at Jill’s door.

“Perhaps she wants some food?” he asks.

“No,” I respond.

We’ve had more than enough at the party. And still I don’t feel satisfied.

I used to love bingeing on food, liquor, cigarettes, and drugs. Anything I could get my hands on. But now that I have her in my clutches, nothing will ever come close.

Ecstasy.

That’s what she gives me.

Like snorting cocaine straight out of the bag.

She’s addictive, the right kind, and I don’t know how to stop myself from consuming her until nothing is left.

All I want right now is to go back in there and fuck her every orifice until she screams my name.

But doing so would make her despise me. Hate me. Loathe me.

And the thought of that … stops me.

She already hates me enough.

Fuck.

My hand turns into a fist against the window, and I bang on it. “Goddammit!”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” Marco asks.

“Leave me,” I growl. “I need to think.”

“As you wish.” He nods and exits the penthouse to go back to his own room farther down the hallway. Marco never questions my authority, and he knows not to try.

But she … she defies me every step of the way.

And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on.

She’s right. I am sick.

But I don’t fucking care.

I take another sip of my rum.

Jill is my wife now. And I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy every last inch of her body like it always belonged to me.

As I overlook the city, my soon-to-be empire, my eyes land on the bookshelf in the corner of the room. I get up and walk to the dusty shelves where a crown lies on the top. I take it off and stare at it. I’d forgotten I even got it from her parents when she ran away. A promise, to me.

She would be found … and she would marry me.

Oh, the way things have turned out since then.

This little kid’s crown is filled with memories of lies and obsession.

Even back when we were little, I wanted to torment her and invade her every thought. I couldn’t get enough. No matter how sick and twisted I became, I still chased after her, no matter how much she hated me.

All it did was make me want … more.

But now she’s finally here in my goddamn penthouse as my wife. My fucking princess.

Age 9

Once upon a time, there was a girl with a crown too heavy for her head … and a prince more than willing to take over for her.

When Jill is least expecting it, I snatch the crown off her head and run off with it.

“No, give that back!” she shrieks.

But all it does is make me laugh as I dangle the crown around my finger.

I love seeing her get all worked up, but what I love more is when she chases me.

“C’mon then. I dare you to get it back,” I taunt.

Rage almost spews from her eyes like a fucking laser. “Give. It. Back.”

What is she going to do? I can’t wait to find out.

When she approaches me, I keep backing away, wondering how far she’s willing to go. How close she’s willing to get.

“Stop,” she says through gritted teeth.

A grin spreads across my face. “No.”

She runs straight at me, catching me off guard. But I avoid her and twirl the crown around so she can’t grab it. “Missed.”

This is so much more fun than whatever boring game Jasmine and Jill were playing.

She groans, visibly frustrated. “Luca!”

“Jill!” I repeat, egging her on. I love it when she gets this annoyed with me. There’s something about seeing all those emotions light up on her face like fireworks.

“C’mon, Luca …” Jasmine scoffs, sighing loudly as if it’ll make me stop.

“What, Jasmine?” I retort as she follows us around the garden in that dumb pink dress.

“It’s not funny!” Jill yells, still chasing after me, but I win every single time she tries to snatch the crown out of my hands.

Suddenly, she stops and says, “Why do you do this? Huh?”

Because I like it, that’s why.

But I’m not gonna tell her that.

“Because you look stupid,” I quip.

The shocked look on her face is amazing. “I do not!”

“Only queens and princesses wear crowns,” I say. “And you’re neither.”

Now that’s really gonna piss her off.

Her voice gets even louder as she spews, “I am a queen!”

I hold up a finger. “Queens are only queens if they’re married to a king.” I put the crown on my own head. “Maybe I’ll be one now.”

Jasmine laughs but immediately hides her smile behind her hand when Jill notices.

“C’mon then, Jill. You wanted to be a queen,” I add, bowing for her.

She throws me a look of disgust. “What? You want me to be your queen?”

I tilt my head. “A queen isn’t a queen if she isn’t married.”

She turns and sticks up her nose like only a snooty little princess would. “I would rather marry a slug than you.”

A slug?

Better than me?

“A slug?” I can’t even stop the laughter from rolling off my tongue.

Jasmine tugs at Jill’s arm. “Let’s do something else.”

“No, I want my crown back,” Jill replies. “He can’t bully me.”

Bully her? Is that what she thinks I’m doing?

Fine, I’ll show her.

When the two aren’t looking, I dive into the grass and find the slimiest slug I can find. I approach her with the crown in my hands, hiding the slug underneath.

“I’ll give it back …” I lie.

When she holds out her hand, I place the slug on her palm instead.

The shriek that follows is the loudest one I’ve ever heard, and it makes me laugh so hard I can’t even catch my breath.

Toying with Jill Baas is the best thing ever, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

Ever.

Present

Before I go into the venue with my father, I adjust my suit and take a deep breath. Inside, a new De Vos partner is waiting for me, and I give him a handshake. “Luca De Vos. I’m overseeing business right now.”

“Impressive. You’ve changed,” the partner says, inspecting my outfit like he hasn’t seen Armani before. “The last time I saw you, you were only a little kid.”

