Sold to Mr. Giordano

Arielle

One week until the wedding and still my stomach is uneasy at the thought. Antonio has been busy with work and at night when I do see him, he seems short with me. He probably doesn’t want to have the conversation he knows I want to have. He forbids me from talking about Arabella and Luca still.

After breakfast I tried to call my mother to talk and confide in her and like always, I got no response. Instead, I called Angelo. I haven’t seen a lot of him lately mainly because he’s been acting as Antonio’s right hand man and going on a lot of missions against the Bratva.

“What do you think about the wedding?” I ask over the phone. I lay flat on the couch and stare up at the white ceiling.

“I think it’s a horrible idea, I’d much rather marry Arabella. The prick doesn’t deserve a wife,” he scoffs. “Nothing I can do about it. Father is pleased and can’t wait for it. He thinks after the wedding he might retire and let Luca take over. I mean he’s been grooming Luca for this job since he was born.”

“And you really think he’s going to retire? Father loves the job I don’t think he’ll give it up so easily. I always thought Luca would have to murder him one day just to obtain his status as Capo.” Angelo laughs at that. “Hey, have you talked to Mom lately?”

“No, but I never have really been closed to her anyways. Why?”

“She’s refusing to talk to me. I think it’s Father’s doing. He’s keeping her from me. Can you try calling her and see what’s going on?”

“Sure. Hey, listen, I gotta go. We’re about to head out.” I can hear a lot of talking in the background.

“Are you with Antonio,” I chew on the bottom of lip.

“Yeah, do you want to talk to him?” He offers.

“No,” I say quickly. “Just be safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.” The call ends.

Arabella is busy today with her mother and father getting last minute wedding decorations done. So today I am left by myself with Carmelo in the penthouse with nothing to do. I sigh and pull one of the fleece blankets over my body. Carmelo takes that as a hint to turn on the fireplace.

“Want the remote?” He picks it up and holds it out. “We can watch another M*A*S*H marathon.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m sick of looking at B. J.’s beautiful face,” I groan and place one of the throw pillows over my face out of boredom.

“We can go out and do something,” he shrugs and sits on the recliner adjacent to the couch.

“A tattoo!” I sit up. “Let’s go get tattoo’s.” He raises an eyebrow. “Fine, just me. I’ve always wanted one.”

Carmelo pulls out his phone and begins dialing.

“What are you doing?”

“Antonio will want to know about any decisions that will alter your body,” he says to me and then begins to talk to Antonio to ask for permission regarding decisions about my body.

“Forget it,” I exhale deeply and already know the answer. I don’t see why Antonio should care about the little tattoo that I want, he already has most of his body covered on him.

 Carmelo flips his burner phone down and looks to me, “He said yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes but under a few conditions,” he gives me a pointed look. “Nothing too big, nothing too visible like on your face and nothing idiotic like getting phrases or tattoo clichés and he’s making the appointment at the tattoo place of his choosing and it must be done by a woman.”

“Come on, let’s go!” I bounce excitedly as I jump up and grab my shoes and jacket.

The car takes us to this small place in the center of town, I never would’ve known it was there had I not been brought here. Carmelo tells me it’s owned by the Famiglia, he wouldn’t want me to walk into one of many tattoo shops that the Bratva own.

When we step inside it’s surprisingly not as dark and hardcore as I expected a tattoo shop to be. All the employees working have colorful sleeves and some have tattoos on their face. Majority have a bunch of piercings, various hoops on their ears, studs in their noses and eyebrows.

A cheerful girl with blood red hair approaches me with a bubbly smile that reminds me of Arabella. “You must be Mrs. Giordano,” she holds out her hand. “I’m Amanda, I’ll be your tattoo artist. So, what are you thinking about getting?”

“A bee,” I show her a picture on my phone. “I want it small and I want it at the top of my spine, but a little lower so I can cover it with my shirt.” Compromise—I think.

“That, I can do.” She smiles and heads into the back room. “I’ll sketch it out and then put the outline on your body and then, the fun will begin!” She calls out.

Carmelo gives me an unsure glance. “Are you positive about this? You know they’re permanent.”

“I know that,” I shoot him an annoyed look. “You have a ton of tattoo’s! Why are you against me getting one?”

Carmelo shrugs but doesn’t answer me back.

I peek into the shop where a man is getting his bicep down and I see blood begin to well up on the man’s arm and I see a drop slide down until the man tattooing it catches the blood with a paper towel.

I inhale and it smells sterile like cleaning supplies, but by me inhaling deeply my stomach rumbles and nerves get the better of me. I throw myself toward the trash can in the main area near the cash register and throw up.

“Maybe now is not the time,” Carmelo holds my hair with one hand—minimal touching—and still keeps a distance away. “I should take you home. We can do this another time.”

“No,” I moan but continue to throw up.

“Sorry Amanda,” Carmelo calls out. “We will be back, but not today.”

Once again, I am back in my penthouse, tattoo-less, and bored out of my mind. I opt to watching my favorite Korean War hospital comedy and laying on the touching. Since Louisa went home for the day Carmelo made ginger tea to ease my stomach although it didn’t seem to work well.

After a few episode I look out the window to see it’s nightfall. The city traffic calms me and the dark lighting lulls me into sleep while Carmelo watches over me.

I begin to dream of Antonio, his features cold as he stalks toward me backing me into the wall and holding my arms above my head. He’s rough—vicious. I want to scream for help. Suddenly, I’m looking overhead at myself and Antonio only to realize it’s Luca and Arabella.

Luca is hitting Arabella, bruising her wrists and giving her a black eye. Arabella cries and begs for him to stop and there’s nothing I can do as a spectator. He forces himself on Arabella calling her dirty, whore, unclean. He insults her and takes what he wants and the bloodcurdling scream coming out of her mouth rouses me from the nightmare.

