Capo

by Martin, Nicolina

  “Go sit on the couch and shut up.”

  “Can I please have clothes?”

  I scramble back with a whimper, throwing my arm over my head, as he suddenly stands and raises his hand as if to hit me. When nothing happens, I peek up at him. He’s a terrifying vision, his nostrils flaring, his lips thinned in fury, his hands balled into fists.

  “Go. Sit. On the fucking couch.”

  I don’t have to be told again.

  Cradling my aching arm, I cover my breasts. Taking shallow breaths to not worsen the sharp pain in my chest, I pull up my knees and fold them to the side, giving myself a sliver of decency as I manage to hide most of my nakedness.

  Salvatore turns his back to me, typing away at his laptop, giving me a chance to study the monster. His black hair is on the longer side of short and curls at his nape, just touching the collar of his impeccable white shirt. There are barely-there strands of silver at his temples, and in his stubble that is cut in a sharp line below his jaw. The muscles in his arms strain the sleeves of the shirt as he moves, and I fight down the renewed surge of panic as I think about what he can do with all that strength. He doesn’t even need his gun. He’s like a machine built to hurt, to kill.

  Tell on the mob and die.

  I glance between him and the door. Can I make it? Then I remember the hallway, the guard, the long driveway and even more guards. Even with clothes on and my ribs not broken I wouldn’t make it three feet. Maybe I should just make a run for it anyway? They’ll kill me and I’ll be free. From the sound of it, that’s my only shot at getting away from this nightmare.

  The room is warm, but not warm enough and I’m covered in goosebumps, fighting to keep the shuddering under control. Glancing over my shoulder, somehow managing to keep an eye on Salvatore at the same time as I look out the window, I consider opening it, jump and just take it from there.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growls.

  I jerk hard, my heart stopping for a second, and stare at his back. He hasn’t moved. “I… I wasn’t—”

  He spins his chair a quarter of a circle, looking me over, his gaze hard. “Did I tell you to speak?”

  I flinch. “No, sir.”

  Sir? Why sir? I don’t want to call him anything even remotely respectful, but in my mind-numbing terror it just slipped out of my mouth. The flash of hunger in his eyes makes me shrink back.

  “Did I tell you to move?”

  “No,” I whimper.

  “No what?”

  I swallow hard. “No…” I lick my lips and plead with him silently not to do this to me. It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. His gaze hardens, making my chest tighten. “Sir,” I choke out.

  He smirks, then he turns again and continues typing on his laptop. My soul shrinks. What am I doing? I shouldn’t cower. I should fight! Fuck.

  My head darts up as there’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” barks Salvatore.

  Ivan enters with a tall, blonde girl in tow. She’s got a short, sleeveless red dress with a neckline so low it just about hides her nipples. Despite her stiletto sandals, she strides confidently half-way into the room. I’m no stranger to high heels, but even I would wobble on those. Her gaze falls on me, taking me in, her eyes widening, darting between me and Salvatore. Then she takes a deep breath and looks straight forward, seemingly into the distance.

  “Rose,” mutters Ivan, before he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

  “Come here, Rose,” purrs Salvatore in a voice I haven’t heard before, low, sensual, almost like a lover’s. My insides grow cold. I don’t know what game he’s playing. What is he going to do with this girl? Hurt her too? In front of me? Is this my punishment? My mind spins as the scenarios run faster and faster through my brain. The girl moves closer, unable to not glance my way several times. I want to scream at her to run, but I’m too afraid of what will happen if I do. Instead I sit passively, feeling as if I’ll be an accomplice to what he’ll put this girl through.

  Rose sways her hips seductively as she moves to stand right in front of the still sitting Salvatore, who has again swung his chair to the side.

  “Aren’t you a pretty little whore. Get on your knees. Put your lips around my cock.” He shoots me a leery glance, and then looks at the girl who has obediently sunken down between his legs and begun to pull open his belt. Salvatore leans back in his chair, stretches out his legs and puts his hands behind his head.

