The Mafia's Racer Bride

Chapter 10

Kelsey Schmidt

I woke up without any noise outside the room again, though the raw terror of yesterday’s screaming had settled into a dull, familiar ache. When I heard Anthony shouting in his room yesterday, I had instinctively bolted back to my room like a trapped animal, the sound instantly dragging me straight back into the nightmare of my father's house that I hope I can forget.

I clearly remembered how I could practically hear Kennedy raging in his study just before his heavy, violent footsteps stomped right down the hall to slap my face or grab me by the hair by the roots, screaming that I was the reason my mother died. Every time he’s mad, he loves to make me remember that I killed my mom.

He loved hurting me just as much as he loved throwing my savings away at the casinos, always using me as a punching bag to punish me for things that I don’t even remember doing.

I was just a child.

I don't even possess a single picture of my mother. Kennedy stripped me of that basic right, hiding every trace of her face away just so he could look me in the eyes every single day and spit the cruelest words of all. That I was the killer who took her life.

“Good morning, Mrs. French,” Dulce greeted me with a warm, radiant smile as she put the final touches on our breakfast.

I keep telling her to just call me by my first name, but she always refuses. She insists on calling me Mrs. French, wrapping the title around me like a shield. Dulce always comes every morning to prepare breakfast and do the cleaning. Then she will come back to prepare lunch, then leave again. Then come back for dinner. I don’t want to ask, but I assume she also lives in this building, which is why she can come and go that easily.

“Morning, Dulce. Has Anthony come down yet?” I politely ask, keeping my hands neatly folded in front of me.

“Not yet, Mrs. French.”

“Thank you.” I offer a small smile and looked back toward the grand staircase.

He bought me a mountain of new clothes, shoes, and makeup yesterday, especially professional-grade foundation and concealer, which I’ve been using to carefully cover the purple bruises blooming across my skin. Most of those luxury paper bags are still sitting unopened inside my bedroom because it’s just so much. I haven't even touched half of it yet.

I was not expecting anything from him, but then I remembered that Anthony never forgot about my birthday. He always makes sure to send me an expensive gift. Most of his gifts ended up in the trash because my father hated Anthony so much.

Every time he found out that I had a gift from Anthony, he would throw it away. The only thing I kept was the customized helmet he gave me on my eighteenth birthday, which I left in my room in that house.

I hide it under my bathroom sink and make sure the cleaning lady in our house never finds it.

“Mrs. French, you should go call your husband,” Dulce says, flashing me another wide, encouraging smile.

She’s a naturally happy person. She’s old and short, radiating a bubbly, comforting warmth, and I find myself wishing I could have her personality everywhere I go.

I nodded obediently to Dulce and walked back upstairs. I wouldn't dare dream of starting to eat without him. It feels deeply disrespectful because this is his house, his food, and his protection. Plus, Dulce wants me to call Anthony down. I know how this works. I need Anthony's permission before I sit down to eat.

As I slowly walked down the quiet hallway toward his master suite, I noticed his study door was slightly ajar. I stop in my tracks and slowly peek inside. Anthony is sitting in his massive office chair, dressed impeccably in a formal three-piece suit, staring intently at the glowing computer screen in front of him.

“You can’t just take over a driver’s career, Mr. French. Kelsey is our number one driver. My team needs her. Right now, she’s number one on the ranking.”

My eyes flew wide open when I heard the familiar voice of my team principal, Gabe Turner, blasting through the speakers of the computer screen! Then it hits me. Anthony had mentioned that he was going to talk to Mercedes about rewriting my contract.

I never expected him to go straight to the top and confront my team principal head-on. Anthony could talk to the Mercedes management, but no, he did not. He went straight to the higher-ups.

“I am not taking over. I’m protecting her,” Anthony replies, his voice steady, cold, and utterly absolute. “She will miss Laguna Seca, and that’s final. I will fully compensate you for your financial loss, and the contract will be revised. I will make sure that she is going back after that.”

“Are you controlling her now?” Gabe’s voice spikes with serious frustration. “This is her career, Mr. French. I don’t know why you are doing this, but you can’t ruin a good driver’s career just because you have money! She has a good future in this car!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Turner. This is strictly for her sake. You can ask her yourself.” Then the line on his screen goes dead with a sharp click.

I am about to step backward and disappear when Anthony's dark eyes suddenly lock onto mine through the gap in the door. I swallow hard and force myself to stand up straight. He caught me red-handedly eavesdropping on his private business, something that would have earned me a harsh punishment back home. Is he going to be furious with me, like how my father would always react?

“Come in,” he calls out, his tone surprisingly calm. So I slowly pushed the heavy door open wider.

I walk slowly toward his desk, refusing to get too close. I maintain a safe, respectful distance from his table and instinctively wrap my arms tightly around my body.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to listen,” I rushed to explain, my voice trembling. “I’m just looking for you to ask if I can eat now.”

“What do you mean?” His thick brows furrow deeply into a harsh frown, making me swallow hard a second time.

No! Did I say something wrong? Is he going to hit me? Is Anthony going to throw me out on the street? No, my father will catch me and will bring me to New York.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you—”

Anthony immediately stands up, his abrupt movement making me step back instinctively. His frown deepens as he rounds the desk and steps closer to me. My feet turn to lead, and I freeze completely in place. If he’s going to hit me, he’s going to do it now, and I am trapped inside this luxury penthouse. I have nowhere left to run.

“Kelsey,” he calls my name carefully, stopping dead in his tracks just one foot away from me. “I’m just asking you... What do you mean by that?”

“I just want to know if I can eat breakfast now,” I almost whisper.

His jaw clenches tight, and I see a dark, complicated flash of emotion flare in his eyes. He looks furious, but I realize with a jolt that his anger isn't directed at me. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared. I stared down at the polished floorboards.

“I’m asking for your permission,” I murmur, keeping my gaze glued to the clean floor.

“You don’t need my permission to eat,” he growls softly, his voice thick with a quiet intensity. “Is that what your father taught you?”

I slowly lift my head to face Anthony. His expression remains a steady, stoic mask. He’s actually not scary at all, yet my deeply ingrained survival instincts still scream at me to protect myself after everything my father put me through. I refuse to be caught off guard again.

“Kelsey, you can have anything you want as long as you are my wife,” he says, his tone softening into a gravelly vow. “You never need my permission. All you ever have to do... is just tell me what you want.”