And that’s when I take vengeance on what she’s done to me.
I make her crawl on hands and knees, naked and still smelling of them, over to me. I pull her to my lap and remind her that her fate is in my hands, and that if I so wished, I could crush it into a pulp with my fists, just as she has obliterated my very sanity. I pull an orgasm out of her body that was always mine from the start, punishing her for thinking otherwise. I then push her brutishly to her knees, making her work for her second climax as she milks my cock dry of all the cum she wished she could fill her womb with.
After I’ve made sure to leave her a wanton mess, cursing to herself how she can loathe me and still want me, I get up and walk away as if nothing even transpired between us. It’s a performance worthy of an Oscar, but I play my part to perfection.
It’s only when I leave the apartment and am safely tucked in the backseat of my town car that I shatter. I punch the leather seat with all my might, cursing the fates for ever bringing Rosa into my life.
The woman has ruined me.
And to my bitter resentment, I gave her all the tools to do me in.
I underestimated her right from the start.
She called my bluff and raised me one. I thought I held all the cards in the deck, shuffled them in a way she could never win, and yet she beat me at my own game. She beat my full house with a four-of-a-kind of her own and fucking smiled at her victory over me.
When all of this started, I was sure that once I had her all alone in a room with my brother and cousin she would backpedal and wave the white flag of defeat. But I miscalculated her stubbornness as well as her deep wish to become a mother.
Fuck.
A baby.
She had to ask me for a damn child.
I could have given her the world, but she asked for the one thing I couldn’t give her.
All the saints must have laughed at my pain when she demanded the treaty be fulfilled to the letter. I never once considered she wanted anything from me except space. And I gave that to her in spades. Apparently it wasn’t enough, and now I’m left to play this game of chicken with her, wondering who will cave first.
Not me.
And it’s becoming evident, it won’t be her either.
For the next hour or two I tell my driver to drive through my city’s streets, for I have no desire to lock myself in my tower and pretend my world is as intact as it was before she came into my life. It’s only when we get to Beacon Hill that I tell him to stop.
I bought her a house.
Nix that.
I bought her a fucking mansion.
Eight bedrooms.
Two living rooms.
Library.
Office.
And more bathrooms than she will ever know what to do with.
But even though I was the one to foot the bill, I’ll never set one foot inside.
Why would I?
Why would she even want me to?
After all is said and done, I’m positive Shay and Colin will have an open invitation into her home, but never me. Once the deed is done, she’ll ice me out, turning me persona non grata. Forcing me to wonder what kind of life she is living without me every time I drive down her street to visit my parents.
Why do I care, though?
Why does the thought of her living her life, pursuing her happiness without me, make me feel like I’m slowly losing my mind? As if she owes me for every ounce of joy she’s about to have without me, and I want to punish her for not paying her dues to me.
It’s irrational.
Nonsensical.
And yet I want her to pay me every last cent with her body and soul until I’m fully satisfied the debt has been paid in full.
Once I can’t bear the sight of the home she will make without me, I order my driver to take me as far away as he can from this horrid place. But today, due to some work being done on the street ahead, he’s forced to take a new route, ironically enough passing by the church that bound me to Rosa forever.
“Stop,” I command, getting out of the car before I make sense of my actions.
I walk up the long flight of stairs, thankful that there are only a handful of parishioners praying to a God that is too busy causing natural disasters to pay them any mind.
“It comforts me,” she told me once when I asked her why she wanted to go to church.
A part of me was skeptical in taking Rosa at her word, but now that I’ve become familiar with the kind of woman I’m married to, I know she was telling me the truth. I haven’t gone to mass since that first time I took her, but every Sunday morning, I feel her absence in my apartment, knowing that’s where she is.
And the fact that I’m jealous of the time she devotes to her faith instead of me only shows how much she’s ruined me.
It comforts me.
Fuck.
Right now, comfort of any kind would be a blessing.
I walk through the large oak doors and pass the holy water, knowing that even if I bathed in it, it would never cleanse or absolve me of my sins. Two parishioners balk at the very sight of me, grabbing their crucifixes as if some beads could protect them from the devil walking in their midst. I pay them no heed and take a seat in a back pew, wondering if I have in fact lost my mind for being so desperate that I’ve decided to turn to God for aid. I stare at the figure hanging from the cross in front of me and wonder, if given the choice, would I willingly replace the shine of my gold crown for his thorned one?
It takes me a minute for me to realize that I already have.
I gave my life for the salvation of others by ending the Mafia Wars when I married Rosa.
And with that sacrifice, I’m now left to suffer a different kind of hell.
“Tiernan Kelly,” I hear someone call out my name. “The Lord must have heard my prayers to have you coming to church twice in as many months.”
“Do you make it a habit of praying for murderers, Father?” I ask, not sparing Father Doyle a glance, keeping my gaze fixed on the cross on the altar.
“I make it a point to pray for all lost souls, my son.”
“Hmm.”