Note from the Author 13 page

The evening started off well enough. He hadn’t told her where they were going, and Eden hadn’t bothered to ask. But she figured they were probably headed out to eat, and given Dominic’s pension for fancy restaurants, she dressed accordingly. The dark rinsed jeans and sleeveless blouse she’d opted for were a far cry from the overtly extravagant dresses she’d worn all the other times they’d gone out. The only thing remotely fancy about the outfit was the pair of opened toe three inch heels adorning her newly pedicured feet. She’d kept her layered locks down so that it just barely skimmed her shoulders, having grown a few inches in the last few months. A gold statement necklace hung around her neck, stopping just about her navel, while a thin gold bracelet adorned her left wrist. It was simple, casual, and comfortable and because he hadn’t outright opposed when he’d seen her, Eden had figured it was okay.

Their mode of transportation was another black, sleek vehicle that was as magnificently powerful as its owner, which he handled with fluid control. With the atmosphere in the car rife with pervasive tension, the conversation was strictly lacking, but that was altogether fine with Eden because she wasn’t sure if she would’ve tripped over her tongue if she’d made the attempt to speak. She was incredibly nervous for some undefined reason, and that nervousness only heightened when they finally arrived at their destination. He was at her door before she could open it, and as Eden descended from the car, he set a hand at her hip to draw her effortlessly closer to his muscular frame. “You look beautiful.” His radiating breath smelled like cinnamon as it grazed along her ear.

“Thank you,” Eden managed, though inside she was all frantic heart and fractured nerves. She exalted in her outward composure. But with every step they took towards the small Italian bistro, Eden found it difficult to sustain that composure as she grew disturbingly cognizant of his proximity and the familiar sent of his cologne. It didn’t help that he maintained a leading, decisive hand on the small of her back, low enough that he was practically touching the top of her butt.

The maître d’ greeted him warmly as though he were an old friend before signaling the hostess, who led them to their seats. Looking around at the modest setting, with its low slung lights at every small square table and off beat art adorning the stucco walls, Eden was wholly surprised. This wasn’t the sort of place she would’ve ever associated with Dominic who was the quintessence of ostentatious. This place seemed far too rustic for him. And maybe the surprise showed on her face as his mouth turned upwards in semblance of a smile. “This is one of my favorite restaurants,” he quietly informed in a manner that was completely unlike him. “The food is spectacular.”

“How did you find it?” Before he could respond, menus were offered and their waiter made an inquiry about beverages. He requested a bottle of wine, vintage naturally, while Eden asked for a glass of water with a lemon wedge. Again she was surprised to find that he’d actually allowed her to order her own drink rather than do it for her as he’d done on so many prior occasions.

“Mr. Armstrong, it is always a pleasure to have you dine at our establishment.” The man standing at their side was big in girth and height and looked slightly familiar, but Eden could not immediately place him. He wore a chef’s uniform complete with hat and a genuine smile he bestowed on Dominic, who stood to greet him, taking his hand in a firm handshake. When he looked at Eden his brown eyes widened in his weathered face. “Mrs. Armstrong, what a lovely surprise.” Though Eden shook his hand with a warm smile, she was lost as to who he was.

“Franklin was our chef,” Dominic smoothly imparted, coming to her rescue. “He has since opened up this bistro.”

“Oh, yes, Franklin,” she said weakly, reddening when the man gave her an understanding smile. “It’s good to see you. Congratulations on the restaurant.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong. I could not have done it without Mr. Armstrong’s generous contribution. He is the reason I even have this place.”

When they both glanced at Dominic, he simply shrugged but remained resolutely silent on the matter. Taking that as signal to get on with it, Franklin cleared his throat and produced an infallible smile. “I will personally see to your meals. The usual for you, sir?”

At Dominic’s nod, he turned to Eden. “And you, Mrs. Armstrong, the wild mushroom risotto?” Ah yes, Eden remembered him now. He’d made the most mouthwatering risotto. At her assent, he left their company and returned to the kitchen to whip up their meals.

