Silent Whisper (3 page)

I would’ve been less insulted if he’d asked me to be a window cashier at one of his tracks, or maybe on the housekeeping staff at his hotel/casino.

He looked at me for a second, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“That’s
not
how I see you,” he replied. “Tell me that I couldn’t offer you more than…
this
?” he finished, his eyes glancing around my sparsely furnished room. “You’d never have to worry about what kind of…of
fucking
freak you were paid to service and what he might do to you. That has to count for something.”

I looked into his dark brown eyes and I saw the truth. Don’t ask me why, but it
was
the truth. Every word of it made perfect sense to me. Why should I feel insulted?

But still, in a way I did, because I knew I was capable of much more. The circumstances of my upbringing had led me to Belle’s nearly two years ago. I didn’t want to think about that now when Nick was so obviously waiting for my response.

“Is your real name even Nick?” I asked directly.

“Sort of,” he replied, a slight smile gracing his sensual mouth.

“I don’t know anything about you except what you just now told me. I don’t know your last name or if I’m even
permitted
to know your last name. You’ve been coming to Belle’s for months now and you don’t share a thing with me…well, except for the obvious,” I replied, feeling a flush take over my face.

I actually think I saw him smile genuinely for the first time ever. I don’t know what he found so amusing; it was all fairly
confusing
to me.

“My last name is Castellano. I’m Dominic Castellano.”

Holy Mother of Christ…

Four months later

I was finishing up my nails, listening to some Cyndi Lauper tune on the stereo in my upscale condo in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.

There had never been a doubt in my mind the night Dominic had made his offer to take me away from West Virginia that I wouldn’t go. Especially after he had shared his family name with me.

I knew of his family. I mean, there weren’t too many people in our neck of the woods that hadn’t heard of the Castellano family. They were Italian mob and had been on the east coast for several generations. They were the reason my parents were dead.

The state of West Virginia permitted gambling only at the dog or horse tracks throughout the state. My parents had owned over a hundred acres that had been passed down on my father’s side for several generations located near South Chester, a small town based at the northern tip of the state.

My father had been approached several times by various Italian entrepreneurs expressing interest in buying his land. Apparently it was prime land and a perfect location for a horse track and gambling hall that they wanted to build.

Several times my father refused their offers. He was not about to part with the land that was his lifeblood and livelihood. He farmed and raised cattle just as his father had done before him. The last offer that he had turned down had been made by Salvador Castellano—in person.

I could still remember the shiny, black limousine as it pulled up the long winding drive to our house. The man had bodyguards flanking him on either side as he stood on our front porch, arguing loudly with my father, insisting that he would have his land one way or another. I remember his dark brown eyes, catching mine as I peeked through the opening in the curtains on the window that faced the porch. I backed away quickly, terrified of this man who was threatening my father. I was only ten years old at the time.

A few nights later, our farm was torched while we slept. The barns; the house and garage—everything was destroyed. Nothing was saved, not the livestock, not my parents, only me.

I had been the only survivor. I remembered being pulled from my bed as the smoke was curling up the stairs and into the hallway. I’d been totally wrapped up in a blanket and carried downstairs by someone who then gently deposited me on the front lawn. I hadn’t moved, paralyzed with fear and confusion, and overcome with the stench of gasoline that permeated the chilly night air.

I was still rolled up in that blanket, coughing from the smoke that was now billowing all around me; the volunteer fire department arrived long after anything could’ve been saved.

The official cause of the fire was listed as faulty wiring. Of course, even at my young age, I realized just how far-reaching Salvador Castellano’s power was. He had meant what he said about getting my father’s land.

There were times after that I truly wished that I hadn’t been spared.

My next-of-kin was my mother’s only living relative, her Aunt Ruby, a widow on a fixed income. I was just another mouth to feed on her low-income budget.

