Innocence (a Dark Mafia Romance)

by Stasia Black

  Marcus stood in the small dark closet he used as his security room, sipped his drink and stared at nothing. On screen, his new bride struggled in her bonds. Her beautiful hair fell over her face, a sheaf of wheat spilling over the pale palette of unmarked skin.

  He’d just cum, but he was harder than ever, ready to conquer, to plunder. She was right where he wanted her, bound and helpless, a virgin offered up as a sacrifice to appease a monster. Which she was—a virgin and a sacrifice.

  And he, the monster.

  She didn’t deserve this. The second his Shades had spotted her, he’d had them monitor her every move. She didn’t so much as sneeze without him knowing. She looked like her mother, but acted nothing like Demi.

  He had to see it to believe it. But at first he couldn’t stand to look at her. He sent Sharo instead, Sharo, whom he regarded as a brother.

  “Well?” he’d asked when the big man returned to report. “What’s she like?”

  “Kind. Naive, but hopeful. Sweet.” Sharo didn’t have to say it, but Marcus heard the silent commentary. Just like Chiara.

  The gods gifted him the perfect revenge, wrapped up in a lovely package. So lovely, he didn’t want to destroy it. How the gods must be laughing. He had the means for revenge but, for the first time in sixteen years he didn’t want to take it.

  Oh, he wanted Cora. When he laid eyes on her, he was undone. The flick of her eyelashes, the flutter of her fine boned hands, the shy smiles he drank in like a man who’d crossed a desert. She was the oasis he didn’t know he craved.

  On screen, she tossed her head back and forth, the fragile column of her throat taut as she called out for him. Her skin shimmered like mother-of-pearl where he’d spilled his seed. And gods, when she’d come, the pleasure so obviously foreign to her…

  His dick curled up to his belly, aching to take her. When he’d spewed his seed all over her beautiful bare breasts, he hadn’t been thinking of revenge. He’d been lost in her. The taste of her sweetness still drugging his senses. Unable to look away from her half-mast eyes hazy with lust even though she’d just come. She wanted more and gods, he’d wanted to stay there all night and give it to her.

  He’d barely managed to force himself from the room after smearing his seed all over her chest, marking her as his like a barbarian.

  He forced himself to finish his drink, savoring the bitter dregs. Even now, the thought of having her at his mercy, separated only by a wall, absolutely thrilled him. All that innocence at his fingertips. He would’ve enjoyed corrupting her, keeping her tied to his bed, even if she wasn’t his enemy.

  These momentary misgivings would fade. A king had to be ruthless in order to maintain control. He’d long ago accepted that he was a necessary evil.

  He had her. He would keep her. Time would fade her beauty and warp her innocence.

  He’d dreamed of this day for years and he wouldn’t let anything ruin it, even a foolish thought of last-minute sentimentality. Revenge was a heady draught, wine made from pomegranates. Sweet with a bitter edge. He’d drink as deeply as he could.

  And then he’d pour the rest down Cora’s throat until she choked.

  Eleven

  “Marcus,” Cora shouted for the millionth time. “Marcus!”

  She dropped her head back to the mattress in frustration and humiliation. He’d just left her here, tied to the bed. She had no idea how long it had been. She’d fallen asleep for a while and she could see morning sunlight peeking through the Venetian blinds on the window. And she had to of been yelling for an hour straight with no response. Gods, was he just going to leave her here?

  “Stupid,” she hissed, her throat aching and dry as she slammed her head back into the mattress. Her other bodily needs couldn’t be ignored for much longer, either.

  How had she gotten herself into this mess? But it wasn’t like she could claim ignorance. Her mom had warned her about how dangerous the world was.

  She’s over-exaggerating, Cora always told herself. She’s paranoid.

  Or maybe she knew exactly what she was freaking talking about.

  You’re only in danger because she lied about who she was. About who Dad was.

  Cora looked up at the fancy texture on the ceiling, her eyes searching out patterns. Looking for meaning where there wasn’t any. Story of her life.

