Chapter Twenty-Three – Marcella

Some strange long distance number that I don't recognize lights up my phone. On a whim, I pick it up thinking it might be someone from Hunter calling me about my scholarship. That's one call I don't want to miss. The sooner I can get out of here and in my dorm, the better.

"Miss Castillo?" a sexy male voice asks me. It's silky soft and smooth like butter. Makes me want to spill all my secrets.

"Yes, this is she," I say and then wait to find out what sex on a stick wants with me. If this is my guidance counselor, I may have to consider other schools. As I'm waiting, I fan myself with an old issue of "People" featuring the hunky Liam Hemsworth that Lita snagged for me at the Heartbreak. When things are extra bad, I fantasize that he's marrying me instead of Miley Cyrus. Old habits die hard.

"This is Reagan Caldwell, Nixon's brother. I'm calling about your house."

My house. What the fuck is this guy on? What would the famous lawyer, Reagan Caldwell, want with an old trailer that should probably be condemned? His handsome face floats across my consciousness. I remember seeing him once on an episode of the "Real Housewives of New York" when that horny old Sonja Morgan chick hit on him in a bar. He's probably half her age, but that didn't even slow her down. The fans of the show delighted in the way he shot her right out of the water. He's lighter than Nixon, and I think his eyes were brown. He's too corporate for me, and hot or not, he didn't really float my boat.

"My house?" I hope I can pull some further detail from him, so I don't sound stupid. I hate sounding dumb in front of men. Makes them think they have the upper hand and can boss me around.

"The house that Nixon purchased in your name? The one over on Cactus Road? I think it's the same one you told him he could shove up his pompous ass and light on fire?"

Busted. I can't help but chuckle in spite of my shattered heart because Reagan's completely deadpan when he tells the sordid tale at his brother's expense. "Is that what he told you?"

"Actually, no. Troy did. He claims the entire staff of the Mona Lisa heard you. It gave Dante Giovanetti a reason to choke his own chicken later that evening. Seems the guy likes to play pocket pool to the song of other people's pain. Who knew?"

I almost feel like I'm watching some kind of stand-up with a satirical comedian. He's got that dry, sarcastic wit that I get off on. Maybe I did meet the wrong Caldwell brother after all. I shake my head to clear that thought as well as the nasty one of Dante's shriveled cock. The way that Nixon lights my fire will never be repeated. I'll just have to hold our little fling close to the vest and regale my grandkids with stories of my epic love from days gone by. If I ever have any. The way I feel now, swearing off men entirely sounds like a good way to go.

For one brief, shining moment, I held everything I ever wanted right in the palm of my hand. I should have known a light breeze would come and blow it all away. Happiness loomed so close I could see it and taste it on the lips of a complicated and dangerous man who truly cared about me. Then, that hopeful joy was snatched away by Nixon's lies.

"Okay, the house on Cactus," I say, fishing for more detail. I thought I'd been pretty clear with Nixon that day at the Mona Lisa. It will be a cold day in hell before I'll live with him in his mansion like a paid whore. I'll stay in touch with his brother but only because I'm madly in love with the little guy. Otherwise, I'm Hunter bound, and nothing's going to stop me outside of nuclear war. Not even my brother. By letting gambling own him, he's losing the three most important things in life. Time, money, and family.

"It's your house, Marcella," he suggests softly. "I need to know what you want me to do with it."

Do with it? It's not my house. I sigh and sit down on a chair in my kitchen, not believing my ears. "Why do you keep saying that? It's not my house, and I don't want it. I ripped up the contract that day in Dante's office, so just draw up a new one in Nixon's name. I'm not taking anything I didn't earn or deserve on my own merit. Especially, not something bought with dirty money!"

There's a long pause followed by a sigh. "Nixon warned me you were stubborn. Here's the deal. The paperwork was filed with Clark County before you ripped up the contract, so this is a done deal. You're the proud owner of a really nice house. The taxes and other bills have been paid for the next ten years. So, you can sell it and use the proceeds from the sale for your future, or you can hold on to it and live in it once you're done with college. Either way, you win."

I don't fucking win, asshole. I'm the season champion of the biggest loser. Because I lost everything that's important. My love, my virginity, but most of all, my self-respect.

None of this is Reagan's fault, so I struggle to remain calm when all I want to do is go off on him. The only thing he's guilty of is having a douche for an older brother. My broken heart throbs in my chest. I don't know what to do, what to say. All I want is to go into my bedroom, crawl into bed, and throw the covers over my head. But somehow, I know that my house will still be there when I get up. I have to face this head-on.

"What do you recommend? I mean, in your legal opinion?" Can't hurt to know his thoughts on what would be best for my future. He's a guy who managed to make it rain out of the eye of a familial shitstorm.

"Dante Giovanetti says he'll buy it from you for the same price Nixon paid for it. Apparently, he does some real estate investing on the side. If you meet him at his office today at three, he'll have all the paperwork ready to go. I'd recommend you just get it off your hands so you can move on with your life. Oh, and Marcella, get a good financial adviser. You're going to need one."

* * *

I can't believe that I have to deal with Dante again after everything that's happened. Between his greasy looks and the mental image of him whacking off, a revulsion churns in my gut. But after a great deal of thought, I decided to face the bastard a final time. I'll take his fucking check, and in that moment, it will be clear that he's never owned me, brand or not.

I valet because I want to be able to get the hell out of the Mona Lisa as quickly as possible with the Nixon Caldwell scholarship fund in hand. A small part of me believes my parents would be glad to see both men giving me the freedom to escape this town.

Upon entering the lobby, he's not waiting for me, so I ask the concierge for his location. "And you are?" the man asks.

"Marcella Castillo, we have an appointment at three."

