Chapter 38

Z A R A

Alejandro snakes his arms around my waist, "Mmm, it smells good. You're cooking?"

"Mhm," I answer.

"Special occasion?" He tucks his chin into the crook of my neck. I stop stirring the pasta and slightly turn my head. "It's Christmas, don't you celebrate?

"I do," he says. "It's just that I haven't spent Christmas with someone in years." I raise a brow. "I can hear the lie seeping through your teeth."

He raises a brow. "What makes you think I'm lying, my love?"

"Don't try to convince me that you didn't find someone to sleep around with every Christmas," I frown. He chuckles. "I mean, I haven't spent it with anyone important in years."

"Oh?" I act amused. I cover the pot with a lid and lower the gas on the stove so I can turn around and look at him. "I'm important? Since when?"

"Since I met you," he answers nonchalantly.

I roll my eyes. "You've also been a fabulous liar since I met you." He takes me by surprise by picking me up and sitting me down on the granite countertop so I'm almost the same height as him. I don't break eye contact, as he gazes at me with his usual lustful look.

"No," I say before he can even speak.

"No? No what?" He asks innocently.

"I'm not letting you rail me in the kitchen." I try to move out of his grasp with no luck.

"And what makes you think your 'no' will stop me?" He doesn't let me answer before pushing me against the granite as he kisses me. "Mine," he whispers into my ear as his hand gropes my breast under my shirt.

"Alejandro..." I say breathlessly. I hate how quickly my body betrays me when it comes to him. "The f-food..." He groans, turning around to switch it off. He doesn't let me protest, kissing me deeper and deeper. Quickly, both our clothes are off and I'm naked against the cold, stone counter.

"I hate you...for this," I mumble in between the kisses. "Good, it's good that you hate me," he says as he kisses down my neck. "Nothing good will come from loving me."

For once, I agree with him. He'll only destroy me further if I attach myself to him emotionally and if I truly start to depend on him. And I won't, I won't depend on him to love me, or care for me, or respect me, none of it. In a sense, we're enemies with benefits. Though this will only end in flames either for me or for the both of us, however, I don't care. I'm past the point of caring, I'm past the point of wanting my fairytale ending, and I'm past the point of holding onto any form of hope.

"Be a good girl for me," Alejandro's lips brushes against the tip of my ear as he aligns himself against my fold. This is who I am now, the wife of the Capo, Alejandro Genovese. I will play my role as his perfect wife in the public eye, we will have sex as marital partners should, I may even give him offspring if he desires so, and I will stay out of trouble. That's all I am, that is all I've been reduced to and I've accepted that there's no other life for me.

• • •

"You tainted my kitchen," I pout. "And now, you're forcing me to take a bath with you." I'm sitting against Alejandro's chest in the large tub. His legs are encasing around me and his arms are wrapped around my waist.

"Only I? That's a bit selfish. I'm almost certain that you were the other individual tainting the kitchen with me," he says with amusement in his tone. "I asked if we could move to the living room and you said no, so it was you. I also asked if I could take a shower alone and you said no."

"We're saving water," he says.

"'We're saving water," I repeat in a mocking tone. He swiftly places his hand in between my legs, making me jump. "Is that an attitude, my love?"

"No," I answer quickly, trying to relax my tense muscles. After minutes of peaceful quietness, I decide to ruin it because that is who I am. I love having a constant death wish.

"Alejandro..." I say his name almost like a whisper. I draw circles on his wrist out of nervousness.

"Mhm?"

"Do you... do you love me?

• • •

A L E J A N D R O

"Love you?" I raise a brow. The questions take me by surprise.

"Yes," she says.

"Hm... that's an interesting question." I ponder on the question a bit further.

