Owning Salvatore Cross

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My best friend, Sarah, keeps asking why I haven't murdered my husband yet. I always tell her it is because I need to stay married to him for a year so that I can receive my five hundred million dollar payout.

How long have I been married to him that he has gotten on my nerves enough for me to contemplate murder? Two weeks. Two weeks since I sold my soul to the devil and learned to dance to the music only he plays.

My phone rang on the dresser, and my breath hitched. I reached for it, my heart beating wildly.

"Yes?"

"Your husband is at it again," came the publicist's voice. "He was spotted leaving a hotel with the model, Lisa Monrov, the face of the winter line he just launched. It's an absolute nightmare, especially with your wedding photos still on pages. What do you want to do?"

I closed my eyes, trying my hardest not to take the first flight to France and smash his head against the Eiffel itself. I remembered my dying father, the fashion design company that has been sitting without funds to become what I have envisioned for years.

"Let's go with no statement for now. I will wait till he comes back, and we can attend that stupid gallery opening and show a strong front."

She went quiet for a minute, then sighed. "I am not sure Madam Elizabeth would be thrilled by that, but I will wait."

I put the phone down and swallowed hard. A month ago, I was nothing but Madam Elizabeth's hired caretaker, doing a side job to save money after having to drop out of fashion school to take care of my father who was dying from cancer, the same thing that killed my mother ten years ago.

I remember how ecstatic I was when, three weeks ago, she told me she could pay for my father's treatment, even though she had explicitly stated that it came with strings. The least I had expected was that those strings would come in the form of being married to her only grandson, Salvatore Cross, CEO of the Cross empire and the biggest f*****g bastard I have ever seen in my life.

My phone started to ring again, and I brought it to my eyes. It was Madam Elizabeth. s**t.

"Hello, Ma'am?" I said, trying my hardest to sound steady despite the ache in my chest.

There was a brief silence and a slow clink of glasses on the other side.

"My dear Manon. You seem to be forgetting exactly why you and my grandson are married. "

I bit down on my lip. "How can I forget?"

"It is okay if you forget," she said, chuckling a little. "The doctor from Germany is awaiting my final signature so he can fly in. With your rather relaxed approach to the latest scandal, I am contemplating whether I should even sign."

I closed my eyes. "I can not control Salvatore, Madam. Believe me, I tried my best."

"Your best is not good enough," her voice dropped to that tone she used on the rare occasions when things did not go her way. "I called him. He will be returning tonight. Do something. A photoshoot, force him into bed with you. I am done watching the Cross name be clowned in circles of the elite that we could easily own with pure wealth."

Without waiting for me to say another word, she cut the call.

I gripped my phone so hard I thought I heard the glass c***k. Salvatore, you absolute bastard.

I looked down at the news article the publicist had forwarded to me. Salvatore was dressed in an all black ensemble, his lips parted in a small smile as he looked directly at the camera, like he had been waiting for it. The model was leaning towards him, his hand low on her waist.

I sat down there, my mind reeling with various options. I could go the traditional way, give some interviews, photoshoot, things people would see and move on, but deep down, I knew that alone wasn't enough for a man who was determined to watch me fail at taming him.

For a man like Salvatore, the only way to get them to listen was by matching their fire.

An idea slowly formed, and I looked down at my phone. Eleven a.m. He would be here from France by eight p.m. at the latest.

Fine. If all he wants to do is embarrass me, I will do it right back. Maybe then he will know exactly why he should stay right in his lane and exercise some f*****g patience till I can get my money.

I grabbed my phone again. Madam Elizabeth might kill me if she knows what I am about to do, but she doesn't have to know.

I dialed Sarah's number and waited, my chest heaving.

"Manon," she said, laughing. "I saw the news about your husband. He is really determined, isn't he? He looked like he was making sure to get photographed, almost like.."

"I know," I said, cutting her off. "I need a favour."

"Shoot. I have a shift in thirty minutes, so hurry up."

I closed my eyes. "The strip club you worked at three months ago. Do you know if they might have some male ones?"

"Male strippers?"

"Yes. I want at least five. Shredded, ripped, whatever. I want them at the mansion by seven. Do you think you can do that?"

She went quiet. "You are going crazy, aren't you?"

"Blame the man I married."

"Fine. I will get them to you, but count me out if this blows up. I will try to be discreet, however."

"I owe you. Thank you."

She cut the call and I sat there, seething. Fine. I guess we go crazy tonight.

At exactly twenty minutes past eight p.m., Salvatore's text came through.

"Just arrived. Would prefer an evening without the babysitter."

My jaw clenched. He always sent messages like that, starting from the very first night I had stayed in this house. It was his way of telling me he wanted me nowhere around. I always heeded it. After all, I wanted even less to do with him.

But tonight would be so different, and I couldn't wait.

I slipped into a dark red silk dress with an open back and a thigh-high slit, then went downstairs where the men were already waiting.

"Welcome, gentlemen!" I clapped my hands, getting them to turn to the stairs as I descended. "There is wine, there is music, there is a dance floor, and a pretty woman, so please, go on ahead."

They immediately cheered, and the sound systems went on with loud music. I sat on the largest sofa, my legs crossed, nursing a single glass of wine on my right hand.

They started to dance, and the clothes immediately started to come off. I watched them, my fingers tightening on the glass. Perfect bodies, but nothing close to the glimpse I had of Salvatore from the last scandal of him in a pool with that investor woman. If only he had the attitude to match his body.

By the time I heard the unmistakable sound of the gates opening, all five of them were only in underwear.

Perfect.

I downed a glass of wine and stood up, walking straight into their midst, a small laugh escaping me as one of them spun me around. Two came together and carried me on their shoulders, the wine and the music, and the incredible thrill of letting go of all expectations sang in my veins. It was addictive. Exhilarating.

The good girl I was one year ago would be surprised at this downward spiral. But I hardly cared. I hardly even remembered why I was doing this until the front door opened and the music suddenly cut off.

I turned, still resting on the joined shoulders of two of the hired men, my chest heaving. Salvatore was standing by the sound system, his right brow arched up. For a long minute, everything seemed to stop. The men slowly brought me down, and I straightened, standing on my own two feet now.

"Hi," I said, tilting my head innocently. "I didn't think you would be back so early."

Salvatore gave a small laugh, one that showed the diamond studded grill he always kept on his left canine. His eyes swept across the men, then back at me.

Without a word, he covered the distance to me, his hands clasped behind him.

The men moved till he was towering right above me, his sea green eyes filled with amusement and something darker, a little crazier.

"I see the babysitter has some nerve."

I swallowed hard. "Nerve? I could say the same for you since you were out there f*****g some model while I had to do damage control for you for the fourth time in two cursed weeks."

"As is my right," he said, tilting his head. "I am allowed to bend anyone I want regardless of what the babysitter thinks. What exactly gave you the right to bring strippers into my house?"

"Why can't I?" I doubled down, moving forward. "Is pleasure an inherently male desire?"

He gave a small, humourless laugh, then looked away. "Leave."

I didn't argue as the gigolos packed up and walked away. The silence was deafening as the door closed on the last of them.

Salvatore watched me like it was the first time. He took a step forward. "You wanted my attention, babysitter? Fine. You have all of my attention."