He narrows his eyes and checks his computer screen. "I see. Mr. Giovanetti is in the Van Gogh room. Second floor, that way," he says, pointing toward a bank of elevators.

I punch the button, heart racing. Part of me wonders if I'm doing the right thing. The other part doesn't want even a snowball's chance in hell of being alone with Dante again. I'm afraid of what he's capable of doing to me. Once I exit the elevator, I look for wall signs pointing to the Van Gogh. Shit. It's all the way at the end of the hallway. Too damn far from the elevator or stairs if I need to make a run for it.

When I'm about ten yards away, a voice raised in anger stops me dead in my tracks. "You fucking killed her parents, you disgusting piece of shit. Just like you killed my father."

I shrink down as small as I can make myself and try to fade into the floral wallpaper, pressing my hand to my mouth to stifle the cry that wants to escape my mouth at this new knowledge.

"I did nothing of the sort, and I'll thank you not to disparage my good name inside my own establishment. Too bad your father died before he could teach you proper manners."

I rear back in shock and hit my skull against the hard wall as I hear what sounds like glassware crashing to the floor. I want to run, but at the same time, I want to hear the rest. Even if I willed my wobbling legs to move, they wouldn't. It's like someone poured plaster of Paris over my head, and I'm some kind of human mummy made of fear and suspense.

"I have proof right here, asshole. Right in my hand. Proof that's going to put your criminal ass behind bars."

"Now, now, whelp. Don't go raising your blood pressure. Wouldn't want to mar that pristine complexion with some mottled red. What would your whores say when they saw you? You think you're going to scare me with that empty flash drive."

Flash drive? Nixon has evidence?

"Everyone knows that Hawk is in your back pocket, and he's a master manipulator of anything tech. It's fake as shit, and you know it. You've got nothing. Besides, you already know that I have the entire Nevada Gaming Commission on my payroll. Wouldn't it stand to reason that I have the judicial system there, too? Who do you think funded the Clark County Prosecutor's election bid? Cost me millions, but it was so, so worth it. And everyone sitting on the criminal court bench. There's not even one of them who can't be bought."

"You unethical motherfucker!" Nixon growls. "You know what? I don't even give a shit. Because I know what you did. You know what you did. And now she's going to know what you did. She's all I care about anyway. And if you don't want this to go public, you'll leave me, my casino, and my family alone."

The bastard barks out a sharp laugh. "But I won't leave her alone. I'll never leave her alone. You might have stolen her virginity before I could take it, but you'll never take anything from me again. And you're going to pay for what you stole from me. She might have enjoyed your puny dick, but I bet she's still got one virgin hole left, and it's about time she learned from a real man. You'll hand her over with her legs and mouth open, or I'll destroy you and delight in seeing you fall to the ground brick by brick."

There were footsteps, then Nixon's deadly voice. "That will never happen. I made a mistake when I thought I could get her brother out of trouble, but I will never withhold anything from her ever again. I'll thank you not to talk about my future wife that way."

I hear a scoff and then a burst of maniacal laughter. "Your wife? You're forgetting something important, whelp. I own her. Just like I owned her parents. They'd never have gotten safely across the border and gainfully employed without me. And when they tried to leave me without paying their debt in full, I put them in the ground. And I'll do the same to her if she doesn't worship at the altar of my cock. Do you think I can't have her? Think the fuck again!"

Wave after wave of nausea flows over me, and I retch into my hand. Nothing comes up but bile. Since Nixon betrayed me, I haven't eaten much. But maybe he didn't really betray me. From what Dante's saying, in his warped way, he was trying to help Manny and me. He just didn't know how. My heart breaks all over again. But this time, it breaks for the parents I loved and lost through something that didn't have to happen. And it aches for Nixon, the man who tried to put all the pieces back together again.

I grab a tissue from my purse, clean up, and throw it back inside. I have to go in there before something happens we'll all regret. Nixon needs me. He's embroiled in the fight of his life, and I want and need to stand beside him. I slide my phone out and bring up the emergency button, just in case. If Dante does one fucking thing to threaten me, I'll push it.

"You killed my parents," I say from the doorway, and my voice isn't even shaking. It's calm. Dead ass calm. I spear Dante with a look that says he better not fuck with me if he knows what's good for him.

"I'm not sure what you think you heard, little girl, but this is an adult conversation, and you were just leaving," Dante says, never taking his eyes off Nixon. He can't even humor me with eye contact after what he did. He's a despicable piece of shit.

I start to shake. With rage. With sorrow. With emotions I can't even explain or articulate because I've never felt them before. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nixon move toward me, but I beg him with my mind to stand his ground. The last thing either of us needs is for Dante to sense a weakness that he can exploit. Better he think that I still hate Nixon with every fiber of my being. But the moment I found out what he did for me, we became a team unified by a shared future and a tortured past. And when we're together, anything is possible. Even bringing down the biggest piece of shit my hometown has ever seen. And there are four people looking down on us right now, supporting us, urging us forward. They need to be avenged.

"I know what I heard," I say, my voice rising on each syllable. "You disgust me. I will never belong to you." I touched my stomach. "No matter what you think. If you ever contact me again, I will not go to the authorities. I will go to the press. And they'll start digging and poking and prodding until they release the stench that surrounds you. That smell will become so unbearable, you'll gag yourself. So I'm only going to say this once. Never come near my brother or me again. Do you hear me?"

He stands and stares, not moving, not acknowledging. So I hold my phone up and threaten him with an unspoken move. He doesn't know who I might call, so he finally exhales and concedes defeat. Even before he speaks, I know I've won the battle.

Just as surely as I know the war will wage on.

"Yes, I heard you, but don't think this is over, little girl. Every single person who's stolen from me has lived to regret it. Man, woman, child, it doesn't matter. No one fucks with Dante Giovanetti and lives."