Do I love her? What is love even? I know I'm addicted to her, an addiction so strong that I'm not sure what it is. Am I mistaking a form of hate for caring about her? Maybe I loathe her entire existence because of the lack of control I have over myself when it comes to her. Do I dream of gripping her throat so tight, watching the life leave her eyes? Or do I dream of holding her in my arms, watching her blissfully fall asleep? To me, it doesn't matter if I loathe her or love her or I just simply lust after her because, at the end of the day, she is mine and mine only. But if anyone looks at her the wrong way, I will show him no mercy nor any lenience. If anyone were to threaten her mere existence, it can be no one but me.

Yet I cannot seem to trust her wholeheartedly because women cannot be trusted. They are mere tools in life to use for sex, children, or perhaps even status, but they're indecisive and unloyal. They will leave as easily as they enter into your lives, they are manipulative and cunning. They use their appeal to snake into your life, create an attachment and snip it off as if it never meant anything. Zara will run the next time she finds a way to escape this living Hell that I made just for her, she'll leave me and I'd hate her more than I can fathom.

I intertwine our fingers together, leaning my head into the curve of her neck, "What if I told you I hate you? I loathe you?"

"I'd believe it," she answers.

"What if I told you it's just an addiction?" I continue. "I'm only addicted to you?"

"I'd believe it," she answers again.

"What if I told you it's only lust?"

"I'd believe that too."

"And what if I admit that I love you?" My question makes her flinch ever so slightly.

"I'd be reluctant to believe it," she says truthfully.

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Because you don't treat me the way someone in love would treat their partner," her voice is much more hushed.

"Then, what do you think it is, if not love?" Her muscles tense up at the question. I want to know where she stands in this relationship, and what she thinks she'll get out of us.

"Loathing with a mixture of lust and addiction." Her answer hits the target.

"Seems like you already knew the answer to the question, then why ask?"

"I wanted to hear what you had to say before I made a decision," her tone turns slightly grim.

"Decision?" I ask in confusion.

"To leave." My grip on her hands tightens involuntarily as anger rises through my veins. "Leave?"

• • •

Z A R A

I shouldn't be disappointed. It was obvious that he didn't love me yet I wanted him to lie to let my soul rest. Loathing, huh? He hates me for reasons unknown but wasn't it obvious from the way he treated me? Then, why am I so surprised when he technically admits it? I feel his hold on my hands gets tighter, I know I hit a nerve when I mentioned leaving. Yet, that doesn't scare me, I want to push him, I want to push him over the edge to see how much he really hates me. I want to see how far he'd go to hurt me again. I want to know what kind of joy he feels from seeing me fall apart. Have I turned into a masochist? Only time will tell.

"Yes, leave to go finish up in the kitchen," I continue. "My fingers are all pruney, so bathtime is over. Your rubber ducky has to go finish cooking the pasta and check up on the cookies." I crack a joke to lighten the mood.

"Just a minute more," he whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder. He confuses me when he does things like this because is this the lust and addiction speaking? How can you hate me and still be addicted to—wait, is that how I am? I want to push him off of the balcony yet I can't get enough of his touch. I want to run far away from him but I don't think I'll survive long enough being apart from him. It's such strong contradicting emotions that slowly drive me towards insanity if I've not already reached that level of madness.

"Just a minute, then," I agree, sinking back into his arms. He's messed up my mentality, I can't tell right from wrong anymore. And even if I can, I don't care. I should care, I need to care but I don't because I've accepted my defeat, I've accepted that life won't get any better than this. I've accepted that I'm broken and only Alejandro holds the pieces that can put me back together if it's even possible to become whole again.

Alejandro and I, we are not meant to be. We are from two different worlds, raised in two different environments. We will tear each other into pieces trying to fit together yet, somehow, he is the one for me and I for him. This can't possibly end well for either of us, can it?

• • •

Y A S M E E N

"Your home is surprisingly clean," I grin as I dangle my feet off of the edge of the barstool. Marcus rolls his eyes as he turns on the stove. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, I need company. It's Christmas and everything's close. Zara is busy with her husband and I'm dying of hunger and boredom, please save me." I pout.

"So, I'm the last option?" He raises a brow.

