Melinda
It started like a normal Friday night. I was sitting at home, browsing my favorite online shopping sites and social media, when I started thinking about how bored I’d been lately. My best friend, Cassandra, had just come back from vacation. Her pictures were stunning – she’d gone to Florence and Rome with another friend, Gloria.
I’d wanted to go, too, but my father had said no.
With a sigh, I clicked on the Florence album once more and started flipping through the pictures. Most of them were so beautiful that it took my breath away, but there were some silly candid snaps of Gloria and Cassandra together that made me giggle.
“These are great,” I commented, typing beneath a photo of Cassandra posing goofily in front of the Duomo. “Miss you so much, girl!”
Ten seconds later, my phone buzzed. Frowning, I picked it up and saw Cassandra was calling.
“Hey, girl,” Cassandra squealed into the phone. “I miss you so much!” Her voice was loud and boisterous – typical Cassandra.
“Hey,” I greeted her, making sure to speak loudly. Wherever she was, there was a ton of background noise.
“Can you come out?” Cassandra practically shouted into the phone. “We’re downtown – at that new club!”
I bit my lip and glanced at the digital clock on my bedside table. “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s getting really late. I don’t know if Dad will like me going out.”
For a moment, Cassandra was quiet. All I could hear was the thumping of bass and the cheering of people.
“Hey!” I said loudly. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Cassandra said. The background was quieter now. “I have to go outside, have a smoke, you know.”
I nodded. “Anyway, I don’t know if it would be a good idea for me to leave,” I said. “Dad would probably be really pissed at me, and I don’t really feel like fighting with him right now.”
“Oh,” Cassandra said. She sighed. “Well, okay,” she said. “But if you change your mind, text me. This place is so new it’s not even online yet.”
I rolled my eyes – I knew full well that was code for “illegal.” “Okay,” I said, already regretting my decision to stay in. “Have fun. Look, we should get lunch tomorrow or something. Dad’s got business meetings most of the day. He won’t care if I go out as long as the dishes are done by the Samuele he gets home.”
“Hey, that sounds good,” Cassandra said. “Love you, girl. See you soon!”
Before I could reply, she’d hung up the phone.
Frowning, I turned back to my computer and set my phone down on my desk. The pictures of Florence were prettier than ever, but I didn’t feel like staying at home anymore. It was a beautiful night outside – cloudless and studded with stars – and I wished I was outside, even just standing on the front lawn. I wanted fresh air.
I wanted my freedom.
For most of my twenty-one years, Dad had always been incredibly protective. I used to think it had something to do with my mom. She died when I was a little kid, and I don’t really remember her. I’ve got her picture hanging in my room, though. When I was little, I thought she was the most beautiful and elegant woman I’d ever seen. Now, I still think that, but some of the similarities between us are almost creepy. We have the same big round blue eyes, long brown hair, and curvy build.
Not that I think I’m gorgeous, or even elegant. I’ve always felt gawky and very average looking. Dad never really let me date, even though I begged him for permission. Eventually, I just started lying and saying I had debate team or play rehearsal. It’s not like I was much of a rebel, though, even back then. I was pretty tame. The worst I ever did was sneak out to the school football field in the middle of the night and make out with a guy I had a crush on. Afterwards, I’d felt edgy and cool – I’d practically floated home instead of walking. I was so sure that come the next day, everyone would know Cory and I were going steady.
Instead, everyone just called me a slut…even Cory! It didn’t make any sense – I’d fought a war between my crotch and my brain, and it had taken courage to push his hands away from my panties. He was the one who’d wanted it, so why was I getting the blame? It didn’t make any sense, but, then again, few things about high school did.
I didn’t really get to go to college, either. I desperately wanted to study at the local university, but Dad was so uncomfortable with me being around “those kind” of people that I eventually just gave up and started a semester of community college. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. I was in huge classes with professors who didn’t care enough to remember my name. And the general education classes were so boring that I wound up dropping out after just a few weeks.