  If Mom had only told Cora why she was keeping her so isolated instead of ordering her around and forbidding her from taking a step off the farm, maybe they could have worked together. But no, Demi Vestian always knew best and God help anyone who told her different.

  And consequently, Cora had walked right into the lion’s den without even knowing it.

  “Stupid.” But this time it was directed at her mother. Why couldn’t she have trusted her own daughter?

  Cora looked up at the hand where she’d been slowly working at her ring. It was difficult to take off a ring with only one hand.

  Difficult but not impossible.

  She swore she’d lose her shit if she had to wear this mark of his ownership one more second. She’d fought her whole life to be free and she wasn’t giving up now.

  She bit her lip as she finally managed to wiggle it past her largest knuckle, and finally off, into her hand. She gave the rope as much slack as possible on that hand by straining all her other limbs, before she flung it as far as possible to the far corner of the room. She smiled as it got lost among the greenery in the corner.

  “That was poorly done, wife.”

  Cora’s head swung toward the door, her mouth going dry. Well, drier than it already was. She was parched.

  She yanked at her restraints. “Let me free.”

  Marcus wandered over and propped a hip on the bed. His large hand encircled her ankle and slid upwards, leaving a tingling trail in its wake. Cora fought the response but her body apparently didn’t know any better. Her limbs weakened and her stomach flipped, reacting to Marcus as she always did.

  “Are we ever truly free?” Marcus mused, stroking her thighs. She hated the liberties he took with her body. Hated and loved it.

  “Freedom...” He looked toward the window. “It’s an illusion. From the minute we’re born we serve a purpose.” His face turned back to her, his eyes cold. “We play a role. The gods design our lives and we are merely pawns.”

  Cora fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was such bullshit. “You don’t believe that.”

  Marcus’s hand trespassed closer to her throbbing core and she jerked her leg as far as it would go—almost a whole inch. She didn’t know what she was angrier about, the fact that he was touching her or her own response. No, it was more than anger. She was furious. She couldn’t remember ever being more furious in her entire life. He thought she was meek and pliable and that she’d be terrified of him and do whatever he said. Well he had another thing coming.

  “You think you are a god,” she spat. “Rich, powerful, handsome—”

  “Handsome?” he raised a brow.

  She ignored him, or tried as hard as she could while his fingers grazed her pussy and her body released a shot of heated serum. She bit back a groan and focused on keeping her voice steady. “You think everyone else is a mere mortal you can toy with.”

  “Hmmm,” he considered this, his fingers tracing arcane symbols on her inner thigh.

  She gritted her teeth. “Stop touching me.”

  Marcus seemed amused. “Why? Because you hate it? Or because it makes you feel too good?” He leaned in, his hands taking further liberties. “You belong to me. You know it. Your body knows it.”

  She hated him. Hated him. She didn’t belong to anyone but herself.

  She spat in his face. He jerked back, mood broken. The only sound was her harsh breathing.

  She regretted it immediately. It was stupid. She was letting her anger make her reckless. She should conserve her fight and wait for the most likely chance of escape. But gods, he’d offered her paradise and brought her to hell. And anger felt so much better than letting that hurt
in.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his suit coat pocket and wiped his face.

  “Be careful, wife. I’ve killed men for lesser offenses.”

  And there it was. She’d shut her mind to the warnings and fooled herself. She’d defended Marcus, insisting he was a good man no matter what the papers said. No matter how Maeve tried to warn her. But now he told her the truth. He had nothing to hide.

  She believed it now.

  Marcus was a murderer. She was married to a monster.

  But when she said it out loud he only smiled.

  “You’re finally beginning to see things clearly.”

  “It’s true, then. All the things they say of you.” She ought to be feeling a lot more fear in this moment. But she was so off kilter, all of this so surreal, the fear didn’t penetrate.

  Marcus shrugged. “You’d think they could come up with a more imaginative title than Lord of the Underworld. But rest assured, my Shades and I are the shadows that hold back the chaos in the streets of New Olympus.”

