Chapter 20: Corrupted Heart: Chapter 20

“Been a while since you were here, huh?”

I grin, glancing around Vito’s dusty old office. He’s right, I haven’t set foot inside it in years. But it looks exactly the same.

It still smells like tobacco and the leather of the old Chesterfield couches in the corner. There’s still the same globe bar-cart, the same crystal tumblers. Vito’s desk—a massive wooden thing roughly the size and weight of a Cadillac—fills the middle of the room. The walls are festooned with the sexy glamor shots of the dancers who used to work here. And of course, the old “Lickety Splits” neon sign still hangs on the wall to the left of Vito’s desk.

Vito never let me come here during business hours, obviously. But during the day, when quite possibly the best-named strip club in the history of strip clubs was closed, I’d come up here with him from time to time and just goof off.

I know it’s cliched, and sounds like I’m biased. But Dad ran a different kind of strip club. He was never sleazy with the dancers and had a strict one-strike policy on any customers getting handsy. People used to joke that Vito treated “his girls” like they were his own daughters. But as he used to say, “They’re somebody’s daughters. And if mine were workin’ in a joint like this, I’d want to know someone was keeping ’em safe.”

Back then, a couple of the dancers were working to put themselves through school, and during the day, Vito would let them study up here in some of the smaller offices…for their nurse’s license, or the Bar exam, or dental school.

Frequently, when I’d come in with Dad during the day and some of the girls were up here, they’d take a study break and give me makeovers, or have me show them my latest ballet moves. For a while, when I was like twelve, I got really into modern and hip hop dancing. This one woman, Candice, would show me her “sexy” moves, at least until Vito walked in one day and asked her politely to knock it the fuck off.

These days, the club on the first two floors is gone. Instead of stripper poles and VIP rooms, Dad’s office now sits above a two Michelin star French restaurant and a tech startup. But up here, the vibe hasn’t changed at all, and I love it.

“It’s been a while, yeah,” I smile, looking around. “I miss this place.”

He chuckles. “I don’t miss the headaches. Keeping the girls safe and the knuckleheads in line, dealing with the alcohol licensing board, the health inspectors, or…Jesus…the pearl-clutchers.” He shrugs, looking around. “But there’s a reason this old dump is still my office, even though I could have something overlooking Wall Street.”

He grins at me, drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk excitedly.

“So, Bumblebee, cards on the table. I didn’t ask you to stop by to go down memory lane and reminisce about when I was a shitty guardian bringing a kid to a titty bar.”

I snort a laugh. “I distinctly remember never seeing a single titty, so don’t worry. Nico, Carmy, and Dante, on the other hand…”

Vito groans, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, father of the year over here,” he sighs. Then he grins at me again, and suddenly he’s spryly jumping to his feet and stepping out from behind his desk. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

Curious, I follow Vito out of his main office and down the dusty hall. The big side room that we stop at used to be a changing room for the dancers. It’s now pretty much empty, though one wall still has some old lockers bolted to it. The rest of the space is cluttered with boxes of old files and club fliers, and there’s a huge old wardrobe against the far wall, locked with a padlock.

“Um…” I glance around the place skeptically.

Dad chuckles. “Gimme a sec. Gotta build the suspense.” He clears his throat. “I heard you haven’t found a wedding dress yet.”

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Yes and no. I mean, Tempest, Naomi, and Milena found some gorgeous ones. But I’m not spending fifteen grand on a freaking dress.”

Vito sighs. “Of course you’re not. I am. I already told you it was on me, kiddo.”

“Yeah, no.” I shake my head. “I’m not letting anyone spend that much on something I’m going to wear once for a fake occasion.”

There’s maybe a bit more bitterness to the word “fake” than I intended. Vito doesn’t seem to catch it, but still I turn away, glowering to myself.

It’s not that I’m pining away wishing this marriage were a real one. Not at all. But as we get closer to “the big day”, there seems to be more and more of a war of sorts going on inside my heart.

On the one hand, I know this isn’t “real”. I do like and enjoy the physical stuff Kratos and I have—the way he grabs me and kisses me possessively. The way he chases me and fucks me like it’s a contact sport.