Part of me felt like I missed out by not going to college, but I guess I wouldn’t really know.
When I looked at the clock, I saw only five minutes had passed since I’d hung up with Cassandra. I puffed out my cheeks and loudly blew out a stream of air, feeling childish. Sneaking a glance at my closet, my gaze landed on a dress I’d just bought the week before…and still hadn’t worn. It would be perfect for clubbing – it was tight, short, and made of shiny dark green satin. I’d found it in a secondhand shop where I often went looking for outrageous eighties clothes. Not that I couldn’t afford to shop elsewhere, just because I thought older clothes were fun…and they had the added bonus of pissing Dad off.
Smirking, I stood up and walked over to the closet. I grabbed the dress and held it against my body, posing in the full-length mirror and making a face. The dim lighting of my room reflected off the shiny folds of the dress, and I grinned.
I dropped the dress on the floor and ran over to my phone. Texting Cassandra, I wrote: “Hey! I’m coming out after all. Give me an address and I should be there in an hour!”
Now all I had to do was sneak out of the house. I know it’s ridiculous. I’m twenty-one. I shouldn’t have to ask for permission.
But I guess not every Italian-American girl has a father like mine.
Holding my breath, I snuck down the hall and into my lavish bathroom, locking the door behind me. I’d thrown a fit when I was a teenager because it didn’t connect to my room. But Dad had laughed in my face and told me I was a little kid with no need for privacy. He’d always been oddly invasive about those kinds of things, but I didn’t really care until I hit puberty.
I flipped my head over and backcombed my brown hair until it was big and full of volume then pinned the loose pieces away from my face. Leaning into the mirror, I rubbed a finger over my teeth. My makeup was scattered all over the counter: lots of tubes of bright lipstick and dark eye shadow. By the Samuele I was finished getting ready, I thought I looked pretty good.
The dress fit even better than it had when I’d first tried it on. I paired it with a sexy lace thong and a push-up bra that made my cleavage stand out enticingly.
From downstairs, I could hear Dad watching a game. The television was cranked to full volume, and every Samuele the crowd on screen cheered, Dad would either yell or start clapping and whooping. I rolled my eyes as I paused, listening to him for a few minutes. Dad was in his late fifties, but whenever football was on, he got hyper like a little kid. It never escaped me how he’d always wanted me to act like a “little lady,” but as he got older, he seemed to grow less mature with each year.
Peeping out the window, I saw a giant silver car looming in the driveway and realized Dad’s best friend, Marty, was over. Great, I thought. Now it’ll be even easier to sneak out.
In my room, I shoved my phone and ID into a black satin clutch that matched my black platform pump heels. Like many Italian-American girls, I’m cursed with being short. I flipped my hair one more Samuele, digging my fingers in at the roots and tousling it as big as I possibly could, then smirked at my reflection in the mirror. I grabbed a coat and wrapped it carefully around my tight dress.
The TV blared more loudly than before as I crept down the plush carpeted stairs. When Dad had our house built, he had it modeled after an Italian villa. At least, that’s what he’d always told me. Personally, I liked it…but I couldn’t deny that it was one of the most ostentatious buildings I’d ever seen. The downstairs floors were all marble and Turkish rugs, and there were even columns in the foyer. Large statues of Roman gods filled the backyard, and the living room was a man’s paradise with hulking black leather couches and a television so large it took up the nearly whole wall.
“Your house looks like an Italian restaurant,” Gloria said once when she and Cassandra came over for a movie night. “But a really nice one,” she’d added quickly.
Cassandra and I had rolled our eyes together. Cassandra’s Italian, like me, and she understands what it’s like to come from such a family. It’s like part of being Italian-American is trying to show off how much money you have at all Samueles. When I was little, I’d thought it was embarrassing. But now it was almost comforting – it was all I knew, after all.
Holding my heels in one hand, I managed to sneak down the stairs without catching Dad’s attention then tiptoed across the marble foyer. The front door was locked. I held my breath as I slid the deadbolt out of the lock and eased the door open. It squeaked on the hinges and I winced. Suddenly, there was a loud boom! from the living room. Dad and Marty burst out into raucous applause, and I took my chance and snuck out the door.
