Under Control: A Fake Marriage Mafia Romance
Under Control: Chapter 10

Despite everything, I strip off the silk robe and stand on a small platform in the center of Merrick’s art studio.

He chews the end of a paintbrush and gives me instructions on how to pose. I arch my back, bend an arm, contort myself into strange positions. He’s locked in today and the banter’s at a bare minimum, which is fine by me. I need the money, and I don’t need his sly comments.

At least I have a lot of time to think about dinner with Valentin two nights ago.

Actually, scratch that. I wish I could distract myself with literally anything else.

Instead, that dangerous bastard’s been floating through my head on a near-constant basis, and it’s driving me crazy.

“You’re distracted,” Merrick grunts at me. He slashes at the canvas like he wants to rip it in half. “If you’re distracted, I’m distracted.”

“Seriously, how can you even tell right now?”

“I can smell all the thinking you’re doing.” He screws up his nose. “It’s unpleasant.”

“I think that’s just yourself.”

“Hilarious, darling. Now focus. You’re a model. You’re an empty, lifeless shell.”

“Sounds… fun.”

“This is work.” He jabs a paintbrush at me. “Now, get to it.”

I try to focus on being empty. I’m a lifeless shell… I’m a doll… I’m a posable action figure… but my head starts to drift again.

Valentin’s sharp smile. The way those people treated him with utter respect. His mouth between my legs.

God, his mouth.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Merrick knocks his easel over and sends the canvas clattering to the floor. I jump back in surprise and pull on the silk robe. He starts pacing, glaring down at the smeared picture as if it were about to get up and start chewing on his leg.

“What’s going on with you?” I’ve never seen him like this before. Merrick’s usually cool and calm.

“Nothing.” He doesn’t look at me. “Just your lousy boyfriend. But nothing, really, it’s nothing.”

I go very still. My eyes widen as I let his words sink in.

“My boyfriend,” I echo.

“Do you have any idea how insanely frustrating that man can be? I tell him no, again and again, but he’s relentless.”

“Merrick. What did Valentin do?”

“Oh, to hell with it.” He throws up his hands. “He keeps asking about you, okay? I tell him I don’t want to betray your trust, that he can reach out to you if he wants to know what you’re doing, but he won’t stop. God, he buys a few million-dollar paintings and it’s like he thinks I owe him something.”

“Valentin’s been bugging you about me?”

“Relentlessly. It’s all up in my damn head now.” He storms over to a storage chest, flips open the lid, and takes out a bottle of wine. The lid twists off and he takes a long drink. “Honestly, I wasn’t going to tell you, but that big asshole’s got a way of sneaking into my brain.”

“I know what you mean.” I walk over and hold out my hand. He passes the bottle and I take a drink. “What’s he been saying?”

We sit together on a small, ratty couch. Merrick stretches his legs with a sigh. “Nothing, really. Just wants to know how you’re doing. Like he wants me to keep tabs on you, as if he’s not doing it himself.”

“And you’re not telling him?”

“Listen, darling, I feel terrible about the way things went down last time, okay? I shouldn’t have put you in that position. Believe it or not, I do value your friendship.”

“That actually means a lot.”

“Good. It should.” He takes a big drink of wine. “I wouldn’t say no to that man for just anyone.”

“I’m honored.”

He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “What is this strange relationship between you two, anyway?”

“There is no relationship.”

“So you show up at his house, strip naked for him, and now he can’t leave you alone? Is that everything?”

“Pretty much.”

“No offense, darling, but I’ve seen you naked. You’re beautiful, but—” He shakes his hand in the air.

I smack him playfully. “Don’t be such a prick. I’m a real looker.”

“You’re a real something, darling.”

“Thank you for not talking to him about me. Really, I appreciate it. But if it’ll make your life easier, just tell him I’m fine.”

“I’ll pass along the message the next time he calls. Which will be soon, given that man’s persistence.” Merrick takes one more drink before getting back to his feet. “Okay, that’s better. I’ve purged myself of guilt. Shall we get back to work?”