"No, you were the first option. Zara was my second option in case you didn't let me in." I giggle.

"I shouldn't have answered the door, then," he states.

"Don't be mean!" I frown. "I know you wanted my company, admit it. I bring the party with me."

"There's nothing to eat, will noodles do okay?" He ignores my comment and asks.

I raise a brow. "You live in one of the most expensive apartments in the city and you don't have anything else?"

"Yes or no?" Irritation is slipping into his tone. "Let me see what you have in your fridge first," I say, getting up to check.

He steps aside, sighing in annoyance. I look through his fridge and see that it's actually full of nutritious ingredients that I can use to make us something better than noodles. I have some things I can bring from my own home to complete it.

"How does málà huǒguō [Sichuan hotpot] sound for lunch?" I grin. His eyes widen enough for me to catch the expression of him being shocked. "You know how to make it?"

"Yes, of course!" I smile. "I'll be right back with an extra few things from home! Don't lock the door on me."

• • •

An hour and a half later, I finished setting up the table with various vegetables, thinly sliced beef, shrimp, egg dumplings, and dipping sauce around the sizzling hotpot.

"Tada!" I say excitedly as I reveal the final product to him. "It can't get any more traditional than this."

Marcus looks thoroughly impressed as he takes a seat at the larger table. I add some of the vegetables into the boiling spicy soup base. Marcus grabs a slice of beef using his chopsticks and dips it into the soup to puts it in his mouth.

I patiently wait for his reaction and see his face light up without him having to change his expression. "This is... delicious."

"Of course, it would be. It's my mother's favorite recipe that she learned from grandma," I mention proudly. "If we had more ingredients, I could've whipped up xiao long bao [soup dumplings], baozi [steamed bun], dòu shā bāo [red bean bun], the choices are endless."

"Your mother taught you all of this?" Marcus sounds impressed, as he should be.

I nod. "She did. She didn't want me to lose my ethnic roots so she made sure to immerse me into both the Chinese culture and Hungarian. I know how to cook many Hungarian dishes as well. Plus, Zara's mom taught me tons of South Asian dishes, so I know those too."

"Hungarian?" H sounds surprised.

"My dad's Hungarian," I clarify.

"Huh... I would've never guessed."

"Yeah, I look more Asian than European."

I babble on about stories from my past from when Zara and I were in school while Marcus listens—or at least, I'm assuming that he's listening. I didn't even realize as I was talking, that Marcus was cooking the beef and veggies in the hotpot for me and placing them on my plate.

Every inch in my body wanted to point out what he was doing but if I do that, he'll stop doing it and I don't want that either. So, I keep talking, letting him continue placing food on my plate as well.

"And then, I basically tripped the dumb bitch, which broke her nose, by the way. I also made sure to go a step further by getting her suspended. She should've known not to make snarky comments about my best friend because I don't show mercy when it comes bitches."

He chuckles ever so slightly. "You're ruthless."

"There's nothing wrong with being ruthless. The world can be cruel so I have to be cruel back sometimes." I shrug my shoulders.

We talk some more as we clean up the table and kitchen—and by we, I mean I do all the talking.

"Say, Marcus... Do you want to have dinner with me on the 28th?" I ask boldly.

"For what reason?" He looks at me suspiciously. "Do I need to give you a reason? Can't we just have dinner together? Besides, you look like you haven't had fun since you were born," I laugh. "I'll cook more Chinese dishes! Let me know your favorites and I'll take care of the rest. I'll make Hungarian desserts too!"

"Okay," he answers.

"Awe, please—" I pause as I process what he just said. "Wait, did you just say yes?"

He takes a few steps closer to me as he places both his hands on either side of the stone, trapping me in between him and the counter while leaving only an inch of a gap between us. He looks down at me, his gaze is unfazed by how close he's standing. "Don't make me revert my decision," his tone is steady yet I'm falling apart.

