Capítulo 2: Chapter 2
GISELLE
"Fuck. Oh, my God. Fuck, harder."
I watched my husband of six hours slam into another woman from behind mercilessly, sending her body jolting forward. Her mouth hung open while her eyes rolled to the back of her head, letting me know just how good it felt to have him inside of her. There was no way she was faking it.
I felt like a creep watching them from my bedroom window, but I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. His hand tugged hard on her hair, while his other hand dealt slap after slap to her ass, her hands flicking wildly between her legs.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I stood through her exploding around his cock, her body shaking violently from how intense the orgasm was.
He pushed her off of him, lying languidly on the sun lounger. I assumed that was over, but they proved me wrong when she settled between his thighs, sucking him down her throat like her life depended on him finishing.
That should have been me, I thought bitterly, the hurt piercing my heart.
Who was I kidding? Nicholas didn't see me as his wife. I was just his prisoner, and we certainly weren't ever going to be a couple.
My gaze once again drifted to the scene to find the woman gone. Nicholas's eyes fixated on me. I jerked back from the window, mortified at being caught by him.
I slowly crept to the window, pushing my curtains aside to take another peek at him, my curiosity far from sated. This time around, he was doing laps around the pool, his muscular, tattooed body gliding effortlessly through the water.
The full sleeve of tattoos on his left arm looked like they were dancing under the light.
He was breathtakingly handsome with his long, black hair, penetrating silver eyes, thick lashes any girl would kill for, a slightly crooked nose that said he'd been in several scuffles, enticing lips, and perfectly groomed brows.
The five o'clock shadow he spotted was what sealed the deal for me. He looked every bit the ruthless mafia don everyone feared. You didn't live in a world like ours without hearing his name.
I had committed every inch of his face to memory at the ceremony earlier, and it was a shame I felt no desire toward him.
Again, who was I kidding? I found him a hell of a lot attractive, and the desire was there. Did I feel guilty about that, seeing as he was my sister's ex-boyfriend? Hell to the fuck yes.
But, I couldn't be blamed. Every girl in my shoes would feel the same. He was a sharp contrast to what he'd looked like back in high school.
He had been handsome, but he didn't possess the same power and dark edge this Nicholas possessed, and who wasn't a sucker for bad boys?
It was rather ironic that I wanted a bad boy of my own who worshipped the ground I walked on. Down the lane, we would have kids, and he would be loyal to the bone. Sure, I got the bad boy, but I knew I wasn't getting the love and kids.
Nicholas didn't want me that way. We had different views of marriage, and I was just a Rossi by name.
When I thought today couldn't get any worse after the ceremony, I walked into my bedroom to find out it was a replica of Gianna's old bedroom.
I got the message loud and clear; let her memories torment you like they have done me.
With a heavy heart, I stripped off my wedding dress, drowning my sorrow in the scorching shower I took next.
***
NICHOLAS
My new bride waltzed into the kitchen the next morning, her eyes puffy from all the crying she did last night.
Of course, I wasn't blind. I'd seen her by her window last night. Even from afar, I could tell she was unhappy with what she'd seen.
That wasn't to say her reaction did not please me. In fact, I'd been fucking thrilled. This was what I wanted all along, after all. Every drop of tear from her eyes was her telling me I was doing a good job, and those bloodshot eyes of hers spoke volumes.
"Would you like breakfast to be served at the table?" Sara, my cook, asked.
Giselle shook her head, taking a seat on the island. "Here is fine."
She ignored me as Sara moved around the kitchen, throwing breakfast together for her.
"Stop!"
Both women turned to face me with raised brows.
"Let Giselle prepare breakfast for us. It's your duty as my wife, seeing as you won't be doing anything else around here."
Her hands curled into fists on the table. "So, now I'm your wife? Why don't you call the whore you were fucking last night to cook for you?"
So, she had that Fanelli temper of hers. It would be even more fun to break her.
My lips curled up in a pleased smile. "Jealous?"
"You wish." She snorted. "I'd rather die than let your dick anywhere near me."
"I'd rather burn my dick off than let it anywhere near your pussy." The thought of it didn't even send an appeal down my spine. "If you want to eat in this house, be prepared to cook for yourself. No one is your maid around here."
"But I already prepared breakfast, Niko," Sara said, confused by my sudden change.
