Chapter Twenty – Nixon

"Kindly leave the premises. You're not welcome here."

Ask me if I give two flying fucks.

"I'm not leaving," I say to Dante, but I'm only here for Marcella. Once Lita came to her senses about Marcella going to collect Manuel on her own, she'd had me paged and filled me in on the details of Ms. Carr's supposed text message. I knew Dante must be up to something, and his machinations are never good.

I look at her stricken face. Her normally olive complexion has turned a pasty shade of white that I've never seen before. Her face is expressionless, with glossy eyes brimming with unshed tears. My palms itch with the need to grab him by the lapels and shake the shit out of him. He's done something to her, I know it with every breath in my body.

And I'm too late.

I reach out to take her hand, but she snatches it away to Dante's gleeful chuckle. After settling them both in her lap, she begins to wring them, twining her fingers together in a tapestry of anguished flesh.

I slam my hand down on his desk so hard a Waterford paperweight in the shape of a teardrop flies up into the air and lands on its side with a resounding thump. Dante stares at it and then back up at me.

"What have you done?" I demand.

He leans back in his chair and pauses, knowing his withholding of information will just set me off even more. I lean forward, about to charge across the desk and into his lap so I can beat the living shit out of him. My woman has a tragic look on her face, and he's the one who put it there. I need to know why and I need to know now. How can I fix it if I don't even know what's wrong?

"Done?" he finally says with a sigh. "I haven't done anything but tell the truth. That's something you'd do well to remember. The truth is always best because it's easiest to remember. When one gets caught up in a web of lies, the spider comes under the cover of darkness to end their life with just a little taste of venom."

I stand there, seething. White dots have formed in front of my eyes from my racing pulse and the struggle to contain myself. I have no fucking idea what he's blathering on about. I haven't lied to Marcella because I'm falling in love with her. I see my future in the depths of her eyes. She's the only thing good in my life outside of my family. The only bright light. I'd never put that in jeopardy.

"Shut the fuck up!" I roar, unable to contain myself for one second longer. "I'm not a liar. You've got the market cornered on that particular vice."

"Hmm…I'm not so sure. I was just telling Ms. Castillo here how much you love deflowering virgins. Word gets around, Caldwell. It's a vicious world we live in here in Vegas with so much money and the gluttony that follows close behind. I can understand how a young buck such as yourself could be tempted down into the dark, swirling nadir of sin. But buying virgins just to envelop your tiny dick?" Dante continues his pontification, stopping only long enough to make a tsk, tsk noise with his tongue. "Hymens won’t make it grow. Thinking they will is low even for you."

My entire body shakes with a rage unlike any I've ever known, and I've never wanted to hit a person more in my life. Then I glance at Marcella to see that tears have escaped her glassy eyes and are now waterfalling down her gorgeous face like little droplets of anguish. Now, all I can think about is that I've unleashed the strength of my inner demons on her. I turn and try to explain.

"Shh…don't cry, my gorgeous girl. This guy likes to talk out of both sides of his mouth. Nothing he says means anything." I want to wrap her in my arms and never let go, but her censuring gaze and her stiff body posture keep me away. My heart's shattering into a million pieces.

She looks up and through the haze of her pain, she says, "Did you or did you not pay off Manuel's gambling debts without telling me?"

"I…"

And then it hits me. Dante just told Marcella that I bought her, and in a way, I'm guilty of the accusation. Even though doing it was for the good of both Marcella and her brother, I can see how a proud and independent woman like my girl would think of it as interference. And maybe even lying by omission.

And the worst part of this whole damn thing is that Dante caused all of it against me with no other agenda than to hurt me. Is there nothing good in my life that he won't take and destroy until there's nothing left of it but a smoldering pile of ash?

Marcella holds a hand up. "Unless your answer is no, then we have nothing more to say to each other. Manuel and I can take care of ourselves, and I'll thank you to never darken my door ever again with your lies and manipulations."

Dante stands up and turns toward Marcella. "I can see that you two need to have a private conversation, so I'll fetch your brother and have him wait for you at the valet stand. I'm so sorry you had to hear this information from me, Miss Castillo. You have my card if you ever need anything."

He tosses that last bit of information over his shoulder like a grenade. When the fuck did he see Marcella long enough to give her his business card? But I can't ask. This is major damage control time. I can't lose Marcella. The thought of it is worse than having my heart manually ripped from my body. I'll do anything.

Anything.

"Why are you still here, Nixon?" she says, not looking at me. Her eyes dart everywhere in the room but at my face. Like she can't stomach the sight of me. "I never want to see you again."

Regret and memories of my dad so painful I can do nothing but hope they don't bring me to my knees enter my mind, unwelcome. Nothing has been the same since Dante destroyed my family. Marcella thinks she's seen cracks in my armor, and maybe there have been, but I seal them back up before they can widen.

