Tainted Faith

Nine: Nove [re-written 08/02/21]

For the second time in her life, Liliana found herself awaking in the arms of Marcello D'Onofrio. Only this time he was no longer her fiancé but her husband.

Husband. Just acknowledging the word left a bad taste in her mouth. A metallic taste on her tongue like blood filling her mouth, had her rising unsteadily to her feet to escape him. The thin blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulder slipped and fell onto Marcello's still sleeping figure; undisturbed by her movement as he lay slumped against the swing chair.

He was undressed again, wearing only pyjama bottoms and no shirt. She could acknowledge that some people would find him attractive - but truthfully she couldn't decide whether it was nerves or her own attraction to him that had her heart racing in his presence at times. Or if it were a combination of the two. That was always the problem with men wasn't it? She knew enough dangerous men in her life to have developed an understandable fear of what they were truly capable of. Marcello was recognised to be one of the most dangerous men of their generation - operating in the same league as her own grandfather and cousins. She'd be a fool not to fear him in some respects. So what kind of attraction would that be, influenced by fear?

Years of training has hardened his body and gifted him with a muscular, sculpted figure. His Italian heritage provided him with tanned olive skin and thick black hair, a narrow nose and dark eyes that did well to hide every thought of his when he looked at her. So yes, she could admit he was an attractive man; but the prospect of some women envying her position as his wife was laughable.

She supposed she was luck that Marcello seemed to be a man who took care of himself physically, and who didn't have yellowed teeth, stunk of cigars or failed to take care of his personal hygiene. But she was lucky in that sense, and only that sense; as no woman was lucky to be forced into marriage, no matter how favourable their husband may seem.

Liliana escaped to their bedroom to shower and dress for the day, all the while entirely too aware of her new reality. This was their bedroom. And when they returned to his home in New York, would it be their bedroom they stayed in? Would it be their bathroom that they shared? Would it be their life together until death? Had she now lost herself in a marriage she did not want?

Wives to the mafia were seen as just that, wives. Wives until they were mothers.

Already her head ached from the multitude of drinks she'd had during their wedding reception last night - an attempt to drown her sorrows despite her usual avoidance of alcohol. She didn't need to be dwelling on such depressing thoughts so early in the day.

When she emerged from their bedroom to the open plan living space of their villa, she found Marcello surprisingly awake and sat by his laptop with a coffee in hand. He was still undressed, and the blanket they had shared last night lay folded at his side on the table next to him. It seemed he had not yet ventured into their bedroom while she had been in the en-suit.

"Working already?" She asked, tilting her head slightly as she observed him. He was scowling at whatever was visible on the screen, typing becoming brutal as whatever anger he was feeling overcame him entirely. "Marcello?"

He didn't answer her, lips pulled down as he continued to work - perhaps not even aware she was there as she called out to him. She felt truly invisible.

"I guess I'll just spend the day sunbathing... again." As she had nearly everyday in Belize.

When Liliana returned only an hour later - tired of of the heat and solitude - Marcello was still working silently in the corner of the lounge.

It was odd to see him in such a state of undress so late in the day without one of his many suits and brushed back hair. He looked so dishevelled - so far from the mafia don she knew he was. It was a little unsettling if she was being honest.