"Give it to the guards. Giselle is preparing breakfast for us."
"I am not!" She shot off her seat. "You are a sexist, condescending, conceited, cheating, bastard."
I leaned back in my chair, unfazed by her outburst. I had somewhere to be, but watching Giselle suffer might be my new favorite pastime. It trumped going to work.
"Such big words over a light issue. You may leave now, Sara."
Sara didn't need to be told twice before she sped out of the kitchen, shooting a sympathetic smile Giselle's way on her way out.
"I am not your slave, and I will not be cooking for you. I'd no sooner starve than cook something for you."
"Why not?"
"Because I am not your slave."
"Other than that, what other reason is there?"
I knew Giselle couldn't cook. Her parents had told me as much. I didn't particularly care about that, but I was doing this to push her buttons. What better way to enjoy the morning than to see her squirm over handling the stove?
"That's the only reason. I am nobody's slave. Just because I have a vagina, it doesn't give you the right to boss me around. You don't see me bossing you around to massage my fucking leg after spending hours in those ankle-breakers yesterday.
"Now that we're tabling a list of what we want each other to do, I'll go next. How about you stop bringing your whores into this house, start cooking for yourself, and hell, stop being a fucking sexist pig?"
This was Giselle from high school. Gone was the meek bride from last night. In her replacement was a spitfire who had no trouble speaking her mind. While others might have found it endearing, it got on my fucking nerves.
I rose to my feet, stalking over to her, watching with satisfaction as fear slipped into her eyes.
No matter how much she pretended, Giselle was terrified of me. She'd heard of the things I'd done, and honestly, I couldn't blame her. Men twice her age pissed themselves at the sound of my name.
"Why don't you repeat that to my fucking face?" I growled, glaring down at her. "Was it all false bravado?" I asked when she remained quiet.
She swallowed audibly, her chest rising and falling erratically. "No. You're a disgusting man. Who cheats on his wife six hours after giving her his ring?"
I wrapped my hand around her neck, curling my other hand around her sleek, red hair, pulling hard enough that I knew it strained her neck. "Did I give you the impression that I'd stay loyal to you? Answer the fucking question."
"That shouldn't even be a question at all. Why get married to me if you are going to sleep around?" Her eyes held many more questions she didn't dare ask.
"To ruin your life. You thought I was fucking joking?" I chuckled, removing her plump bottom lip between her teeth. "I'll make you pay for taking her away, Giselle," I hissed, my voice filled with contempt and rage.
"Watch how I ruin your life like you did hers. Wanna know what the best part is? I wouldn't have to do anything to make you suffer. Marrying you is punishment enough. You wanted the white picket fence, four or five kids, and a man who loved you dearly. Too fucking bad, wife. You're stuck with me, and there is no damn way I'm letting you go. You're not getting your happily ever after."
Fresh tears pooled at her bottom lid, sending satisfaction coursing through me. "I didn't kill her," she whimpered. "I swear I didn't."
"There's no need to lie. I know you did it."
Maybe, just maybe, if she'd admitted the truth, I wouldn't have done this to her, but she chose to lie for seven years straight. For seven fucking years, she denied killing her sister. I wasn't naive enough to believe her. I knew she did it. Everyone knew she did it.
"I didn't."
I caught the lone tear that slid down her cheek with my thumb, bringing the salty liquid up to my mouth, flicking my tongue out to taste it.
"Tastes like fucking heaven," I said with a cruel grin.
She shook her head at me. "I didn't do it, Nicholas."
Now, I was getting furious. I slammed her back against the wall, lowering my face to hers.
"Stop. Fucking. Lying. I know you did it. You deserve no mercy for what you did to her. Not only did you kill her, but you're also denying it. Have some fucking decency, Giselle. And don't for fucking once think your tears are going to do me in. They will not earn you any sympathy from me. Instead, it fills me with satisfaction."
She coughed, batting at my hand that I had around her neck. "You're hurting me, Nicholas."
"Good. This must be nothing compared to the pain that pierced Gianna's heart at your betrayal. Don't make me fucking repeat myself. Get your ass together, and prepare that breakfast, or so help me God."
I didn't complete my threat before I uncurled my hand around her neck, letting her fall to the floor, tears falling down her cheeks.
I stormed out of the kitchen, looking for an outlet for the rage that consumed me.
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