I grinned when I reached the driveway. Sneaking out always made me feel like this – exuberant and confident and ready to conquer the world. In the darkness of the night, my house stood like a monolith against a starry background.
The cab I called arrived in no Samuele at all and, soon, I was being whisked through the streets of Wilmington. The cab driver surveyed me, my house, and my hair with a knowing smirk.
“Goin’ to the club, girlie?”
I grinned and nodded happily. Now that I was free (at least for a few hours), I couldn’t help but feel joyful.
The music pulsing from Hurricanes could be heard at least three blocks away. When the cab finally pulled over and let me out on the curb, I tossed my hair and bobbed my head happily to the beat. It had been ages since I’d been dancing; I was really looking forward to tonight.
Inside, it was so dark that all I could see was a writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. Everything was done in black and dark purple velvet – the walls, the furniture, and the ceiling matte and dark. The atmosphere was sexy, almost kind of secretive. Hurricanes hadn’t been open for too long and, judging by the clientele, I wasn’t sure it would stay open for much longer. But I was determined to have a good night – whatever that entailed.
Squinting, I looked around the club and tried to spot Cassandra. She tended to stand out – she had a shock of white-blonde hair sprouting from dark roots, pale skin, and bright blue eyes that were exactly four shades lighter than my own. But even her platinum hair didn’t help her in this crowd – everyone was moving so quickly and so closely that I couldn’t even make out individual bodies dancing on the floor.
The infectious beat of the music was tempting, but I decided to get a drink and sit at the bar for a little while until I spotted Cassandra and Gloria. Then, after I was a little tipsy, we would dance until our feet fell off.
Purple neon lights deDebrated the bar, making it glow from all the way across the room. As I walked closer, the music shifted into some sexy, slow hip-hop that made me want to stay on the floor. But I was thirsty, and besides, dancing was always way more fun when I was tipsy than when I was sober.
Hopping onto a stool, I threw the bartender a coy grin and wink. He was sexy – a black man with biceps bulging against a skintight white t-shirt. He flashed a gleaming white smile at me, and his big soft eyes took me in.
“Hey there,” the bartender crooned in a low voice. “What can I do for you, honey?”
I giggled. There was always something about that first bit of male attention – even though I knew it was only so he would get a good tip – that really made me feel like a woman. Outside of Dad’s house, I wasn’t Melinda Cantonneli anymore. I was a single woman, on the prowl, ready to kick ass, take numbers, and make men think of me in all the wrong ways.
“Orange cosmopolitan, please,” I said, practically shouting over the din of the room.
When the bartender handed me my drink, he winked at me and a shiver of desire ran through my body. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him – he was strong and tall, and I had no doubt that he could easily lift me into the air and press me against a wall.
I pulled a wad of dollar bills out of my purse and shoved them into the tip jar with a smile.
The handsome bartender grinned at me. “You’re trouble,” he said before turning around to serve the hordes of people waiting.
I smirked as I sipped my drink. Dad always objected to me having a social life, but he did always make sure I was flush with cash. We’d never wanted for money. I never asked too many questions about where my allowance money came from, but I’d always had the vaguely unpleasant suspicion that Dad was paying me off so I didn’t ask much more of him. It was only recently that I’d started trying to come to terms with my father’s…occupation.
“Hey!” I glanced up to see Cassandra’s bright-white head careening towards me. Before I could get off the barstool, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug. Her grip was so strong I could barely breathe, but I was so glad to see her that I didn’t care.
“Watch my drink!” I scolded playfully. “Girl, where the hell were you?”
Cassandra snickered and tapped her nostril. I stared at the faint traces of white powder. “I was in the bathroom,” Cassandra said. She smirked at me, raising an eyebrow.