My aunt often reminded me of how I’d come to her with nothing but the clothes on my back. The land that had belonged to my parents had been foreclosed upon by the bank. Apparently the insurance payout didn’t satisfy the multiple liens against the property. My aunt hadn’t received a dime, and Salvador Castellano had gotten what he wanted when the property was auctioned.

When I was fourteen, Aunt Ruby passed away unexpectedly and I became a ward of the state until I turned eighteen. I was put into a group home, where I met Lana. The day after we graduated from high school, Belle took both Lana and me in.

Lana and I had ridden our bikes up the mountain path plenty of times to spy on Belle’s place. I mean everyone in Chester knew what it was, and as teenagers, we had a natural curiosity to see who went in and out of there.

Lana and I had even been busted by Belle trying to climb up a trellis on the side of the house to peek into one of the windows upstairs where we knew the whores took their customers for sex.

She told us she’d take a hickory switch to the both of us if we ever tried that shit again, and then let us come inside her kitchen where she gave us cold glasses of Kool-Aid and home-made cookies.

So, it was our decision to approach Belle and see if she’d take us in. She did so reluctantly; more out of pity than out of need, but it was there that we learned how to make a living from a man’s touch. Belle and the rest of the girls became our family, and they were all I needed up until now.

Don’t get me wrong; I hated the Castellanos and everything that they represented, but somehow, it had simply seemed prudent for me to take Dominic up on his offer. I mean the possibilities were much too tempting to ignore.

A part of me wanted—no
needed
to face his father at some point in time and let him know who I was. Plus, there was always the possibility that Dominic would grow to trust me; at least enough to let me into his confidence about the family business.

I would have liked nothing more than to bring the whole damn family down, but if I had to settle for just one of them, it would still be a sweet victory, though it would pale in comparison to the loss that I’d suffered at their unscrupulous hands.

I sighed looking at my reflection in the mirror, wondering now about the folly of my plan. It had all made
perfect
sense four months ago. But that was before I had allowed myself to form an unintentional attachment to Nick - or should I say, to Dominic.

Once our arrangement had been solidified as they say, I had been instructed to call him ‘Dominic’. Apparently his wife, Anna Maria, called him ‘Nick’ and for some reason he was adamant that I call him something different.

Dominic had been nothing but kind and giving to me over the past few months. He cherished me in ways that should be exclusive to a wife, not a whore-turned mistress. He certainly hadn’t kept me on a shelf like some reclusive mistress either. That was what surprised me the most. It made me feel…kind of important to him, I guess.

He took me out to restaurants, the theatre, concerts and we went to Atlantic City several times on weekends. I mean, it wasn’t like he wanted me hiding in the shadows like some dirty little secret. He wanted to show me off to friends, associates—even family.

I had met his two older brothers, Salvador, Jr., a.k.a. ‘Little Sal,’ and Vincente, a.k.a. ‘Vinnie’. I hadn’t met his parents yet, and I wondered how they would react to Dominic’s blatant display of his mistress if he were to bring me to one of their notorious family gatherings.

His brothers had treated me with respect and acceptance, but I was fairly sure that was because they had their women on the side as well.

To say that they were warm and welcoming would be a huge stretch. And, to be honest, I wasn’t comfortable around them at all. As in—they totally freaked me out in an intimidating sort of way.

They fit that whole stereotypical Italian mafia persona, whereas Nick—I mean Dominic, didn’t. They were expressionless most of the time, and it made me nervous as hell when one of them
would
look over at me. I felt as if I were being dissected under their microscopic dark eyes.

I had asked him one evening when he stayed late after sex why he and his brothers cheated on their wives. He had looked at me with an almost devilish grin and replied, “We’re Catholic, Tesoro. There is
no
divorce.”

I had been quick to point out that most religions embrace the Ten Commandments, one of which specifically prohibits adultery. He had tilted my chin up with his fingers, his chocolate brown eyes gazing soulfully into mine and replied, “I’ll go to confession tomorrow if it’s my soul you’re worried about, Karlie.”