“You helped him with his business?” Eden asked a few minutes later.

“Nothing so philanthropic. If anything I am exploiting his culinary skills for my gain.”

Eden assessed him, tilting her head just so to see if she could peer beyond the austerity he wore so well. “Why is it so important for you to have me see you as nothing more than an asshole?”

“Because that is all there is,” he drawled with that self-deprecating air that was not at all like him. “I do not know how to be anything else.”

“But you’re different when you’re with Liam. You’re...kinder.” A soft smile touched his lips, chasing away for a second the webs of stoicism and aloofness.

“He has become an unexpected surprise,” he quietly confessed, the soft smile remaining. “A pleasant one nevertheless. I did not realize I would enjoy having him so much. It is impossible for me to be anything but kind when I am with him.”

But it seemed he could not extend that same kindness when it came to her. Eden convinced herself that she was okay with it and that it no longer mattered. It would all be over soon enough.

“He likes being with you,” she returned, taking a long sip of her water to allay the lump in her throat.

“Yes,” he assented, anchoring her gaze with his own, “but one cannot say the same about his mother.”

Eden was saved from saying anything else as the first of their three course meal arrived. It was an appetizer of six diagonally cut baguettes topped with tomatoes, basil and parmesan cheese that had just a light splash of vinaigrette dressing. The second course did not take long in coming and too soon they were both immersed in their meal, any conversation thereafter was kept strictly on the subject of Liam. Dessert was an outrageously decadent tiramisu that Eden greedily polished off and etiquette alone kept her from licking her plate clean. Franklin came out some time later to bid them farewell, and though he strictly refused to take any sort of payment for the meal, Dominic left a rather substantial tip on the table. Enough to cover their meal twice over and still leave more than enough for their waiter.

Eden was finding it difficult to reconcile the image of this Dominic, the one who quietly aided a man to start up his business and left exorbitant amounts in tips and spoke so easily about his son, to the hardened, imperious, and manipulative man that she’d known for so long. She didn’t understand how someone could be such an open enigma. But that was exactly how Eden saw him. She’d formed an opinion of him long ago based on her experiences and she’d been content to believe in that opinion as true, until now. It was the mystery of him that piqued her unfailing curiosity and try as she might, she could not abandon the idea that there was much more to him than what he chose to display to her and the rest of the world.

The night was still young when they left the restaurant, and it seemed he had means to take full advantage as he led her to his next planned destination. Eden did not know what she’d expected and really anything was possible where Dominic was concerned, but driving through the worst part of the city was certainly not it. South Rochester was considered bad, but Green Hill, a byword for urban decay, was something else entirely. Entering Green Hill was like a descent into hell. In comparisons to the splendor that was Langston, with its lush greenery, well-kept edifices and clean sidewalks, Green Hill was a stark and bleak city of graffiti, broken liquor bottles, and trash at every corner made worse by its mentally broken inhabitants and negligent officials. It seemed like the scourge of society had been gathered at some point and dropped off in this failing city to make do with whatever little the government deigned to bestow. It made for a disturbing sight where shady men loitered at every corner and women of dubious profession set up shop. Eden warily glanced in Dominic’s direction to find him staring fixedly ahead, tension rippled through every inch of his masculine frame that his grip on the steering wheel was a bloodless white.

“Where are we, Dominic?”

Dominic heard her, heard the uncertainty in her voice, but failed to respond. His jaw worked and it took nearly all he had not to floor it out of this godforsaken hell. He drove to memories, to nightmares to a past that he had been running away from since his mother sold him. He hadn’t realized it was going to be this difficult. Hell, he hadn’t even known what he was thinking when he’d embarked on this inane journey. But he’d wanted to show her, wanted her to see what he could not so easily convey into words. Maybe then, he’d thought, it would’ve been easier to talk, to tell. But this was a huge fucking mistake. Sheer obstinacy fueled him; his sadism rearing its ugly head had him by balls, forcing Dominic to drive. 142 Garrett was the housing project that Dominic grew up in. This had once been his reality. He parked the car, killed the engine and stared unseeingly at the ubiquitous dark blue steel door associated with the Green Hill Projects, and he wanted to commit unspeakable violence.

