“Do you want to go?” he asks and stops in front of a large window. “Do you want to leave this? Do you even know what you want?”
“I… yes…” I’m side-tracked again by the beauty before me. Outside is a large patio paved with gray and orange tinted stones, adorned with neatly cut potted plants. A couple of dark brown, old fashioned rattan lounge chairs stand to the side with a little round table between them. “What…?” I follow the movement of a white cat that’s sneaking up on a bird before it lunges forward and disappears out of sight.
Salvatore laughs, pulling me out of the trance. “I’ve never seen someone so mesmerized by a garden. Come on. David’s waiting.”
We pass through two more large, bright rooms, a display of wealth with more space than one man can possibly have use for. Through another hallway we finally come to a stop in a room with a giant dinner table made from some dark wood. By one end of the table stands a young girl in a short black dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back and tied into a bun at the back of her head. She keeps her eyes fixed on empty air somewhere before her, and not once does her gaze flicker in our direction. I wonder if everyone is conditioned to be afraid of this beast.
On the table stand three sets of cups and plates. There is coffee, boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, butter, and marmalade. The scent of bacon from somewhere close makes my mouth water.
When we come around the table, we find David on the floor. He wears bright red track pants and a long-sleeved red and white striped shirt. His hair is a mess.
I fall to my knees. “Hi, David. Do you remember me? I’m Chloe. We met yesterday.”
At first he stares, his face neutral, then he nods and gestures, shoving his arms straight forward. My heart jumps. It’s our own made up sign for train.
“Do you want to come sit with us?”
Salvatore’s gaze burns holes in my back.
“Come, son,” he barks out as he takes a step forward. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
My hand lands on his arm on its own accord. It’s a reflex, and we both stare at it as if it has grown tentacles. I snatch it back, cowering as I look up at him.
“Be patient with him. With his diagnosis you will never, ever be able to reach him like that. You have to understand that it won’t happen. You can’t raise him according to the norm.” I watch him warily, waiting for the backlash. I’m lecturing the mob boss, the monster who is behind all the nasty, gruesome things that happen in this town, who beat me to a pulp once.
He tightens his lips, then he pulls out his chair by the short end of the table, snapping his fingers, gesturing to our cups. “Coffee, Girl. And get him to the table then, Miss Becker. Show me what you’re made of.”
My mouth goes dry as I turn back to David. Show him what I’m made of? What does he want from me? “David, are you hungry?”
He shakes his head and my heart sinks as I look up at Salvatore’s massive back.
I rub my belly. “Well, I’m starving. Do you want to come join me at the table? Do you have a chair that is yours?”
He nods, but doesn’t move. In the corner of my eye I see Salvatore stiffen. “He doesn’t have his own spot,” he says without turning toward us. “He needs to learn to adapt.”
I freeze up, but despite my brain screaming at me to obey, my heart aches for this confused child and I push on, taking a chance.
“Do you want to show me your chair?”
He nods and stands, pointing to the one to the left.
“Can you show me where I can sit?”
David looks around the table, then his arm shoots out and he points to the chair opposite him, next to Salvatore on the other side. Filled with dread, I sink down at the same time as David sits.
“Thank you!” I smile at him, even though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “What is your favorite breakfast?” Then I lean in close to Salvatore, putting my mouth to his ear. “He will never learn. He will never adapt. To him, there’s safety in routines and it’s you who needs to adapt.”
Salvatore tightens his lips as he turns his head toward me, leaving us practically nose to nose. The fear makes my ears ring with a high-pitched sound, but I force myself to remain still.
“Is that so?” His voice is dark. His eyes darker.
I swallow hard. “You asked for my help. I’m helping.”
“I can’t recall doing any such thing.”
Exhaling shakily, I still refuse to budge. “He needs his father,” I whisper. “You need him.”
There is a promise of pain in his eyes, my pain, and still, as I say the words I know they’re true. There is a heart inside that broad chest, and it’s hurting. I shouldn’t care. I tell myself I don’t, but David is an innocent in all of this. He needs peace and balance. He doesn’t need his father’s firm hand, he needs his compassion.
His nostrils flare as his eyes dart between mine, then the moment passes and he leans back. “Eat!”