"Marcella, how can you say that? How can you believe some gangster with mafia ties? Did you know about some of the things Giovanetti's been accused of?" I fire the questions, grasping at straws and fractured hope. I'm watching my future circle the drain with dirty hair and soap scum.

"Don't even start, Nixon. Everyone knows that Dante's not a saint, but we're talking about you. And what you did. How can you even deny that you bought me like a fucking piece of chattel! You spent over a hundred thousand dollars to get my brother out of trouble, and in repayment, he offered me up to you like the vestal virgin splayed out on the sacrificial altar of your lust. I thought I was special. I thought I mattered. How could you? I feel so dirty. Like if I go home and take a hundred showers, rubbing my skin raw, it won't be enough to wash the filth from my body."

Each word she utters peppers me with pain like the explosion of a thousand bullets. I want to explain. To tell her that it started out that way, but as soon as I got to know her, everything changed. But she won't believe me. It all looks so convenient. Like I wrapped it up in a package and tied it with a bow. Life's messy, and things never are as they appear. This package isn't decked out in festive gold foil paper. It's enveloped in a hundred shades of grey.

"It's not like that," I say, desperation creeping into my tone. I know she hears it because her eyes flash fire through the veil of tears. She reaches across me to grab a tissue from a box on Dante's desk. I can feel the heat radiating off her, but I can also feel the anger. It's palpable. She wants to hurt me as much as I've hurt her. Hell, if she wants me to strip naked so she can kick me in the nuts, I'll gladly drop my pants for her. She can take her best shot. The pain of the body would be a welcome relief from this pain of the soul.

"Really? Then what's it like, Nixon? Huh? You can't offer an explanation because you don't have one. I'm done. I'm so sick and tired of this shit. I'm poor, but I'm honest, and I live a simple life. I never had so much drama until I met you. I worked hard and did what I could to better myself, but all of your attempts to improve my situation? You know what? You've made it worse. Before, I could walk around with my head held high. Now, I'm just a paid whore."

"Don't you ever talk about yourself like that again!" I hiss out through clenched teeth. In that moment, I realize she's gone. Long gone. I'll never get through to her when she's in such a state of pain masked by anger and confusion. I regret the fact that I never came clean about helping Manuel, but I figured what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

I'm wrong.

As I stare at Marcella, wanting anything to touch her, I feel the piece of paper inside my suit coat. It's rubbing, poking, and making itself known. I pull it out and throw it on the desk. It's my ace in the hole. And I'll play it.

"See that?" I say, pointing down at it. "Why don't you open it up and then repeat what you just said."

I'm not sure if it's my audacity or my righteous indignation, but she stops long enough to look down at the contract. After blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, she reaches out but not far enough to touch it. "What is it?"

"You'll have to look at it yourself," I say, knowing it will have more impact if she sees it with her own eyes.

After a few torturous seconds, she picks it up and unfolds it in her lap. Her hands shake as she reads. The tears start falling again, and some of them land on the thick parchment, staining it and blurring the words.

"This is the purchase agreement for a house."

I nod. "Yes, I just bought it. I was going to ask you to move in with me, but there's something else. Something even more important than that. Keep reading."

Her mouth starts to move as she reads as if mumbling the words aloud will make them false. I know she doesn't believe it. Thank the fucking heavens that Reagan sent me this contract back prior to this meeting so I could sign it and make it official. If I'd told her this after we left the Mona Lisa, I'd never get another chance with her. But for now, I may see a sliver of light up ahead. If I didn't care about her, there's no way I would have done what I just did.

"The house is in my name, Nixon."

"Yes."

She shakes her head, a new tear sliding down her beautiful face. "Why would you do that? You took my virginity. You got what you wanted. Is this some warped attempt to compensate me for what you stole?"

"No, of course not. I—"

"Well, I don't want it." She looks back at the contract and picks it up. "I can't ever get back the precious gift I gave to you with my own free will, not knowing I was actually being manipulated. Why do you rich bastards always think that money can make everything go away? As if all your wicked deeds will just disappear if you throw a pile of cash at them."

"Marcella, I—"

I watch in horror as she stands, still holding the purchase agreement for my brand-new house in her hands. "You know what? Maybe my addicted brother can be bought with your blood money, but I can't. I'm my own woman. I'm strong. I'll make something of myself with or without you."

"Please, listen—"

In one deft movement, she rips it in half, throws it on the floor and grinds it into Dante's carpet with the toe of her shoe. The look in her eyes is crazed. "You see that, Nixon Caldwell? That's what I think of your grand gesture and your attempt to buy me a second time. You can take your ten-million-dollar house and go fuck yourself."