A Dark Marriage Mafia Romance
A FIGHT FOR LOVE. A WAR FOR VENGEANCE.
A forceful encounter leaves a cataclysmic enforcer, 𝗔𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮, under the thumb of the FBI. She is installed in an impossible position, forcing her to lie and deceit powerf...
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The taste of disdain sits heavily on my tongue as we drive through the high gates. Guards sprawl out across the estate, armed to the teeth. The clouds are low and darkness looms, rain threatening to fall. Just as I think that, the first rain drop falls on the windshield. Since I first laid on eyes on Anthony's manor, there has always been something... off about it. Like the house itself is a deadly virus and every part of me is warning to stay away.
Fortunately for me, with Arabella moving in, I don't need to visit here more than I have to. And I'd much rather stick my dick in a car door than wear a gentlemanly mask as I smile hostilely at the man who ripped her from me.
The grounds are encased by woods and with it being early November the autumn trees around the estate are a mix hue of reds and oranges and browns. Built in the middle of the trees beauty is a ridiculously excessive mansion that looks more castle with patios and balconies and staircases sprouting from its cream stone sides.
Aside from the autumn tress that guard the residence—and the darkness that looms over the house—the gardens already look like a winter fairytale. Snowdrops and various, well-tended winter flowers that appear to have been planted with care give more of a palette of colour and life. Sienna mentioned at dinner on Sunday that she's spent the years since she moved here taking care of the gardens. My eyes catch onto a large glass dome far off to the left, a cobble walk way leading to more of her beloved plants. With a husband like Anthony Castillo, I'm not entirely surprised she's taken up such a demanding hobby.
It's absolutely pouring when I step out of the car, winter's bite already hinting in the air. Following a gravel path to a set of stairs that lead to the main doors of the house, Elijah and Adriano follow close behind, and the large door opens with a woman I recognise as one of the house maids. I noted how Anthony treats his staff as so much as a bug, easy for him to squish if he feels like it.
She keeps her head low, eyes cast down on the floor as she leads us through the threshold to a large foyer.
I dust the rain from my coat and rake a hand through my wet hair.
Black-and-white checkered marble shines at my shoes, flowing to countless doors and a sweeping staircase. This manor is full of stone pillars and elaborate mouldings, high arches and endless hallways leading into grand rooms. Deep red fabric drapes across the windows and haunting artwork adorns the walls.
The particular one I'm staring at now is small and square, black at the top gradually darkening to deep red. The canvas depicts a lone figure in the centre: a young girl, haunched over to reveal her nude back, and her delicate hand reaching out to the side towards a small door. If you look close enough, you can see the flesh on her back ripped right down to her bones where threads tie tightly around the whites of her ribs and spine. The red thread leads from her bones to two shadow hands at the top of the painting, playing with the thread.
There are many more horrifying paintings, but for some reason this one disturbs me most. Anthony is a traditional man, and I have no doubt that this painting is to portray that powerful men like him and I are the puppeteers, pulling on people's strings. Suppose, in ways it's the truth. But this—the girl with her back shredded of flesh, portrays something darker. Sinister, even.