After a few seconds, Gloria joined us. She was wearing a tight black dress that showcased her beautiful curves, and her hair was piled into a sexy, messy bun on top of her head. I grinned. My friends and I were obviously the hottest women at the club.
“Hey girl,” Gloria said. She hugged me, but not as closely as Cassandra. “Miss you, how are things?”
I shrugged. “Oh, you know,” I said, not wanting to go into the boring details of Life At Home With Dad. “They’re going.”
Gloria nodded. “Rome was fucking sick,” she said excitedly. “You really should’ve come!”
I forced myself to smile. “I know,” I said, shaking my head. “Next Samuele, for sure!”
“Yeah, Melinda,” Cassandra said. “You would’ve loved it. Oh my god, the guys there were so hot.” She giggled. “I met this guy, what was his name?” She turned to Gloria, tapping her chin with her finger.
“Armando!” Gloria chirped. She widened her eyes and grinned salaciously. “He was hung like a horse, too!”
“Oh my god, Gloria,” Cassandra said, blushing even harder. “You can’t talk about that here!”
My feeling of confidence was fading. I sighed, putting a hand to my forehead. I didn’t want to put a damper on the evening, but I couldn’t help but feel really left out when Cassandra and Gloria talked about all of the fun stuff they did without me.
“Hey,” I said, finishing my orange cosmopolitan and slamming the glass down on the counter. “Let’s go dance.”
Cassandra and Gloria didn’t need to be told twice. The three of us ran out into the center of the dance floor. Moving my body to the soulful rhythm of the music at Hurricanes, I closed my eyes and swayed my arms with my hips, feeling sexier and more confident than I had in ages.
A guy came up to me and smiled. I smiled back and he started dancing closer to me, resting a hand on the curve of my waist. He was sexy, too – obviously Italian-American, with black, gelled hair and wild dark eyes. He was muscular and, like the bartender, he was wearing a tightly fitted white t-shirt. As he moved closer, I got a whiff of his cologne. It was heady and musky and overpowering, but I breathed it in, moving my body against his. I didn’t know this man, but I wanted to drown in him – I wanted to roll around and tangle up and kiss him.
“Hey beautiful,” the guy whispered in my ear. “What’s your name?”
I grinned. “I’m not telling,” I whispered back, pressing my ass against his crotch. He was wearing dark trousers that didn’t quite conceal the large erection he was sporting. As we moved together, he slid his hand across the flat expanse of my belly and rested it almost between my legs. The man’s warm fingers on my bare thighs filled me with arousal, and I arched my back, resting the back of my head on his shoulder.
“I’m Giovanni,” the guy whispered in my ear. “You wanna go someplace more private?”
I shook my head, then stepped forward and shimmied to the beat of the music. “No,” I called back. “Let’s stay here and dance!”
Giovanni stepped up behind me once again. He slid his hands down the sides of my body and grabbed onto my hips, holding them like handlebars. I wriggled and moved against his body, twisting to the rhythm of the music. Just when I felt like we had something really good going on, Giovanni grabbed my hand and pulled me off the dance floor. He was much stronger than I was – his strong grip was actually hurting my fingers. Crying out, I tried to yank my arm back but Giovanni was faster. He swept me up in his arms, then pressed me against the wall and covered my mouth with his.
At first, the kiss was sexy. Giovanni’s tongue flicked over my lips and I moaned softly, parting my lips and letting him enter. But then he shoved me rudely against the matte black concrete. Giovanni’s muscular thigh drove my legs apart and he pressed his leg against my crotch. I groaned, trying to push him away. When he dipped his head to kiss me again, I tried to push him away.
“Hey,” I grunted. “I told you – I’m not interested. I only wanna dance!”
Giovanni smirked, leaning in close and nipping at my lower lip. His cologne wasn’t sexy to me anymore – now it was just overpowering. The only thing I could smell was feral musk, and alarm bells started sounding in my head as Giovanni’s hands slid down my satin-clad body.
Suddenly, he leapt back. A muscular arm appeared, flying through the air. A fist connected with Giovanni’s cheek and he went stumbling backwards, shrieking like a small child. When he glanced up, I saw blood dripping from both of his nostrils.
