A Dying Grandpa
1445 Words
She struggled against his hold, but it was futile. The man dragged her back in easily.
“Hey! Hey! Let me go! This is harassment! I'm a lady. You do not get to do this to me!” she raised her tray, ready to knock him on the head with it, but before it could meet the target, it was deftly wrenched away from her.
“Hey. Please...” Her voice now quivered in fear.
The men at the table had stood up, leaving the seats vacant.
They bowed to the man holding her. “Boss.”
The boss sat at one of the seats and pushed her towards one of the other seats.
“We didn't know you were coming, sir. Marvel was feeling sick so we decided to take a breather.”
But the man didn't reply. His gaze was pinned on Victoria.
“What'd she do, sir?”
The man finally spoke. “Stole.”
Victoria's stomach tightened, but she refused to show it.“That's a lie! That is defamation of character! You wanna get sued?!”
His eyes raked over her lazily, as if she really wasn't worth the bother. “You sure about that, Miss Victoria?”
A cold spell washed over her, and her throat clamped shut. She managed a tiny whisper, “How do you know my name?”
One of the other men replied, “Your name tag, f*****g dumbass.”
“Oh.”
The man was still staring at her, and if she wasn't backed into a corner, she could confidently say he was one of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen.
He was the kind of man who didn’t just walk into a room—he owned it. Broad-shouldered beneath the fine cut of his suit, his presence was both magnetic and intimidating.
His features were carved in striking lines: a strong jaw, and lips set in a permanent, unreadable curve. His hair was thick and midnight-dark, styled in that I just got out of bed way.
The only strange thing was his eyes. They were dark, almost black, and looked cold and detached, as if they didn't belong to a human being, as if they belonged to an animal. A predator or something.
He looked like a fictional character from a dark romance novel.
“Is she trying to drill holes into your head or what?”
“Miss Victoria, if you'd be so kind as to join us back here on earth.”
Victoria blinked and was mortified to realise that she'd been staring at him all along.
“I'm sorry. I—”
He stared silently at her. “You amuse me. The money you stole?”
Behind her, someone c****d what sounded like a gun, and she almost pissed her pants. Sweat prickled the back of her neck.
How had he seen her, she wondered? He must have been at the entrance while she took the money, watching her the entire time.
“I didn’t.... I didn't steal any money.”
“My men are not patient, Miss Victoria. Believe me, they are ready to blow your brains out right now if they have to. So for your sake and mine— cause I wouldn't like to deal with any blood splatters so early in the afternoon— bring out the money and you may leave.”
Victoria imagined the picture he had painted and decided she didn't like it.
Hands shaking, she reached for the money and placed it in front of him.
Utter silence. Then: “You may have it.”
She did a double-take at him. “What?”
He lit a cigar, inhaled, and blew out smoke before he replied: “You may have it.”
She blinked at him, baffled. Was he serious—or had that cigar fried a few of his brain cells?
She shook her head. “I don't want it.”
“Stealing has consequences.” His voice was cool, detached.
She shot back, “I gave it back. You’ve got nothing on me. Your charges won't stick.”
“Oh, believe me, I can make it stick, Miss Victoria. Harder than you can imagine.”
She didn't doubt him one bit. He looked like the type who could make anything happen.
Just then, something vibrated in her pocket. Her phone. It was a message from the hospital. Her father had had a relapse and a deposit needed to be made for an emergency surgery.
She reached for the money on the table, but before her head could make contact with it, the man stopped her.
“You may have it on one condition.”
Of course, she should have known. There was always a condition.
“No, thank you,” she said before he spoke any further. “I don't want to sleep with you.”
“And I can assure you that I don't want to sleep with you, either, Miss Victoria.”
“Then what do you want?” she asked.
“For you to be my wife.”
“WHAT?!” She bellowed, half out of her seat. And if it wasn't for the presence of the many guns around her, she would have asked if he'd gone stark raving mad. But she made sure her stare revealed to him that she thought he might have just escaped a psychiatric ward.
His voice tight and commanding, brooking no space for opposition, whipped at her like a lash. “Keep quiet and listen.”
When she sat back down, he went on,
“I want a wife in name only. You have no obligations towards me. No obligations, no responsibilities.” Silence. “What do you say, Miss Victoria. It's a win-win for us both. You'll have all your needs met, and I'll have a wife.”
“That's insane. You don't just propose to women you've just met.”
“No,” he replied, blowing smoke. “Only to women who steal from me.”
She blinked hard. God. She couldn't believe she was considering this. But her father...
“What do you do for a living?”
“I own a conglomerate.”
“Any hobbies or activities wrapped in red flags?”
“No.”
“Why do you need a wife so badly, Mister....?”
“Giovanni Caruso.”
Ahh, Italian. No wonder the ruthlessness and striking beauty. The name fitted him perfectly.
She nodded. “Mr Giovanni Caruso. Why do you need a wife?”
“My grandfather would like to see me marry before he dies.”
“No s****l activities between us?”
“It would be a marriage in name only, Miss Victoria.”
“You should do it,” something said within her.
“No, you shouldn't,” another thing countered.
“You really should,” said the first thing. “This is your way out of misery and poverty. You could complete college and get your degree.”
“Only a w***e would do that. Don't do it. You’re not a whore.”
“Why is she glancing from shoulder to shoulder?” one of the men in the room asked, bewildered.
“I believe Miss Victoria is having a deep conversation with herself.”
Giovanni's voice brought her back to earth. He sounded amused. He looked amused.
Her chest tightened. College. Rent. Survival. They all lined up like bars of a cage around her. If she said no, she’d drown in debt and be thrown onto the streets. If she said yes… what would she lose? Her pride? Her freedom? Herself?
She swallowed hard. “I’m in.” The words tasted like defeat—but also like oxygen filling her lungs for the first time in weeks. She was tired of barely surviving, tired of her father being constantly on the brink of death due to a lack of good health care which money could buy.
“Good,” Giovanni pronounced and uncrossed his long legs from each other and snubbed out his cigar on the ashtray.
He took out his phone, typed something and turned to her, “My lawyer is drawing the agreement papers up.”
“So, can I leave and come back later?”
A firm hand pressed down on her shoulder from behind. “No. Sit down.”
She sat down. “Okay.”
Minutes later, Giovanni's phone chimed and he opened it.
“Our contract is ready,” he pulled out a pen from the side of his phone and extended it to her. “Your call, Miss Victoria.”
Before she could take the pen, her phone rang again.
- Writer