  “More like you profit off it,” Cora muttered furiously. She knew she should stay silent, she knew it. But for him to stand here and pretend so sanctimoniously that he did what he did for any other reason than money was just—

  Marcus tilted his head at her and she saw his jaw flex, but he said nothing.

  “How long are you going to keep me like this?” When he still didn’t reply, she tugged on the scarves. Her wrists would bear red marks for a while. “You can’t keep me tied up forever.”

  “Can’t I?”

  Cora furrowed her brow. “I guess you could. But why?”

  “Until you learn your place.”

  “My place? As what, your wife?” She slowly worked it out in her head. “A trophy on display to prove your power over the Titans?”

  Marcus shook his head as he shrugged out of his coat jacket. “Maybe so.”

  “You’re nuts.” He loomed over her, dark and beautiful in the low light, removing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves. At the sight of his forearms, sleek and strong and dusted with dark hair, her core clenched. It was almost enough to distract her from her rage.

  Almost. “If you think I’m going to forget what you’ve said, what you’ve done to me…” She clenched her teeth.

  “You know how many women would kill to be in your place?”

  “What, tied to your bed?” she scoffed.

  He raised an arrogant brow. Gods, why was he so handsome when he was mocking her?

  “They can have you. I don’t care.” She turned her face away, keeping her expression blank.

  “I could have them,” he agreed. “A different one every night. If I wanted to tie them up, they’d beg me.”

  “Wow, I’m so impressed by your manly prowess,” she deadpanned. “Do you keep notches on the bedpost?” She twisted to look up at the headboard even as her stomach twisted at the images his words conjured, imagining Marcus entwined with another woman.

  “You’ll learn to watch that smart mouth of yours,” Marcus muttered. “And what was it you said before? Rich, powerful, handsome...most women would settle for one outta three. Lucky you.”

  His hand dropped to her thigh. “You’re the one I want. As soon as I saw you, I knew that I would have you. Here, like this.” His voice deepened and despite herself, her inner muscles contracted. Marcus trailed his rough fingers over the thin skin of her inner thigh. “I knew I’d be the one to break you. We’ll have such fun, angel, you and I.”

  She fought to hide the way her breath hitched at his touch. Gods, why? Why was she still so attracted to him?

  “Stop touching me,” she gritted out. She couldn’t think with his hand between her legs.

  The gentle touch became a strong grip, solid and claiming. Her body liked that, too. “You’re mine. Bought and paid for.”

  Every word out of his mouth only made it worse. She wasn’t a whore. “That’s not how it works,” she spat, still fighting the pull of her body towards his with everything she had in her.

  “Isn’t it? I spilled blood for you, Cora.”

  She flinched at that and her body momentarily cooled. “The man who roofied me.” The one who’d come to the dog shelter to warn her, his face mottled with bruises. Don’t think about that. If she went down that trail, she’d start screaming.

  There had been so many warnings and red flags. But she wouldn’t listen, would she? She’d explained every one of them away, she’d been so blinded by Marcus. And now... “That man, he’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “He put his hands on you. No one harms you and lives.” The words might as well have been carved in stone.

  “No one but you.” A wave of tiredness swept through her. “What do you want from me?”

  “Your submission.”

  Never.

  She glared at him.

  He bent forward and the light cupped his face. His gaze raked her naked flesh. “Your total submission. Instant, utter obedience. Your training starts now.”

  “Training?”

  “You won’t act like a wife, fine. You’re still my property.”

  “What does that—”

  “If you want off of that bed, you’re gonna have to get familiar with crawling.”

  Her skin prickled and her chest felt hot, the fury burned hotter and hotter. “Go to h—”

  “First things first,” he cut her off. He pulled an item she couldn’t see out of the bedside drawer, something that clinked. “You won’t wear my ring, you can wear this.” He held up a piece of thick leather attached to a long, glittering chain.

  A collar.