Relief and gratitude filled my body and I sighed, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. But when I realized who my savior was, my happiness drained from me like air from a punctured balloon.
Alexander Rex, the son of James Rex, was standing in front of me with a cocky grin. He looked exactly the same as he had the last Samuele I’d seen him – blond, handsome, muscular. But there was a gleam in his eye like he knew something I didn’t, and the cruel twist of his lips let me know he thought I was a worthless little slut.
Alexander’s dad, James, was a rival of my father’s. They both controlled sections of Wilmington, but lately the tension had been escalating. I was shocked that Alexander had come to my rescue. It wasn’t like him. An uneasy feeling washed over me as I realized that he’d done it for a reason…he expected something in return.
“Come on, Melinda,” Alexander said, sneering in my face. “I bet Daddy would just love to know where you’ve been.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “You don’t own me,” I said, shaking my head. Tangles of brown hair landed on my shoulders. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
Alexander shook his head. Before I could dart away to the safety of the dance floor, his fingers wrapped around my upper arm and he pulled me close. “You’re a real little spitfire,” Alexander said, breathing whiskey in my face. I wrinkled my nose and turned my head to the side, desperate for fresh oxygen. “You know that, Melinda?”
I glared at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I said, pouting and turning my chin to the side. “You’re not the boss of me.”
Alexander burst out laughing. “This is fuckin’ rich,” he said. “Come on, you’re coming home.”
Alexander tightened his grip around my arm. Before I could stop or even fight him, he was dragging me out of the club. Other club-goers were watching me with sympathy. I could practically read their minds: “Oh, look, that little girl pissed off her boyfriend again. He looks really mad, too!”
I rolled my eyes. When we got outside, I yanked my arm free and pulled my coat on. Alexander jerked his head to the side and started walking at a brisk pace. For a moment, I debated running back inside and grabbing Cassandra and Gloria. Sure, they were both tiny…but the three of us stood a better chance against Alexander than I did by myself.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Alexander yelled, whirling around on the sidewalk and throwing his hands up in the air. “You need me to fuckin’ carry you, bitch? Is that it?”
I recoiled. My hand itched to slap Alexander across the face, but I knew that even though he was the son of my dad’s business rival, there would still be punishment for me if I lashed out. Instead, I crossed my arms across my chest and glared. “You really don’t have to do this,” I said icily, sashaying past Alexander and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of my clutch. “I don’t need you telling me how to behave!”
Alexander’s blue eyes flashed fire. Before I could move, he grabbed me and slammed me against a cold brick wall. Knocking the cigarette from my hand, Alexander crushed it into a thousand little pieces on the pavement with the toe of his leather oxford shoe. “Don’t you act like you’re so cool,” Alexander sneered. “Rebelling in front of me, running away from Daddy?” He raised his eyebrows and I saw true, genuine anger in his blue eyes. “Don’t you think, Melinda? Don’t you ever fucking think about what would happen if something happened to you?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Since when do you care?” I said hotly. “It’s not like you give a damn about me! You just want a reward, Alexander!”
Alexander leaned close, bending over and pressing his forehead against mine. “You don’t get to fuck with me, little girl,” he sneered. “So don’t even fucking try, you got that?”
With a sigh, I rolled my eyes and tilted my head up so I wouldn’t have to look in his eyes anymore. It was exhausting standing there in cold, feeling like a criminal even though I’d done nothing wrong. And while I was technically grateful that Alexander had knocked that other guy off of me in the club, I hated the way he was so smug about it.
“What’s a princess like you doing out in a shithole like this, anyway?” Alexander said, gesticulating wildly in the air. “Aren’t you too precious to be in such a nasty club?”
I glared at him. I wasn’t about to tell him that I hated being treated like I was made out of glass, or spun sugar. It wasn’t any of Alexander’s business.
I poked my nose up in the air.