“Much has changed,” my father says, jumping in for me. “Come, sit with us.”

“Of course,” the partner says. “I’m eager to negotiate the terms of our agreement.”

We walk to our seats in this high-end restaurant on the top floor of the building. My father rented out the entire place for this deal. It’s not every day we get to circumvent the Baas family’s connections.

“I assume everything is going as planned?” my father says as we sit down, and the server brings us a bottle of their most expensive wine.

“Yes, we’ve received your donation and are moving along with the shipment,” he responds as the server fills up our glasses. My father shoos him away. “But the Baas family will not be thrilled.”

“Baas has offered you too little for the hard work you do,” my father responds. “You deserve what we have to offer.”

The man takes a couple of sips from his wine. “And I’m sure you’ll gladly take the fall should things go south.” He eyes us both while leaning back in his seat.

I clear my throat and sit up straight. “We can handle the Baas family. You bring us the goods we need, and we’ll deal with the rest.”

The man looks at both of us and takes another sip. “I admit, I have had my doubts.”

“No need. I have it covered,” I respond. “The Baas family owes me.”

The man narrows his eyes at me. “You sure have some balls jumping in for your father like that.”

“And I thought you were smarter than to insult a potential business partner.”

We stare each other down.

I know he thinks he’s dealing with my father.

But my father did not bring me here.

I brought him here.

Suddenly, the man erupts into laughter, and the tension is broken. “I’m just messing with you. Don’t worry.”

I nod, uninterested in his clear taunts. “Shall we discuss business?”

The man clears his throat and picks up his wine. “Right. Let’s get on with it.”

When the deal is made and the man has left, my father and I take a break on the restaurant’s balcony. With a tumbler filled with rum, I lean over the edge and stare out into the beauty of the cityscape.

“You did well in there,” my father says, and he pats me on the back. “I’m proud of you, boy.”

“Thanks,” I reply even though it does nothing for me.

I used to vie for his attention and try to steal it away from my brother. Good or bad behavior, I didn’t care as long as he looked at me. But now, all I feel is resentment. Every compliment is doused in regret. As if he begrudges the fact that I’m not my brother and he’ll have to be content with that. And it made me hate him and hate myself for wanting his approval.

But I’ve learned along the way that not giving a shit is much easier than caring. Ignoring any emotions I have is the only way to get what I want: Power.

“I mean it,” my father adds, taking a sip of his wine.

The proud look on his face catches me off guard.

“What?” I laugh.

“It’s not every day I see my son take control.” He smiles. “And to think you were such a troubled teen before.”

I roll my eyes and look away. This is exactly what I mean with the offhand comments.

“Luca, I know you never liked me because I chose your brother over you,” he adds. “But your brother isn’t here anymore, and you’ve stepped up by becoming the man I always dreamed he’d be.”

He thinks it’s a compliment, but it’s not. Far from it.

Suddenly, he coughs in a violent manner, and when I look, he’s already pulled out a napkin. I watch him heave and cough something up. He hides it in the napkin, clearly afraid of what it means when he shows the truth. When our family appears weak.

But there’s an obvious red stain.

Blood.

The blood of someone whose life is waning day by day.

The look he gives me deepens, darkens in a way that only happens when he’s serious about something. When he’s not afraid to show his cards to get his way.

Because we both know what this means.

What the consequence is when the leader of a family gets deadly sick.

With all the vultures outside, waiting and watching for any sign of distress.

Any sign of weakness.

It’s our greatest downfall.

“The business cannot fail. Our family depends on it. You must take over,” he says. “It’s time.”

I nod, glugging down the rest of the rum with ease, and I throw the glass over the balcony into the water. “I’m ready.”

“I know you are,” he says, stepping closer while clutching the railing. “But you have to understand the risks.”

I laugh. “I know the risks. We’re mobsters.”

He clutches my shoulder. “Stop joking. This is serious business.”

His voice has me on edge, a sliver of me contemplating whether or not I’ll shout back. But what’s the point? He doesn’t care.

“We cannot fail. This is our family name and legacy on the line,” he says. “You must succeed and bring the Baas family to their knees. For all the hurt they’ve caused this family. Destroy them or make them surrender.”

I nod, and he clutches the nape of my neck like he always did in the small moments he was actually content. He sighs and looks out over the horizon again. “Oh, if only your brother could’ve seen you now. He’d be proud.”

I snort. I doubt it. And I doubt I’d be standing here today if it wasn’t for his death.

“Liam … I miss you, boy. You would’ve made the perfect heir.”

My nostrils twitch as I clutch the banister.

Fuck this.

I turn and march off.

“Luca? Where are you going?” my father asks. “Oh, c’mon. Can’t you indulge your father for once?”

“I have. But the rum is gone, so I am, too,” I bark, raising that same middle finger I know he disapproves of.

But even as I’m finally ready to take over the De Vos business, I will never stop being the Luca he despises. And that brings the biggest smile of all to my face.

And as I leave, I make a promise to myself to never fucking care about anything anyone thinks of me ever again.

Except maybe that one girl sitting in my bedroom at home.

That one girl I’m headed back to with all my seething hatred.

Time to go fuck it out of my system.