That ended the conversation because Dominic had wanted to make sure that he got his ‘confessional’s-worth’ that night. From that point on, Dominic had a standing appointment at St. Michael’s Catholic Church every Saturday afternoon for confession.

On Sunday, he was at Mass with his family regularly. He even went to Mass twice on one Sunday, because I had asked him to explain what it was like. I’d never stepped foot in a Catholic church—or any church for that matter after my parents had died.

So Dominic had taken me to a later Mass, never batting an eye when Father O’Neal had given him ‘the look’ and shook his head ever so slightly as we greeted him in the vestibule afterwards.

My thoughts were interrupted when my phone rang.

“Karlie,” his voice greeted, and my heart immediately skipped a beat. “I want you to put on the new red dress that I bought for you. We’re going out tonight to celebrate.”

“Celebrate? Can I ask just what it is we’re celebrating?” I asked with a giggle since it had only been several hours since we had last talked.

“My birthday,” he said. “I turn thirty tomorrow and I want you with me to celebrate it
tonight.
Just the two of us.”

“But, I mean what about—”

“No argument, mio amore bello. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

And that was “Accessible me.”

“Accessible Me” found it nearly impossible to say no to him. Loving his spontaneity, irked that he had never even told me when his birthday was, forgiving him when he spoke those little chunks of Italian to me that totally melted my heart.

And that was starting to be a big problem for me. That was not how this was supposed to be. This was not what I had signed up for—or so I had thought.

I sat across from Dominic in the dimly lit restaurant, watching how the lit candle on our table flickered romantically, making his dark features even more dangerously sexy.

“So,” I said, my chin resting on my hand as I gazed over at him. “If I would’ve known your birthday was coming up, I would’ve bought you a present, surprised you with something,” I finished. “But then again, it would really just be me buying you something with your own damn money I guess.”

He stopped sipping his glass of red Merlot to peer over at me, quirking a brow in confusion.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Karlie? Are you upset for some reason?”

“No, well yeah, I guess there is,” I replied, now placing my hands in my lap. “I don’t like this arrangement anymore. I feel like I’m living in some vacuum. No, it’s more than that, I feel like I’m playing some major part in a sick play and I’ve forgotten my lines and I don’t even care if I remember them anymore,” I blurted, my face flushing with embarrassment because I knew damn well that I was babbling like an idiot.

He was silent.

Watching me, his eyes narrowed just a bit as if he were trying to interpret my sudden mood change and idiotic diatribe.

“It’s not enough,” I sighed. “I want more.”

I saw his face relax just a bit, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He leaned in closer, his eyes searching mine.

“Baby,” he breathed, “If you need more of an allowance all you have to do is ask. I can’t read minds.”

I looked up abruptly, bringing my hands back to the table. “It’s not the fucking money, for Christ’s sake. I want—no, I
need
to be a
part
of something. I want to
earn
my money the right way. I don’t want to continue being a paid…
whore.
I’m twenty years old and when I look forward, I just don’t see my future.”

His hand reached across the table and covered mine. “Don’t ever again refer to yourself as a whore, do I make myself clear?”

He squeezed my hand ever so slightly for a response. I couldn’t look at him. I simply nodded my head.

“Because I’ve never, ever treated you like a whore, have I? I provide for you, I protect you, I take good care of you and I treat you well. What more can I give to you that I haven’t already?”

“I need some
self-respect,”
I replied. “And that? That is simply something that only I can give to myself. I don’t feel good about what I’m doing, what I’m allowing you to do,” I said softly. “It’s not right, and you know it.”

He looked down at his steepled hands, and was silent for a moment. When he looked back up, I could see the emotion in his eyes.

“It’s because I never tell you that I love you, isn’t it?” he asked, not waiting for my response. “But you have to know that my heart belongs to you, Karlie. You know that, right?”