  “You’re out of your mind,” Cora whispered, staring aghast at the collar.

  “On the contrary.” He leaned close. So close she could smell the aftershave she used to love. But his face? His face was nothing like that of the man she thought she knew. “I’ve been waiting a very long time to see my enemies crawling at my feet.”

  She shook her head. What did he—? “I’m not your enemy,” she whispered. “I barely know you.”

  “The sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons. Or daughter in this case. The sins of the father, Cora.”

  He caressed his hand down her cheek and she yanked away. Echoes of the fury and the new terrible, terrible sadness warred in her chest. She’d never had a chance with Marcus, had she? He’d always see her as her mother when he looked at her. The thought made her want to throw up. Because that meant it really all had been a farce.

  How had he managed it? Kissing and touching her all those months? Holding her hand and looking into her eyes when she wore her mother’s face that he so despised?

  She shut her eyes. This wasn’t Marcus. The Marcus she thought she knew was dead. Or worse, he never existed. She couldn’t appeal to this man’s humanity. He had none.

  “You said you’d take care of me.” It escaped anyway, a heartbroken whisper.

  “I will. I will take care of you. Submit to the collar, Cora.”

  It was no use. She needed to harden herself, like he had. Gathering her reserves, she spat, “Go to hell.”

  “I see you need more time to consider your predicament. I’ll come back when you’re ready to assume your place.”

  He was almost to the door when Cora called out, “Wait! I’m sorry. Please.” Even she could hear the desperation in her own voice. “I… I’m thirsty. And I need to go to the bathroom.”

  She closed her eyes. It doesn’t matter. They’re just words. Words didn’t mean anything. And if groveling meant she could get free of being tied naked, spread-eagled to a bed, certainly she could survive a little indignity.

  Because that was the key word to focus on—survive.

  She’d been strong enough to survive everything her mother put her through. The years of isolation. The punishments. The emotional manipulation.

  She’d survived and come out stronger.

  But Marcus.

  Would she be able to survive Marcus?

  A shudd
er went down her spine even as she forced herself to look up at him and lock gazes when he peered down at her in return.

  “I hate you.” It popped out but this time he didn’t pull back, he only chuckled. It was so wrong, hearing the same sound she used to adore, now, here in these awful circumstances, as he lifted her hair and secured the collar around her neck.

  “I had this made special for you.” Eyes holding hers, he clipped on a chain and tugged. Heat singed Cora’s cheeks. Followed by terror. She had to get out of here. He’d just put a collar on her. No sane man did that. He’d killed people.

  She couldn’t stand being here another second. She had to escape.

  He untied her wrists.

  Steady, she whispered to herself. Be smart. Think this through.

  But her heartbeat fluttered like a rabbit being chased down by a predator.

  Run.

  Marcus moved to the bottom of the bed, the chain tied to the collar around her neck clinking as he went. It didn’t look like he had the best grip on it. He wasn’t even looking at her as he untied her ankles.

  Run.

  The second he had her left ankle untied she exploded off the bed and bolted for the door.

  Run!

  Only to be jerked painfully backward by the collar around her neck. She choked as she was wrenched off her feet onto her ass. Coughing and gasping for breath, her hands flew to the collar.

  “Ah ah ah,” Marcus walked around front of her, wagging a finger calmly. He wasn’t even holding the leash. He’d looped it around the headboard and that was why she’d been yanked backwards so unforgivingly.

  “You really do want to be tied to the bed again, don’t you? I guess we’ll try this again later.”

  “No, no! I’ll be good! I promise.”

  It had been fight or flight—the impulse was too strong, and she’d known there was no way she could fight Marcus. But some monkey part of her brain had thought, maybe, if she was untied, she’d be fast enough to make it to the door—

  “No!” she screamed when Marcus grabbed her by the wrist and shoved her back down on the bed, landing on top of her with his body.

  She thrashed to get him off but it was no use. He was twice her size and before she knew it, he had tied her collar to the headboard in a way that choked her unless she lay very still.