I mean, I really like that part. After the night two weeks ago when he took my virginity on the hard, grimy floor of the abandoned church with a knife to my throat—which was insanely hot—we’ve been back to replay that scene almost every night since.

I’m sore everywhere. I ache all over. My pussy has been swollen for like two weeks solid as I get used to taking Kratos’ enormous size.

It’s all worth it. Very worth it.

But as much as I want to say I fully understand that what we have between us is just sex, there’s another part of me that…

I roll my eyes.

You’re an idiot.

The other part wants more. Not more of the aggressiveness and the blisteringly hot sex—I mean, yeah, I want more of that, too—but more from him.

I know this wedding is about stopping mafia hostilities from turning the streets of New York into a war zone. I know we’re not actually a couple.

But then, what are we? The easy answer would be friends with benefits or fuck-buddies, but it’s not that, either.

It’s like we are in a real relationship, but neither of us wants to admit it. Or maybe neither of us can admit it. Maybe it’s just not in the cards for us.

I shouldn’t be bothered by that.

But I am, more than I care to think. Because what I feel for the huge giant I’ll be marrying soon is something I’ve never felt before. And sure, it could just be me confusing sex with something bigger. But I don’t think so.

I know how I feel when I’m with him. I know how I miss him when I’m not. And I know it worries the hell out of me that I’m still calling whatever we are “fake”.

“Well,” Dad sighs. “If you want the expensive dress, it’s yours. Done. I’ll send one of my guys over right now to get it.”

I grin at him.

“But…” He pulls a jangling keyring out of his pocket as he marches across the old dressing room to the padlocked wardrobe. “If you want another option…” He turns to smirk at me as he slips a key into the lock. “This might work, too. I’ve been keeping your mom’s dress for you since the day you came to live with me.”

The breath knocks out of me, a gasping, choking sensation wrapping around my throat and closing off my words. Half of me wants to sob as my heart wrenches. The other half also wants to cry, out of pure joy and love for this man.

“Are you…” Tears well in my eyes. “You’re serious?”

Vito smiles at me. “Of course! Now, it could be dated as hell. I mean we’re talking the 90s here. Not sure if poofy sleeves and bedazzling is your thing.”

I choke out a laugh as I sniff back tears.

“And I haven’t actually taken it out in years,” Vito says as he unlocks the wardrobe. “But, I have a feeling she’d want you to wear⁠—”

He jumps as I crash into him from behind, hugging him fiercely.

“Thank you,” I blurt into him. “I love you, and thank you.”

His arm wraps around me, patting my back. “Love you too, Bumblebee. Okie-dokie, let’s check this thing out.”

With a flourish, he flings open the double doors of the wardrobe. Instantly, both of our faces fall.

“Son of a bitch!” Vito chokes.

I blanch as stare into the dank, disgusting interior of the wardrobe, my heart sinking. The whole inside is black with mold, as are the four garment bags hanging on a rusty pole and a fifth slumped like a corpse on the floor. A dank, sour smell wafts out, making us cover our noses and step back quickly.

“Fuck!” Dad hisses, peering at the wardrobe.

I look too, and we notice it at the same time: the whole back of the wardrobe is rotted away. Behind it is a big gaping hole in the drywall of the room, with a wet, moldy pipe jutting out.

“Goddamn water leak!” Vito groans. He glances at me. Then he puts on a brave face and marches over to the wardrobe.

“No, Dad⁠—”

“Hang on.”

He yanks out one of the garment bags and carries it over to a table against the wall. He goes to open it, but the rusty zipper crumbles to dust as he does. When the bag finally opens, my heart drops when I see the moldy mess inside.

“Shit, kiddo…” Vito turns to me, stricken. “I’m so sorry…”

I use all my willpower not to cry. I know this meant as much to Vito as it did to me, and I’m not going to let him think this is breaking my heart. Even though it is.

“No, Dad,” I smile, taking his hand and pulling him back as I shake my head. “It’s fine. Really.”

“I just…” He sighs. “I know you’d have looked gorgeous in it, that’s all.” He glares at the mess in the garment bag. “Now what.”

“Well,” I shrug. “There’s always the fifteen grand one.”