  I stare, transfixed, as she pulls out his semi-rigid cock, already huge, and takes him in her mouth. Something stirs between my legs. I squirm and desperately want to look away. Having a front seat to someone else’s sex show is disturbing and still uncomfortably erotic. For a while all that is heard is the noise of her sucking and the occasional low moan from the monster. At least he isn’t hurting her. I clench my thighs together. My pussy tingles. My body is a fucking traitor. I sure as fuck don’t want to get turned on by this.

  Suddenly he grabs her hair and stands. I tense. Here it goes. But all he does is push deeper, burying his cock to the hilt with each forceful thrust. Finally he holds still, her face pressed against his groin, as his features contort. Her chest hitches as her face turns red, and it becomes increasingly obvious she can’t breathe. I feel like I’m choking too. Is he going to kill her? Right before my eyes. The girl pushes at his thighs, panic in her gaze. I’m just about to beg him to stop when he pulls back. She inhales a deep breath, her eyes wide and frightened before she quickly puts on her professional facade again.

  “Stand up,” he says as he puts his cock back in his pants. “Bend over the chair.”

  Her legs wobble this time, not so self-confident anymore. She bends over, gripping the edge of the seat, presenting her ass to him. Salvatore pulls up her little dress past her hips and turns her slightly, so that I can see her pink, hairless pussy.

  “Look at my guest,” he growls as he puts his hand between her legs. “Don’t take your eyes off her.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking to me or her, but our eyes connect and for a brief moment there’s sympathy in her gaze, and worry, before she closes her face and there is no emotion at all. She just goes blank. I swallow against the ragged ball of fear in my chest as my eyes keep darting between her face, her pussy, and Salvatore. He’s caressing her, his fingers sliding along her slit, spreading her pussy lips, circling her clit until her hips start rocking. He pushes two fingers inside in one rough thrust and she gasps, then he keeps thrusting as he puts his other hand to her clit and keeps rubbing it. I don’t know where to look as blood rushes to my own pussy. If I thought it was erotic before, it was nothing to this. I clench my thighs together, grind my teeth and fight the increasing syrupy heaviness between my legs. Fuck him! The girl’s lips part and she’s getting flushed. I’m sure she can fake an orgasm like a pro, but I have no doubt this is real. Salvatore keeps me pinned with his gaze. He handles the girl as if he really cares about her pleasure, but his leery expression tells another story.

  This show is for me. He’s telling me something, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what. His pace picks up, the girl pants louder, gasping for air, rocking back on his thrusting fingers. I expect him to pull out his cock at any moment and shove it in, but all he does is pleasure her, because that’s definitely what he’s doing. She can’t hold my gaze anymore as her face contorts and she begins to mewl. Finally she screams and buries her face in the padded leather seat, her entire body twitching. She looks like her knees will fold any moment. Salvatore slows his pace, leisurely moving his fingers in and out of her now glistening wet pussy. Shudders ripple through her body. He stills and pulls out. She doesn’t move. Leaning over, he whispers in her ear, then they both look at me. I shrink back. My pussy is pulsating, desperately wanting the same treatment, because by God, that looked hot. But not from him. I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be good.

  Rose stands and grabs the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her hea
d in one swift move. Dropping it on the chair, she walks up to me, stark naked, and holds out her hand. “Come.”

  My eyes dart between her and Salvatore. He stands passively, his face unreadable. What is this game? Wincing as I hold out my hand, I take hers, surprisingly strong, and let her pull me to my feet, renewed pain stabbing my ribs when I move. I follow her as she moves to a door to the side and pulls it open.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  She closes the door behind us. We’re standing in a small bathroom, a toilet, a sink, and to our right, a glass door to a shower.

  “I’m to clean you up.” She lowers her voice. “What happened to you? Did he do that?”

  “Clean me up? What?”

  Rose pulls open the glass door and steps inside, turning the faucet until the water flows on the dark gray tiles, tilting her head for me to follow. I widen my eyes, then I hold up my cast. “I can’t.”