I blink a few times only to realize there was a scream—not a feminine scream but a low guttural groan and a shout in pain.

“You need a hospital,” I head Carmelo urge.

“You know damn well I can’t do that,” it’s Antonio’s voice.

Now I’m wide awake. I search the room and try and find where they could be. I spot blood on the floor coming from the elevator and going off into the kitchen. I follow the bloody trail until I reach the first floor bathroom just off the kitchen.

The door is shut and it makes a creaking noise when I crack it open. Carmelo has a first kit in hand while hovering over Antonio, who is sitting on the edge of the tub with a massive gash in his abdomen.

“Get her out of here, I don’t want her to see this,” he groans and breathes heavily in pain.

“Let me help!” I rush over to his side and snatch the first aid kit out of Carmelo’s hand. I quickly find the bottle of rubbing alcohol and pour it on a hand towel. “This is going to sting,” I say and press it against the wound cleaning it out.

Antonio grips the edge of the tub and I watch as his knuckles turn white. He sucks in his bottom lip and bits down to prevent himself from shouting. I wipe around the wound cleaning the blood around it to get a better view at the wound.

“It’s deep, it’s going to need stitches,” I move my shadow out of the way to look even closer to the wound to realize, this was a gunshot wound. I look at his back and am mortified to see there was no exit wound. “I need tweezers. The bullet is still lodged in there.” I wipe sweat off my forehead and think about medical books I’ve read about these situations. “It’s better if a trauma surgeon gets it out.”

“No. Hospital,” Antonio grits his teeth.

“You might bleed to death! That bullet could be the only thing stopping excessive bleeding from a knocked artery!”

“If you’re not going to do it then get the hell out of Carmelo’s way,” Antonio spits harshly.

I guess if anyone was going to kill my husband, it might as well be me.

I ask Carmelo to get a flashlight so I can see better when digging into the wound. He digs in one of the kitchen drawers and comes back within seconds. He shines the light at Antonio’s stomach and I kneel so I’m eye level to the wound. My stomach threatened to throw up, but an instinct inside of me told me I must save my husband. I swallow hard and try not to think of how nauseous I am.

“This is going to hurt,” I warm and take a deep breath. I dig in his wound and try to drown out Antonio’s muffled pants and groans as I rip through skin to find the bullet.

It takes a few minutes but I find it and grab it pulling with all my might. When the bullet hits the floor, I quickly press a towel against the wound to stop any excessive bleeding that might come about. I look up at Antonio’s face and he seems fine, he’s not as pale as a man with blood loss should be.

I ease up on my pressure and check the wound—no excessive bleeding thank God!

I look around some more trying to get out any shrapnel that might be inside him still. I clean his wound once more before grabbing the suture kit.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Antonio raises an eyebrow skeptical.

I give him a small smile. “My father taught me how to stitch people up so when he came home I could do it for him or for Luca or Angelo. My mother always got sick about those kinds of things, couldn’t stomach blood, so I got the job.”

I stick the needle through his skin and begin to stitch the wound. Antonio doesn’t even move, he must be used to stitches considering all the scars over his body. I cut the string and finish by placing a thin layer of ointment to help it heal.

Thankfully there is a towel to my right and in a split second vomit into the towel. The coppery smell of blood making the nauseous worse.

“I thought you said you could stomach blood,” Antonio groans as he moves to hold my hair and rub my back.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“I can.”

“I’m telling you, you caught the stomach bug. You haven’t been getting better and don’t blame it on Luca and Arabella. You’re sick,” he says almost angrily.

Ironic how he wants me to go to the hospital after he just refused to go to the hospital after a gunshot wound.

As a Capo’s daughter I’m all too aware that Made Men don’t go to hospitals. Doctors ask too many questions, they’re forced to report these kinds of wounds and then it just gets sticky for the Mafia. I’m used to seeing some gruesome wounds when my father came home or brought some injured men home with him. I’ve seen many die without proper care. So this is nothing, but at the same time it felt different. I felt scared that he would die on our bathroom floor, I never quite cared if Luca or my father kicked the bucket.

Again, nerves got the best of me. Overwhelmed with emotion and fear for my husband my stomach churned at the thought and made me sick. “Let’s get you up to bed,” Antonio helps me up.

“I should be saying that to you,” I wave him off and wrap his arm around my shoulder letting him lean on me slightly. We both walk slowly upstairs and toward the master bedroom. “I want you to rest and drink water to rehydrate yourself.”

“You too,” he grumbles. “You’ll rest with me.”

“And when I drink water, you’ll drink a glass too.”

“Fine,” he huffs and I smile.

In the mini fridge I pull out two water bottles and place one on his bedside and one on mine. We both crawl into bed and under the covers and face each other.

My heart skips a beat as I stare into his dark eyes. I want to skim my finger along his jawline and kiss his soft lips. His face was starting to regain some color, but he still has a slight paleness from blood loss. I lift the blanket and check his stitches, really I think it’s an excuse just to marvel at his body.

I want to comfort him and wrap my arm around his waist and hold him close to me. I realize how impractical that is, Antonio is the last man who wants comfort. The only physical contact he’d want is to satisfy his most primal need.

Antonio reaches his hand out and presses the back of his palm against my forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a fever.”

“I’m actually kind of cold,” I hike the blanket up further on my chest.

Antonio turns off his bedside lamp leaving us to the dark of the room and wraps his arm around me. My black flush against his chest. I try not to wriggle too much as I’m hyper aware of his injury.

“Sleep,” his hand tightens around my stomach and his breath caresses the back of my neck.

For the first time in a long, I get a good night’s rest with a smile on my face.