“You know, I really should’ve been a therapist. I’m great at this.”

“You’re a bartender, darling.” He gives me a wry look as he puts away the wine. “That’s practically the same thing.”

I’m in a good mood on the way home from Merrick’s that night. It’s not too late, I’ve got a thousand bucks in my pocket, and for the first time in a while, I feel like I have a decent friend in my life.

Which is odd, thinking about Merrick as decent, but the world has bigger mysteries in it.

When I was a girl, back in my school days, I had plenty of friends. My parents were strict and wouldn’t let me see boys, but I spent time with the girls on the soccer team and in the math club. I found a little core group when I hit middle school, but life at home began to change as I got into high school. My parents let me go out less and less, regardless of gender. They were strict about study hours. They made me get a part-time job and put half my earnings in the bank, which were already pretty pathetic to begin with.

Then my friends went to college. I tried to keep in touch, but it wasn’t easy. We drifted apart the way young adults do when they’re not talking all the time, and when my dad got sick, that basically ensured all those relationships faded to dust.

It’s been a lonely, frustrating life. Sometimes, when I’m at my worst, I can’t help the bitterness that flows over me. I’m angry with my parents for hiding me away, and I’m mad at Luka for getting the life I always wanted, and I’m even annoyed with Dad in particular for getting sick and making sure he dragged my life down with him.

Which isn’t fair. It’s honestly a gross thought to have. I hate myself every time it slips into my head, but at my weakest, at my worst, it’s there.

But having Merrick as an actual friend is nice. Maybe I should be angrier with him for that stunt with Valentin, but he’s basically the last relationship I have in my life. I don’t want to lose it.

When I reach home after a moderate walk in the comfortable fall weather, I replace the front door slightly ajar.

Which is unusual, Mama’s usually scrupulous about keeping it closed. We live in an okay neighborhood in South Philly, not somewhere with a whole ton of crime, but it’s still the city. People don’t take chances around here.

“Mama?” I call out, stepping inside.

And stop dead on the threshold.

The living room is a wreck. The couch is torn to shreds, the lamp is smashed to pieces, fluff from the pillows is thrown all over, and the pictures are torn off the walls. The coffee table is flipped, and magazines are scattered in shreds. It looks like a pack of wild dogs ripped through the place. Even the TV is cracked and ruined.

“Mama,” I yell, panic starting to rise. What if something bad happened? What if people broke in and hurt her?

Everything’s a wreck. The whole downstairs is basically nothing but debris. The kitchen’s a shell of shattered plates and broken glass, and the refrigerator was left open. All the food’s been thrown on the floor.

I run upstairs, heart pounding. My phone’s in my hand, about to call 911, when I replace her sitting in her bathroom on the edge of the tub with her head in her hands.

“Mama,” I say, breathless, and kneel down at her feet. “Are you okay?”

She looks up at me. Her face is tear-streaked, and an ugly, black bruise is forming around her eye. Her nose is crusted with blood. I gasp, leaning back in horror, before touching her to make sure she’s okay.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t fuss,” she says, waving me away.

“What happened? We have to call the police. Mama, who did this to you?”

“No police,” she says sharply, jumping to her feet. She slaps my phone from my hand and sends it clattering to the floor. “Listen to me, Karine, you cannot call the police. Absolutely not.”

“Mama, what the hell?” I retrieve my phone. Fortunately, it’s not broken, since there’s no way we could afford to replace it.

Not with the wreck downstairs.

“I know this seems scary. I know, honey, I know, but you must not call the police. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t do it.”

“Okay, Mama, I won’t.” Slowly, so she can see, I put my phone down on the vanity.

She sinks back down to the floor, slumping her back against the side of the tub like all the energy’s sucked out of her. She groans, leaning her head back, her eyes screwed up shut. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I know how bad this is. I know, Karine-jan, I know, I screwed up.”