"I w-won't..." my words stutter. "I'm just surprised that I didn't have to do any convincing." My eyes turn away to look down at the cleaning cloth I was using on the counter. He places a finger under my chin, lifting it so our eyes would meet. My breathing has very obviously quickened, leaving me feeling all sorts of needy. He hasn't looked away and neither is he letting me look away. If the counter wasn't behind me, I would've fallen to the ground by now.

"Yasmeen," his tone is low, hoarse. He leans further down, his face closer than it's ever been.

I lift up my hand, touching his cheek ever so slightly. Say it. What do you want to say? Please, say it. Suddenly, it's as if something breaks him out of the trance, he takes a couple of steps back. I take in a deep breath because I swear I wasn't breathing for a couple of minutes, too afraid I would've ruined the moment.

"I'll take care of the rest. You can go back to your apartment," he says without looking at me. I silently think about it for a moment but reluctantly agree. I didn't even have a sneaky comment to make before leaving because I'm so... out of it. "Okay, have a great night, Marcus."

"Hm," he answers back.

Once I get back to my apartment, I shut the door and drop to the floor, gasping. "Oh my, that made my kitty throb." I burst into laughter because I couldn't believe what the hell just happened. "They weren't wrong when they said a way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Maybe I should've pulled out my culinary skills a bit earlier."

I sit on the ground, replaying the moment over and over again until my brain thought it might explode from feeling flustered. Maybe we do have a chance, just maybe.

• • •

Z A R A

"Do you know how Frank is?" I ask Charlotte. "I haven't heard from him since he was switched to a different place."

Charlotte's smile drops as she shakes her head. "I haven't heard from him in weeks." Her voice drops, "He didn't even tell me he was being transferred."

"I don't want to be nosey, I swear. You can always not answer and I'll pretend this never happened but, I was just wondering what kind of a relationship you have with Frank? Or maybe, had?" I ask. Charlotte's silent for a bit and I quickly say, "It's okay. You don't have to say a word. I'm so sorry I asked. I didn't m—"

"It's alright, Ma'am. Frank and I... it's complicated, yet it's not," she sighs. "I... I'm... I fell in love with him years ago while we were still friends and then, we had a one-night stand that practically ruined our friendship. I wanted something more, a real relationship while he didn't want anything to do with me." She begins to pick at her nails to cope. "The funny thing is I tried so hard to move on by seeing other people, going on dates, and even sleeping with other men but even after all this time, he's still the one I'm in love with."

"Oh... I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry." I give her a hug. In a way, maybe Frank's a little rude to her so she would stop loving him. But poor Charlotte can't control how she feels either. This is such a lose-lose situation. "Maybe you just haven't met the certain someone who will sweep you off your feet yet. I'm sure you'll find your special someone, I have faith."

"Thank you," Charlotte says quietly, sniffling a little. "Charlotte, I have another question," I start carefully. She nods for me to continue. "Alejandro seems a bit more stressed than usual since after Christmas, is everything okay?"

"There are rumors that Mr. Gambino's nephew is causing problems," she explains. "The Bosses are under high alert because the man seems to be a little unpredictable. Though I'm not sure where Frank is, I think he was transferred somewhere that's dealing with the problem." I have had this unsettling feeling ever since I encountered Philip. I have felt restless and anxious for the last couple of days. I've texted Yasmeen about this and she told me to relax; that no matter how much of an ass Alejandro is, he would never let anything happen to me. But for some reason, that's not what I'm worried about. I'm not worried about myself, I'm not worried about getting hurt or getting shot dead. It's just that I'm just worried overall if that makes sense.

Things between Alejandro and I are quiet and serene. His touch hasn't made me flinch, he hasn't brought me to tears, he's been treating me... well. If this is what the rest of my life with him will look like starting now, I'll take it in a heartbeat. But something's not right, it almost feels like the calm before a storm. Or maybe, just maybe I'm overthinking this because I haven't felt peace in so long and I want to desperately cling to any form of tranquillity that this life provides.

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