He snorts. “Do you like it?”

I don’t love it. I wish with everything I have that I could wear my mother’s own wedding dress instead. But it is what it is.

“I do, yeah,” I smile, squeezing his hand.

Dad smacks the table. “Then that’s settled. I’ll send someone over now to scoop it up.”

I throw my arms around him and hug him fiercely. Then I feel his arms tighten a little more, like he doesn’t ever want to let go.

“I’m sorry for all of this, Bumblebee,” he says softly.

I shake my head, still hugging him. “I did this, Dad.”

“Yeah, but I promised you a long time ago⁠—”

“Dad.”

I pull back, smiling quietly into his eyes as I shake my head. “It’s okay.”

And it’s not just “okay” because I’m going to put on a brave face and deal with this.

…It might just be because the idea of marrying Kratos doesn’t sound so terrible anymore.

Not terrible at all, actually.

We skip the usual bonus festivities of a wedding. There’s no rehearsal dinner. No out-of-towners shindig. And as much as Milena yells, there’s no bachelorette party, either.

And without those little steps along the way, it’s a sudden thing when it hits me one night: I’m getting married the very next day.

In lieu of the bachelorette party—which I’m not sure my head or my nerves would have been in the right place for anyway—the night before the wedding, Milena, Naomi, and Tempest come over to my apartment to have dinner with me on my last night in the place.

Milena brings pizza from Lucali’s, which is without question the best in New York. And Tempest grins as she reveals the three bottles of insanely old wine she swiped from my brother’s personal cellar.

I show Tempest the wedding dress I finally settled on the other day. Part of me is still a little sad about not being able to wear my mother’s dress, destroyed as it was. But everyone loves the one I picked out. It’s fine.

We’re just sitting down to eat at the kitchen island when there’s a knock at the door. I slug back some wine before I walk over and open it. Matteo, one of my dad’s men, greets me with a stiff nod, his bulky frame filling the doorway.

“Evening, Ms. Sartorre,” he grunts. “You’ve got a visitor.”

My brows fly up when he steps aside and I lay eyes on Callie, standing behind him with a huge garment bag in her arms.

“Hi,” Kratos’ sister smiles at me.

“Come in!” I nod to Matteo that it’s okay, and he steps aside to let Callie into the apartment. She gives a little wave to the other girls when she spots them, and I wince. “I didn’t have a bachelorette party, so…” My brows knit. “Shit, I’m an asshole. I should have invited you. Sorry.”

“Please,” she waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just here playing delivery girl.” She bites back a smile as she thrusts out her arms, presenting me with the garment bag. “Compliments of my big dumb brother.”

I smile curiously as I take the bag. “Can I look?”

She winks. “I’d recommend it.”

Over in the living room area, I drape the bag across the couch and unzip it. It takes me a second, but when I realize what I’m looking at, my breath catches. My eyes go wide as my hand flies to my mouth.

Impossible…

My head whips around to Callie. “How?” I whisper.

A week ago, when I saw this dress for the first time, it was all but destroyed, hanging in a water-damaged wardrobe at Vito’s office, covered in mold and grime.

Now, my mother’s wedding dress looks stunning.

It’s not dated at all. No poofy 90s sleeves, no bedazzling anywhere. It’s pure sophisticated elegance and beauty.

Silky and cream-colored, with thin, delicate straps over the shoulders, an open back that plunges to just above the base of the spine, and a sweetheart neckline. It falls in clean, silky lines down from the hips, reminding me of a 1920s jazz singer’s dress, and an almost crepe-paper looking waterfall of silk lilies falls down the back of one shoulder.

“Holy shit, that’s gorgeous,” Milena breathes from over my shoulder. “What designer is that?”

“My dad,” I whisper quietly. A small smile curls my lips as I look up at my friends. “I mean Dante’s and my birth dad. He was a renowned tailor. Mostly menswear, but he made this for our mom for their wedding.”

Naomi’s hands clutch over her heart. “Oh my God, I want a guy like that.”

I turn back to the gown, shaking my head. “Except…” I turn to look at Callie. “How?”

She grins. “Kratos. He got a hold of it from Vito and had some famous dress person…” Her brows furrow. “Veronica Beau-something?”

