SWNOVELS Devil’s Lily: Chapter 12
Something bad must have happened back home, because Maximo’s whole demeanor changes after that phone call. I’ve never seen anyone switch from passionate to deadly so fast. Before I can process the change, I’m being rushed off the bed into my clothes, then bundled out of the hotel suite and straight towards the elevators. When we hit the basement garage, the SUVs are running and his men are already inside.
Throughout the ride to the airport, Maximo is glued to his phone, firing off rapid-fire Italian that sounds like a storm of thunder. I don’t understand Italian, so I just rest my head against the window and watch the city blur into a kaleidoscope of colors as we race back through the desert to the airstrip.
But just as I start to lose myself in the scenery, a slight shift shoots a throb of awareness through my core, and suddenly I’m drowning in memories of his hands, his mouth, the way he—
Stop it. I cross my legs tightly, as if I can physically contain the rush of heat those thoughts bring. We almost had sex.
Almost.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. I’m not a virgin anymore, not really—not after what he did. The worst part is, once the pain faded, I loved it. Every single second.
What kind of person does that make me? Getting turned on by the man who ruthlessly threatened my family to force me into marriage, who demanded I have sex with him? My stomach twists with guilt as I remember how I moved against him. I’d told myself I’d lie as still as possible, not show him any reaction. But his touch had burned away all my resistance, and I lost myself completely in pleasure. Too much pleasure.
Ugh… why couldn’t I hold it together? The memory of those shameless little moans makes me want to sink through the car floor.
I peek at him from under my lashes. He’s still yelling on the phone. The thunderous expression on his face promises hell for whoever’s on the other end. Just watching him makes my pulse quicken—and not entirely from fear. And that, that’s what makes him truly dangerous. More dangerous than I thought.
We reach the airstrip in record time. The jet engines are already roaring, fans whirring, as we pile out of the SUV. The drivers stay behind and wave us off as we board, and within moments of strapping in, the plane is speeding down the runway and into the sky.
Once we’re airborne, Maximo disappears into the meeting room, leaving me to my own devices. I retreat to the back cabin bedroom—same one I woke up in just a few hours ago. Hours… Has it only been hours? So much has changed since then, I feel like a different person.
In a way, I am a different person.
The old Elira died somewhere between “I do” and Maximo’s hands on her body.
I need to escape this memory. The ensuite bathroom calls to me, so I make my way there to take a quick shower. Under the hot spray, I wash my shoulders, then my arms, and let the water cascade over my chest and stomach before scrubbing my soapy hands between my thighs, but I’m relatively clean there. My face heats as I recall exactly how it got this way after all the bodily fluids expended. His tongue… No. Stop. I scrub harder, as if I can rinse him out of my very skin.
Post-shower presents a wardrobe crisis. Wear my old, now dirty clothes again or the clean ones that clearly belong to Maximo that I find in the small closet. After a mental debate that feels endless, I take out a dark shirt and dress pants. I sniff them first. No scent of him—just soap, so at least I won’t have to smell him on me.
Okay. I can pretend I’m not wearing my enemy’s clothes.
Swallowing my pride, I slip the shirt on without my bra. It swallows me whole, hanging to mid-thigh but thick enough to hide my nipples. I fold my bra and ruined panties together, stuffing them under my sweatshirt and jeans, then pull the dress pants on. I have to get creative with one of his ties through the belt loops for them to stay up, but eventually, I make it work.
Finally, I tackle my hair—which is a matted mess. With no products available, I wage war against the tangles with my fingers until I can wrangle it into another ponytail.
All set…
But I stall, dreading going back out there and facing him again. The searing anger might have faded—for now—but the heat of resentment still simmers. I’m still here against my will. And he did threaten to—to—I can’t even think about it without getting riled up, so I push it out of my head. What’s the point of getting angry when I’m so helpless? I’ll just bide my time and wait.
A sharp knock on the door pulls me out of my musing, and my eyes narrow on it. What now? It can’t be Maximo. He’s arrogant enough to barge right in, no checking if I’m dressed or not.
Sure enough, a voice that’s not his comes through from the other side. “Mrs. Leonotti, are you in there?”
My heart jolts as the realization that I’m Mrs. Leonotti now sinks in, and I gape at the door like it just revealed a terrible secret. When the knock sounds again, I finally pull myself together and go to answer.
Bodyguard 1 from the park stands there, holding a tray of food and water. He raises the tray with a hesitant look in his eyes. “The boss asked me to bring this to you. Said you must be starving.”