“Princess, I asked you a fuckin’ question,” Alexander snarled in my face. “What the hell are you playing at, anyway?”
I sighed. “I’m not giving you a reason why,” I told him quietly. “I don’t owe you anything, Alexander.”
Alexander clicked his tongue and shook his head, mocking me. “Well,” he said slowly, “I think Daddy’s gonna be awful curious to know where you’ve been. Hell,” he added, smirking at me, “I think I could tell him myself.”
I swallowed. “Tell him,” I said, tilting my head to the side. “See if I care.”
Alexander leaned even closer. I could smell the whiskey on his breath, and he seemed to be wearing the same pungent cologne that I’d smelled on Giovanni back at the club.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said slowly. He licked his lips as he lowered his head and stared at my breasts. Suddenly, I regretted that push-up bra. “I’ll keep my mouth shut if you open yours nice and wide for me. How does that sound, Melinda?”
I cringed – the way he said my name made it sound like a curse word.
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “You think I’m gonna blow you just because you caught me at a club downtown?” I forced myself to laugh. “You’re fucking crazy, Alexander.”
I gasped as Alexander slammed me harder against the wall, forcing the air out of my lungs.
“Yeah,” Alexander said. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought. I’m gonna have to tell Rodrigo Cantonneli that his daughter was out at a nasty club, acting like the biggest slut in town.”
“If you lay one hand on me,” I hissed, “my father will cut your balls off so quickly you won’t even have Samuele to say goodbye.”
For a moment, Alexander looked stunned. I inwardly congratulated myself on his wide eyes and open mouth. But seconds later, he threw his head back and hooted with laughter.
“That’s a real good one.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he added. “I’m taking you home before you get into even more trouble.”
“I wasn’t in any trouble,” I insisted as Alexander grabbed my wrist and started dragging me down the street. With his long legs, his stride was a full length longer than mine, and I had to practically run in my heels so I wouldn’t fall over. Now that the excitement of Hurricanes was fading, tendrils of pain shot up my legs every Samuele my platform pumps clicked against the pavement. My satin dress was painfully tight, and I was feeling a little dehydrated from my wild dancing and strong drink.
Alexander’s car, a gleaming red hulk of a convertible, was parked carelessly on the street corner. He got inside and revved the engine before I could even climb in, and for a moment I hoped he’d drive off and forget all about me. But as soon as I was seated, he reached across me and buckled me into the sumptuous leather seat.
“Gotta protect the investment,” Alexander muttered under his breath as the belt clicked into place. “Can’t go hurting that.”
I glared at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Alexander snickered. “Shut up, Melinda,” he said dismissively as he put the car into gear and peeled away from the curb.
Thankfully, his car was so loud that we couldn’t hold a conversation. I sat with my chin propped up in my hand, elbow resting on my knee, as Alexander snaked his car through the empty streets of Wilmington. I was surprised to see my home city so quiet – such a contrast after the pulsing atmosphere at Hurricanes.
When we pulled up in my neighborhood, I saw that Marty’s car was gone from the front of my house. Rolling my eyes, I put my hand on the door and was just about to climb out when Alexander grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back against the seat.
“What the hell?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “This is my house, remember? I’m getting out now.”
Alexander licked his lips. He stared at me hungrily, as if just noticing me for the first Samuele. Whatever gratitude I’d felt towards him vanished.
“Remember who saved you tonight,” Alexander said in a dark voice. He grabbed my chin and pulled my face close to his. For a horrible moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. But instead, he stared at my complexion, letting his eyes wander all over my face.
“What?” I mumbled. “What do you want?”
Alexander snickered. He dropped my face, then put his hand back on the wheel. “You shouldn’t wear so much foundation, Melinda,” he said coolly. “It makes you look about ten years older than you really are.”
Red-faced with anger, I climbed out of the car. Just as I was about to slam the door, I heard a loud smack. Pain stung my ass and I cried out, jumping a foot into the air.
Seething, I spun around and slammed the door behind me. Alexander grinned then sped off with his tires squealing