“Dom…” her touch, gentle, soft, and warm like a blessing from the heavens settled on hands he hadn’t realized he’d balled into fists until this moment, reaching deep into the dark recess of his center and provided a glimmer of light with which he used to see. See through the darkness that surrounded him. But he was blind. “Dominic…look at me…”

He didn’t dare look at her.

“What is this place, Dom?”

“This was my grave…”

* * *

There were very rare occasions that Dominic caught glimpses of the sort of mother she could’ve been. Like today for instance, she was lucid, she could see him, and even though he knew he shouldn’t, he hesitantly reached out to take the yellow and blue toy truck she held out to him. He’d been good recently, doing everything she asked, so he was happy that she was rewarding his good behavior. The truck was nice; it was the first toy she’d ever given him, and he cherished it, played with it in their small living room while she locked herself in her bedroom. Playing with the truck helped fight the twisting and gurgling of his stomach, the hunger pains that were an everyday part of his life. Drinking a lot of water always helped, but not this time and while he searched through cabinets and fridge for something to eat, his eyes settled on a nearly empty bag of bread. There were only two slices and each one had dusty green and white mold growing on it, but once Dominic cut away the moldy areas, he ate the slices of bread like it were the best things in the world.

* * *

Today she wasn’t a good mother. This was the part of her that Dominic didn’t like. She was scary when she was like this. He didn’t know where she found the gun, but he didn’t think she should have it, not when she was like this. Her eyes were glazed over with not only what she’d recently taken but the crazed look he saw there made him want to run and hide.

“Come here,” she ordered, wrapping her boney fingers around his emaciated arm to tug him forward. “I want to show you something.” She forced him to sit and joined him seconds later on the stained threadbare carpet that had seen better days. She was swaying, the hand holding the gun not quite so steady. “Let’s play a game,” she whispered with a small smile that chilled him. “It’s called Russian roulette.”

Dominic was shaking. His heart was hammering so fast he could feel it in his throat. He had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling. “Mommy…” He wondered if he could outrun her, his verdant gaze frantically eyeing the little bit of hallway behind her. “I…I don’t want to play, Mommy.”

“Shhh…” she soothed. “We’re both going to die, baby,” she whispered while her dark, dilated eyes held his. “Let’s see who God takes first.” She raised the gun to her temple and unflinchingly squeezed the trigger.

Nothing.

The sound of her laughter was off, frightening him like something of nightmares. When she aimed the gun at him, Dominic stared into the perfectly rounded chasm of his death and visibly shuddered. Before she squeezed the trigger, his gaze found hers, and in that eternal moment, he saw…nothing. There was nothing in her dark brown eyes, not even an ounce of warmth a mother should’ve felt for her child.

Dominic, physically too young and yet mentally mature enough to grasp the implication of that moment, closed his eyes to everything: to her, the gun and the burning sensation in his chest that felt like hunger, but hurt so much more. He thought of nothing but the toy truck he’d left on the couch, the one she’d given him, as he heard the click and her laughter soon after.

It had been in that instant, with the click of the empty chamber, that Dominic remembered shutting everything down. He was lost in his memories, lost in his fear, lost in his rage, lost in the hatred that poisoned his heart, that kept him from seeing or feeling or caring for anything else. Her remembered numbness and the sinister chill that had crept in his veins and swept with agonizing slowness through every crevice of his being, blanketing everything in a dead, cold frost, encasing what remained of his heart in ice. It had felt good not to care, not to feel and the fear that had paralyzed him, made him weak and powerless dissipated along with everything else.