“What happened?” I stare down at her, confused and afraid. I’ve never seen my mother like this before. This raw emotion wafting off her. The defeat, the terror. The ugly bruising on her face, the blood on her nose. Even when Dad died, she kept her head up. Even when the grief was eating at her insides like hungry parasites, she refused to let it show.

Even when I heard her sobbing alone in her room, she never let me see how badly she was hurting.

“I made a mistake,” she says. Her voice trembles, but she clears her throat and steadies herself. “I made a very, very bad mistake, and now that mistake is catching up with me.”

“Please, Mama. No more riddles. Just tell me what happened.”

She nods slowly and wrings her hands together in her lap. “I borrowed money back when Papa was dying.”

“I know that. We’re working on paying it down.”

“No, Karine, I borrowed money you don’t know about from men I never mentioned.”

My feet go very cold. I feel like my stomach’s contracting into the side of a pinprick. “Who?” I whisper.

“Family,” she says, meeting my gaze.

I don’t know what to say. That makes no sense. All I know about my mother’s family is that they’re back in Baltimore. I know Mama doesn’t talk to them, and Dad never got along with them, and that’s why they’re not in our lives. Dad’s parents died when he was young and he was an only child, but he’s got cousins in Wisconsin that we see maybe once every five years or so. But aside from that, I can’t think of any family that would lend us money.

Much less that would do this to her.

“They hit you,” I say when it looks like she’s not going to continue.

“Yes, Karine, they hit me. They told me that if we can’t pay them what we owe, then they’ll come back, and next time they’ll make sure you’re home too.” She chokes back a sob and starts pulling at her hair. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Mom, stop it.” I restrain her before she rips her scalp clean off. “Tell me who they are.”

“My brother.” She gazes at me with a deep, horrible sadness. “He’s the head of the Armenian Brotherhood in Baltimore.”

I have no idea what to say. I’m too confused to replace words. I’ve never heard of the Armenian Brotherhood before, and I didn’t even know Mama had a brother. But slowly, the implications of what she’s saying weigh me down, and I sink to the floor beside her.

Mama tells me everything. The men came to the door, pushed it open, and rushed inside. Her brother had sent soldiers, street-level enforcers, and they weren’t gentle just because she’s related to their boss. They roughed her up, ripped the downstairs to shreds, and made it clear that if she didn’t begin paying her brother back soon, they’d return and hurt me as well.

Her story finishes, and a heavy, freezing silence falls over the bathroom.

“I wanted to tell you earlier, but I never knew how,” she says after a while. All the sorrow’s been drained from her, and now she seems like all her energy is gone. Mama’s normally so vital. It’s strange, seeing her this way.

“I guess there isn’t an easy way to tell me that we’re related to mobsters.”

“No, honey, there isn’t, but I still should have. I knew Aram would come for his money eventually, I just hoped we’d have something to give him by then.”

“Your brother’s name is Aram?”

“Aram Sarkissian. Head of the Armenian Brotherhood. My god, Karine, your father and I moved here to get away from that part of my life, and yet I still went back to them when I was at my lowest. I was such a fool.”

I rub her back. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“It won’t, honey, it won’t. Aram won’t stop just because I’m his sister. If anything, he’ll use this as an excuse to punish me for turning my back on the family all those years ago. He hasn’t forgotten the way I left, and my brother is a very bad, very vindictive man. I’m afraid, Karine. And I’m so sorry.”

I try my best to comfort her. It’s clear what this Brotherhood thing is very, very bad, but it feels so bizarre and distant. I’m learning about that side of my family for the very first time, and it’s like getting thrown into a frozen ocean as an introduction to swimming. I can’t even begin to process it all.

Eventually, Mama calms down. She puts on the shower and I leave her to get cleaned up. I head downstairs, ready to survey the damage and to replace out what’s salvageable, when I stop at the bottom of the stairs.

Valentin’s sitting on the couch.