  She leans closer, whispering, “You don’t say no to Salvatore. He tells you to shower, you shower. Come on, I’ll do your hair.”

  “But I… my arm.”

  Her eyes dart to the door, as if she could see the man through it. “Please. He’ll punish us both.”

  The room steams up fast. Tears well up in my eyes and my lower lip trembles as I let her lead me under the warm stream. “Did he really get you off?” I whisper. The water soaks my cast, fills the sliver of space between it and my skin, softening it. It won’t support my broken arm much longer.

  “I don’t come with customers,” she says, and starts caressing my soaked hair.

  Relief floods me as I turn to look at her. It was all fake. Of course he wouldn’t give someone pleasure.

  “But I did,” she adds as she clicks open a shampoo bottle and pours a large amount of flower-scented pink gel in her palm. “Turn around.”

  I obey and close my eyes as she begins to massage my scalp. “Was it…” Her hands are so gentle that I lean back into her touch, wanting more. No one has given me even the slightest amount of tenderness in what feels like forever. “Was it good?”

  She huffs. “Yeah. Too fucking good. I’m still expecting the blow. He has a reputation… He’s not nice with the girls he brings here.” She pushes me forward a little, letting the stream of water rinse the shampoo out of my hair. “What’s your story?”

  I don’t know if I should tell her. Maybe it will put her in danger too? “I… made some bad decisions.”

  “Step back,” she says, and rubs my wet tresses. “Conditioner. And yes, I’d say.”

  “What does he do with the girls?” My voice barely carries the words. I have no idea what awaits me. All I know is that it can’t be good. It won’t be good.

  Rose puts a hand on my shoulder, making me turn to her. Her gaze is filled with concern, and the fear we both share. Pouring soap into her hand, she lathers down along my good arm, my hips, my ass cheeks, my thighs, inside and outside. The air thickens between us, or maybe it’s me in my confused and still infuriatingly aroused state. Crouching before me, the girl looks up, biting her lower lip. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers.

  I scoff. “No, I’m not.”

  She stands, dragging her hands up along my body, making my nipples peak. “Yes, you are. I see it even though you’re bruised.”

  I glance down on my black and blue skin, the swellings over cracked ribs, big black marks on my thighs, the cast that is now soaked and useless, and swallow hard, sorrow over what I’m losing stabbing through my chest.

  “He’ll want you,” she says softly.

  “That’s not a good thing.”

  She shakes her head. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Can you help me?” I whisper. “Can someone help me get out of here?”

  “No. I can’t. I’d be killed.” She suddenly puts her lips to mine, in the lightest of kisses. “What’s your name?”

  “Chloe.”

  Rose nods. “Chloe, I’ll pray for you.” She collects more soap. “Spread your legs.”

  I fight the tears as I obey. It’s almost as if I’m already conditioned to follow orders, as if my body isn’t my own anymore. She lathers along my belly and then dips in between my legs, her eyes dart to mine as her fingers slide along my slit.

  “You’re wet. Oh my God. I’m so sorry. That whole fucking show was for you, to fuck with you.” She removes her hand and carefully lays her arms around me, hugging me, pressing her naked breasts to mine. It’s both sensual and friendly at the same time.

  “I can’t do this,” I choke out, burying my face in her nape. “I can’t be here.”

  “I need to go,” she says and abruptly takes a step back. “I won’t forget you, Chloe.” She turns on her heels, rips a towel off a hanger and disappears out the door as she wraps it around herself.

  The door falls closed, and I’m left in the warm stream, with my bruises, my now useless cast, aching, and with invisible chains tightening around my chest. I gulp down a sob, but the next one tears loose from my throat and I can’t keep the panic at bay any longer. I fall to my knees and wail, gasping for air in between the barely human sounds that erupt from the depths of my soul, mourning my lost life.

