I purse my lips, as I walk over to his dresser and start digging through it. I go through five drawers, but don’t find anything but neatly folded clothes. Where else do people hide shit? I figured the dresser would be a gold mind. That’s where I hide all my shit. I shut the last drawer feeling a little let down. I look up and spot his bed, a smile curling on my lips. The mattress. I search underneath the bed and then push my hand underneath the mattress between the box spring. I’m weak as shit and holding it up actually makes me winded. Nothing.
“Come on,” I mutter, looking around the room frantically, “everyone hides something under the mattress.”
I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed again. He’s gotta have something somewhere.
I search the nightstands. Nothing again.
Frustrated, I stop and place my hands on my hips, biting my lower lip and thinking.
If I had a big house like this, would I hide anything in my bedroom? I mean, how stupid would that be? Maybe I’m in the wrong room. I sure as fuck can’t search his study though. Not while he’s in there at least.
I’m about to give up and leave the room when my eyes fall on the closet. The door is slightly ajar and the light is on inside. My pulse picks up speed as I stare at it. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it already. I used to hide in the closets. The thought makes my heart hurt.
It’s where I found my mother. I think she wanted me to find her before my father did.
He used to tell me how much I looked like her, until she killed herself. Then I could see that look in his eyes, I knew it was what he was thinking, but he never said it again.
I know that’s why he doesn’t see me much; I remind him of her. I know it hurts him. I understand it. He still loves me and I love him. Even if our family is scarred from what my mother did.
I bite my lower lip, shoving the sad memory back where it belongs, in the past, debating on whether I should go digging around more. I’ve already been looking for the past half hour, and Joseph doesn’t spend very long on his own.
I should leave, I tell myself. I’m not going to find anything in there anyway.
I start to walk out of the room, but when I reach the doorway, I can’t bring myself to leave without at least checking the closet. Though I know that I probably won’t find anything, who knows when I’ll have another chance like this.
I spin around on my heel and walk quickly to the closet, swinging the door wide as I walk inside. It bangs against the wall and I wince at the sound. I don’t think he’ll hear it though. Damn my eager ass.
Not wasting a second, I quickly go about inspecting the large closet, but I have to pause to suck in a sharp breath at the sight before me. Jesus Christ. He has so many suits. And they all look so fucking expensive. Who owns suits like these? I want to run my hands down all of the fine clothing, but I’m not here to look at his wardrobe. Focus Lilly!
I go through several of the suits, checking in all the pockets, looking for something, anything that will tell me something about the past that I feel Joseph is hiding. I come up empty. I look around, looking for a safe, some sort of bag, anything where something can be hidden. But I don’t see a damn thing.
I’m about to leave the room when my eyes fall on a shoe box that’s sitting inconspicuously next to a row of shoes. Looking at it, I know that it’s probably just shoes in there, but I can’t help myself. I rush forward, nearly tripping to get to the box, and grab it. My heart stutters in my chest at the bit of racket I’m making. I only need one more minute.
Yes! Finally! There’s a leather bound book inside with a worn gold latch. I take it out, marveling at the high quality feel.
I open it, quickly glancing over my shoulder as I sit on the floor of his closet, to see pages filled with neat handwriting. One name keeps popping up off the page; Passerotto. I say it over and over again, whispering under my breath. I don’t know what it means. I have no idea, but it definitely sounds Italian.
I try to read some of the entries, and it’s hard to keep up, but there’s a lot mentioning of La Familia. What the hell? Joseph is part of the Mafia? My heart beats faster and my anxiety starts to grow.
I read a little bit further and find out that he’s left the family, but it doesn’t give me any relief. I scan an entry. My heart breaking in my chest. He watched his mother being beaten. He didn’t do anything. I can tell by the way he’s written it, he blames himself.
I get several more paragraphs in, so absorbed in the moment that I forget the time and where I am. I can feel my heart breaking as tears cloud my eyes. Joseph. I can’t believe what he’s been through.
A loud sound of footsteps coming up the stairs pulls my gaze from the pages of the book and a curse spills from my lips, “Oh shit!” I throw the book back into the shoe box and quickly set it back in its original place.
I’m about to run from the room, when I knock over several suits on the clothing rack. My clumsy ass. Dammit. I’m the worst at this. Crap. I bend over to pick them up, but a metal glint catches my eye.
Holy fuck.
My heart jumps in my chest at the sight before me. A gun rack, hidden behind the fallen suits. It’s filled with all sorts of guns.
“Tsk Tsk,” says a deep voice from the closet doorway.
I spin around, my heart pounding in my chest to see Joseph leaning against the doorjamb, gazing at me with amusement. I swear my heart wants to run away and it chooses to try by climbing up my throat.
“Bad girl, my flower,” he says playfully, a twinkle in his eye.
My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I know I will be punished for this. And I know it will be the cage. I try desperately to come up with an excuse. Something. Anything. But I’m in his closet.
“Please sir,” I plead, holding my hands out imploringly, “I was just looking around –” My throat is so dry as I speak. My body tingling with fear.
“It’s all right, flower,” he says easily, surprising me. My heart doesn’t believe him though, it’s still fighting to leave my body, ruled by fear. “There’s nothing wrong with you having a little look. I want you to feel comfortable here.”
“I’m sorry sir,” I say softly, relief slowly coursing through my blood.
Joseph motions at me. “Come here.”
I look down at his suits that are on the floor, swallowing and bend to pick them up, but Joseph stops me with a terse, “now.”
That tone he uses makes me walk to him immediately, cringing as I step around his expensive suits left on the floor. He leads me back into the bedroom, pulling me by the hand and sitting me down on the bed. Gazing into my eyes, he gently strokes the side of my cheek, making my skin prickle all up and down my arms. I can still hardly breathe. I’m waiting for the other foot to drop, waiting for a punishment of admonishment. I knew what I was doing was bad. … I also know I’m not really sorry. I’m only sorry I got caught. And I bet he knows that too.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about flower,” he tells me softly as if reading my mind. He pauses and then gives me a playful nudge with his nose. “Unless you want to be sorry that you weren’t waiting on my bed for me, naked with your legs spread wide.”
A smile spreads across my face and I let out a girlish giggle at his playful words. I really love these moments. His playful side shines through. It’s so different from the dark, dominating master side. And I want more of it. I cup his face in my hand, looking deep into his eyes and rubbing my thumb across his stubble.