Oh, so now he’s worried I’ll what? Starve to death before the plane lands? I glance over Bodyguard 1’s shoulder, but I can’t see past the hallway to the door of the meeting room.
What’s his deal?
He can’t exactly have sex with you if you starve to death. The bitter thought creeps through my head and brings me sharply back to reality. I scowl as I step back. I can’t believe for an instant I thought he might actually be worried about me. How laughable.
I need to remember who my new husband really is. Maximo Leonotti, Don of the Queens Cosa Nostra, isn’t feared for his thoughtfulness but for his ruthlessness.
He crushes anyone he sees as an enemy without hesitation, showing no mercy. And right now, that enemy is my family—and by extension, me.
So yeah, no matter what title I wear now, this marriage means nothing. Even if I’m not just a tool for him to use against my father, the reality that he kidnapped and threatened me to marry him is more than enough strikes against him. Fool me once, and all that.
“Mrs. Leonotti?”
I blink at the man still standing in front of me. “You can tell the boss that I’m not hungry,” I say coolly, just as my stomach decides to betray me with an audible growl. Mortified, I slam the door in his face before he can respond. Damn traitorous stomach. Traitorous body. It keeps betraying me today in new and humiliating ways.
I crawl into the big bed, curling into myself as my stomach protests again. Besides, I can’t trust whatever food he offers me. What if it’s laced with more sedatives? Not that he needs to drug me anymore. He already got what he wanted. Marriage, submission, my vir—
The door crashes open with enough force to make me jump. Maximo fills the doorway like an angry storm cloud, food tray in hand.
Yup. Arrogant asshole. “Can’t knock?” I snap, gaze fixed on him as he approaches the bed.
He doesn’t say a word as he places the tray on the nightstand next to me, just scowls at me as if I somehow forced him to come here. Then he stalks back out, slamming the door behind him. I stare at the closed door in confusion. What the hell was that about? What does he care if I reject the food or not?
I’m not going to eat it, I think stubbornly, turning my back to the nightstand.
I won’t. I absolutely won’t.
But in less than thirty minutes, I find myself dragging the food tray into my lap and practically inhaling the food. As I gulp down the water, I remember I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast—was that even today or yesterday? I have no idea what time it is, or even what day we’re in.
Shit, Atë must be going crazy with worry by now.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I flop back down on the bed. When we get to wherever we’re going, I’ll try to convince Maximo again to let me call him. Just to let him know I’m fine. He doesn’t have to know where I am or who I’m with.
Exhaustion hits suddenly, and I burrow under the blankets, the events of this long-ass day finally catching up to me.
I’ll just lie back and close my eyes for a bit…
I wake up to a strange sense of weightlessness, like I’m floating. My arms flail out, searching for something to grab onto until they clamp down on warm, muscular flesh. My eyes snap open, and the first thing I see is Maximo’s hard jaw above me, barking out an order to one of his men as he carries me down the jet’s stairs. He adjusts me in his arms, cradling me closer, and my hands instinctively tighten around his neck.
So, we’re finally here. Wherever here is.
“Are we back in New York?” My voice comes out scratchy from sleep, and I have to clear my throat.
“Yes.” His response is curt, distracted, as his sharp gaze scans our surroundings, like he’s expecting someone to leap from the shadows to attack at any moment. He carries me towards one SUV and slides inside with me still in his arms. For a fleeting moment, I let myself sink into his warmth.
Then the memories flood back in, and I scramble out of his hold, almost falling on my ass in the process. His sardonic brow lift only fuels my embarrassment, but he’s already back to his phone, dismissing me as easily as breathing.
“When will I get my purse back?” I ask him for what feels like the umpteenth time, but really, it’s only the second. “My phone and other stuff are in there.”
“When I’m sure you won’t reach out to your father as soon as you get it,” he answers without hesitation.
“But I could just call him once to let him know I’m alright! I don’t mind doing it in your presence if you’re worried I might spill something. Please, Maximo.” I can’t shake the nagging feeling that the longer Atë goes without news from me, the higher the chances of his blood pressure going up.
He glances up from his phone to give me a weird look that makes me shift self-consciously. After a long, loaded moment, he returns to his screen. “I’ll think about it.”
It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no either. I’ll take it. For now. But the first chance I get, I’m contacting my father—with or without his permission.
As the last remnants of sleep clear, I gaze out at the city whizzing by. A wave of nostalgia washes over me, bringing back the thrill of my birthday just a few days ago. I just turned twenty–one, but right now, I feel so much older.