  I never heard the door open and flinch hard when I suddenly look at a pair of legs. Glancing up at the man before me, my eyes meet with the impassive gaze of Ivan, the giant door guard.

  “Come,” he says.

  Chapter 8

  Luciano

  They are in the shower forever, but I let them. I’m ridiculously satisfied, both mind and body, in a way I rarely experience. Burying my cock in the whore’s throat as I watched the broken and naked young Chloe’s eyes gloss over, her lips part, her breathing quicken, was beautifully wicked. She’s in pain and scared for her life, and still her body betrayed her and longed for my hand in her cunt.

  The intercom cracks to life. “Mr. Salvatore.”

  “Yes,” I mutter, ripped out of my fantasies.

  “Mr. Jones is by the gates,” says Mike, one of my guards at the front gate. “Devon Jones.”

  I look at the clock. Five fucking hours late. “What does he have to say for himself?”

  It’s quiet for a few moments, then Mike’s voice comes back through the loudspeaker, “He says he’s got the money.”

  I listen to the clattering of the shower. It’s seven in the evening and my stomach growls. The cooks are preparing dinner and I want to personally throw my new toy in chains before I eat.

  “All right, let him in. Put him in my second office down in the north wing. And lock him in. I’ll have a word with him when I have the time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I spin my chair around as the door to the bathroom slams open and the whore comes rushing out, her chest heaving, her long blonde hair soaked, laying plastered over her head, dripping on my floor. She half-runs toward me and bends to pick up her dress. I put a foot on it, holding it down.

  “Wipe off the fucking floor first.”

  A brief sneer across her face is immediately replaced by delicious fear that makes my cock stir.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Actually, leave it. On your knees.” I pull down my zipper and grab my cock. She immediately sinks to her knees, looking up at me pleadingly, her mascara smeared under her eyes. I smirk and wipe her cheek with the pad of my thumb, then I grab her hair and put my cock to her lips. “Suck it like your life depends on it.”

  Her eyes are wide and sad as she obeys, like they always do. It disgusts me. Everyone crawls, hurries to please me, no one resists. She cries as I stab the back of her throat, barely turned on anymore. “Make me come,” I growl and pull her hair harder. With shaking hands, she cups my balls and swallows around me, sucking, fingering my ass. It’s a lame fucking release, and I hate her for it. My come dribbles down on her chest and her breaths hitch. I lean in, nose to nose. “I’ll have your ass later. Get the fuck out of my sight.”

  Sobbing, she scrambles to get her dress. “Now,” I roar, watching her flee my office, naked
, clutching the red fabric in her arms, her butt disappointingly pale and unwhipped. My thoughts turn to the one who won’t leave. Guess I’ll have a go at her ass instead.

  I open the laptop and intend to do some more work. I wonder how the planning for the Crimson Corp is coming along. I’m just about to type an email to Christian when I slam the lid closed again. There’s wailing from the shower, and no matter how enticing, I’m hungry. I grab my suit jacket and pull it on as I call for Ivan to take care of her. We meet in the doorway.

  “What do you want me to do with her, Boss?”

  I think a little. What do I want? “Put a collar on her and chain her to the wall in the room under my personal bedroom.”

  “Do you want me to turn the heat up? It’s a bit chilly down there.”

  “No.”

  “Clothes?”

  “No.”

  Ivan doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t betray anything he’s thinking. “Yes, sir.”

  I take a step out into the hallway, already smelling delicious cooking, then I come to a halt. “And Ivan. No one sees her.”

  “Define no one, sir.”

  “Only you and me.”

  “That will be hard. The house is full of people.”

  “Solve it.”

  I stride off to the dining room. I’m not eating alone. I rarely eat alone. There are quite a few of my men who come and go in the common parts of this house as if they live here. Most of the time the company is a nice distraction. They’re with me because they’re clever people, ruthless like me, loyal. Tonight it annoys me, though. I would have rather spent some time alone to think. I’m about to venture into uncharted territory, and I wonder if I should make plans, or just play it by ear.