Milena’s jaw drops. “Véronique Beaumont?!”

Callie points a finger at her. “That’s the one.”

“She’s based in Paris.”

“Yeah,” Callie shrugs. “I guess he flew her out here the other day. Anyway, she fixed it up.”

I blink in utter shock, turning to stare at my mother’s gown.

“Okay, you gotta try that on, asap,” Naomi blurts. “And make sure it fits. Because you’re totally wearing that tomorrow.”

Callie clears her throat. “Yeah, it, uh…” She grins. “It’s gonna fit.”

Somehow, I don’t doubt it. Because something tells me that a man who flew a world-famous dress designer to New York from Paris in order to repair my mother’s gown didn’t exactly wing it on my sizes.

A smile creeps over my lips as a blush blooms on my cheeks.

He didn’t have to do this. I never even mentioned the dress fiasco to him. I don’t know if Kratos did this as a nice gesture, or if he truly knows how much it means to me. Either way, it’s…unexpected.

And something tells me the goofy grin on my face right now is still going to be there tomorrow when I walk down the aisle toward him.

“Thank you,” I whisper, pulling Callie into a hug. “Really. This…” I pull back, biting my lip. “This means a lot. Like, way more than he knows.”

“Pretty sure he knows,” she says quietly.

I grin. “Hey—you wanna stay?”

“I mean…I don’t want to crash⁠—”

“No crash! You and I haven’t really had much time to get to know each other,” I babble awkwardly. “And, I mean, we’re going to be sisters…” I exhale. “And I don’t really have a lot of friends.”

Callie grins. “Same. I’ve got like five girlfriends, and I’m basically related by marriage to most of them.” She bites her lip as she takes my hand and squeezes. “I’d actually love if we could be friends, too.”

“Do you like wine and Lucali’s?”

“Does the Pope work Sundays?”

My heart is racing, my pulse thundering in my ears as I step through the French doors and out into the manicured gardens. Yes, we’re getting married at the Drakos estate. Not just because of the short notice in needing a venue. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get married here?

The assembled crowd—one half from the Drakos side of things, the other from the Barones—turns and stands. Cameras flash. People whisper. My nerves are a fucking mess.

Then I rip my gaze forward and look at my fiancé.

Kratos’ piercing blue eyes capture mine, and instantly, that whining, roaring, screaming anxiety in my head goes quiet.

Vito steps next to me, taking my arm. Momentarily, I pull my gaze away from Kratos to glance at him.

“Did you know?”

My dad smirks. “Hey, all I know is, one day that dress was a train wreck, and the next, some guy took it off my hands and did God-knows-what with it.” He arches a brow, nodding toward the altar where Kratos is looking obscenely good in the sort of tuxedo a linebacker would wear to an ESPN awards ceremony. “And a little birdy told me that ‘some guy’ might just be the guy you’re about to marry.”

I chew on my bottom lip as it retreats between my teeth, my eyes locked with Kratos’.

“I want you to know how proud of you your mom and pop would be, Bumblebee,” Vito says quietly. My eyes blur as I turn and hug him fiercely.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything. Always.”

Then we’re walking down the aisle, every step taking me closer to the man with the piercing blue eyes, and the inky black smoke swirling in his heart.

We stand face to face as the celebrant rattles off his lines. Kratos slips a ring onto my finger, and I do the same to his.

We say “I do”.

And then…

The few times Kratos has kissed me, it’s been the kiss of a man conquering a pair of lips. His kisses are savage and brutal. They devour me.

This time, it’s different. His huge hand cups my face. His eyes lock with mine, a stormy kind of cloudy blue swirling in them. As he leans closer, the hand cupping my face slides into my hair as his other one slips to the small of my back, pulling me to him.

His lips crash to mine, decimating whatever resistance I had left. And this time, he’s not demanding submission. He’s not smashing down my defenses.

It’s not a conquering.

It’s a promise.

As the crowd stands and claps, and I lose myself in his kiss, I realize how very real this has become.

There’s no question that the twisted darkness inside me has already met its match with the vicious blackness inside him.

But it’s more than that.

There’s a small chance I’m falling for the man I just married.