Fueled by hatred, by a twisted form of vengeance, Dominic had lived solely for himself, cruelly exploiting and manipulating the people around him to fit to his needs, only to callously discard them when they had stopped being useful to him. And it should’ve been the same with his wife. From the very moment he’d seen this woman, Dominic had set out to have her, and when he finally did get her into his possession, he’d lorded his authority over her with a devilish sadism that would’ve made the Marquis de Sade gleeful. The more she’d resisted, the more aggressive he became, emotionally whipping her with chains that had tethered him. He’d punished her for mistakes she’d never made. Why? Because he’d feared her. She’d posed a danger to his mental stability, to his very foundation… to the little boy he’d hidden beneath the shallow depths of his soul.

“I lived here. But I wasn’t really living so much as surviving. My mother…”he exhaled a sharp breath and drew another back in raggedly; in the excruciating silence of the car it sounded like nails on a chalk board to him. Shoulders raised, brows furrowed and tension ready to go off like a spring trap, he kept his head down unable to look at her, but he saw her hand, delicate, small, and sweetly providing comfort to a man who did not deserve it.

“Tell me, Dominic,” she implored gently only to inaudibly gasp when he unfurled his fist and caught her hand within his own. Interlacing their fingers, he gripped her with bruising strength. Almost instinctively her fingers settled and squeezed back to show that she was there.

“There was nothing good about her, but if she’d wanted, I would’ve stayed, I would’ve loved her enough for the both of us. But she was cruel beyond comprehension. She hated me too much to see or feel anything else. How can you possibly love the product of your rape? That’s why a part of me knew that I deserved what she did. I was a constant reminder of what my father did to her. I can’t remember a day when she wasn’t high. I can’t remember a day she wasn’t screwing some guy to pay for that high. When she was high she liked to play games. Russian roulette: one bullet, a fifty-fifty chance that it had my name on it. I think she liked that game the most. Then there were the burn marks, cigarette burns she’d dig into my flesh until I screamed. I handled the beatings alright. Even the lack of food hadn’t been so bad. But it was the darkness. She had a special room for me, a little crawlspace no bigger than a box. I’d scratch my nails on the door until it they bled, screaming at the top of my lungs for her to let me out.”

Dominic did not allow himself a moment to think; the words came and he permitted them, purging himself of secrets and memories he’d kept for far too long. He told her of waking up in his own filth, surrounded by the stench, while the darkness consumed him, toying with his young mind, driving him further into madness. He shed his pretense, his arrogance, his very pride and laid it out at her feet and dragged a knife from Adam’s apple to navel to reveal the ugliness that dwelled at his core. Dominic bared it all.

“Two million dollars and I was no longer her problem. She didn’t look back, we didn’t exchange words, and the last thing I remember of her is her tattered sweater that smelled of cigarettes and hate. A hate that I have inherited and nourished with rage. It grows in me, Eden. Here,” he touched the middle left side of his chest, “there is nothing here but ugliness.” Voice raw, he released her hand and gripped the steering wheel once again. “I just…I wanted you to know. I wanted you to see.”

For a very long moment afterwards, nothing was said, until she settled her hand on his arm, and Dominic recoiled slightly. When he finally braved a glance at her, anguish twisted his insides. He’d expected revulsion, scorn, or even worse, apathy from her, but what he saw instead was compassion coating her fine-bone features. There had been nothing but softness and understanding in her beautiful amber eyes and Dominic had never felt so underserving, so unworthy of her.

“Thank you for telling me,” she uttered in the silence, her voice soft and gentle. “I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to tell me, so thank you.”

It seemed as though she would say more; she opened her mouth a few times but words failed her. Dominic could not blame her, the fact that she had listened was more than he could’ve asked for. With an imperceptible tilt of his head in acknowledgment, he swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat and started the engine. When her hand slipped away, he fought against the urge to draw it back. But Dominic kept a hand on the steering wheel and another on the gear shift, determined to see them out of this neighborhood unscathed. With just a glance outside, he noted the group of men seated on the playground, their gazes had not left the car since Dominic had pulled into the parking lot. He figured the only reason they had yet to approach was because of the heavily tinted windows that provided them a trace of anonymity. But they would remain idle for long and Dominic wanted to get them out of town before anything happened. With everything else he’d done to her, endangering her life would not be one of them.

Chapter Eighteen