I spend the next thirty minutes devouring freshly baked bread we break off the loaf, butter melting as I spread it, strawberry jam, bacon and scrambled eggs, and a couple of cups of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. Keeping up small talk with David, even though he doesn’t talk back, I keep throwing nervous glances at Salvatore. My scarred back aches with the memory of his brutality when he lost all control. Sitting here, in this calm, bright room with him and his son is surreal and I keep wondering how I can hold on to this side of him for the rest of my time here, whether it be days, weeks or… years.
Salvatore pulls up his phone and types a quick message. The girl from before shows up within twenty seconds and the beast stands, grabbing my arm. I stumble to my feet, my stomach clenching. David looks between us and I smile at him, as if nothing is wrong, then I let myself be dragged out of the room. Once the door falls closed, he shoves me up against the nearest wall, grabbing my chin as he pushes against me.
“You think you know so much!” he snarls. I try to turn my head away but he’s not having it. “Look at me!” he roars.
My eyes dart to his. They are cold, black, and still filled with a thousand emotions. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, then he closes his face and takes a step back, letting me go.
“Tonight, I will sleep in my room. You will stop clenching your fucking thighs. You have exactly one week to beg me to fuck you or I’ll start cutting into your baby brothers and send their limbs to you in pretty parcels. You are to go down on all fours, like the bitch you are, and beg me to take you. Whenever I enter my room you will not only remove all your clothes, you will make yourself ready for me, or it will hurt.”
A sob escapes me as tears well up in my eyes. “Why?” My voice breaks on the one single word.
“Because you come here and tell me what to do with my own fucking kid. In my own house. Now move!”
“Please, don’t hurt him, Salvatore. Please!”
He scoffs. “I won’t hurt him. But I will hurt you!”
Sobs wrack my body as I stumble on numb legs. He pushes me inside the domain I’ve almost come to accept as my new home and slams the door closed, locking it from the outside. I fall into a heap and cry forever. I don’t understand.
Even when the tears finally dry out, I remain curled up, my thoughts sprawling in all different directions. I got to him. That must be it. Something I did, or said, hit home and he reacted in the only way he knows, lashing out. The realization isn’t comforting in the least. I had a few moments of hope this morning, walking through those beautiful rooms, a near-normal breakfast, only to have everything ripped away.
The rest of the day I go through the motions. I work myself beyond exhaustion in the gym. I shower. Change my outfit three times, trying to find something he would like, until I remember he wants me to rip it off the moment he enters. I brush my hair, try to make myself pretty, hoping it will please him enough to have some mercy, but I can’t hide my flushed cheeks, my cried-out puffy eyes.
Late that night my every nerve ending is raw and exposed, my
stomach in knots, and finally the dreaded moment comes. It’s almost a relief. The door slams open. He oozes lethality, danger, and… raw desire. His tie hangs askew and he reeks of whiskey and cigars.
My breath hitches in my chest as I pull the shirt over my head and quickly shimmy out of the pants and thong. I fall to my knees before him, bracing myself for pain. I don’t think I’ve been so afraid in my life before, and that’s saying a lot. He stalks closer, holding my gaze, his eyes flashing. They are like dark voids and they’re sucking me in.
“Get me off.”
I swallow. My hands tremble as I unbuckle his belt, flick open the button and unzip his suit pants. I go on routine, my mind shutting down. I’ve done this so many times. As I reach for his cock, he pulls back and grabs my hair.
“Ah-ah. Don’t disappear. Be here. Touch yourself.”
I whimper, meeting his eyes as I put a hand between my legs. I want to plead with him to let me go, let me disappear. He slowly shakes his head, his cock swelling as he rubs it across my lips.
I take him in my mouth, caressing his balls as I let him push deep inside. His groan transfers into my chest, travels through my stomach to between my legs. I rub my clit as I suck him, choking, out of breath as he thrusts all the way. His obvious pleasure, his primal need, charges the air between us, making the atmosphere thick and heady.
I gasp as he suddenly pulls out.
“Bend over the bed!”
My legs barely obey me as I stand and wobble to the bed, falling forward, presenting my ass to him. The scars on my back throb, and the fear that he will add to them makes my heart gallop. I flinch when his warm palm slides over my butt, caressing, sending goosebumps down along my thighs. He’s not harsh, the touch is tender, but I hold my breath as I brace myself for pain.
“I don’t appreciate being told what to do, Chloe.”
The slap comes unexpectedly, no matter how much I anticipated it. It’s so hard it catapults me forward. I cry out and clench the comforter in my hands.
“In this house I give the orders.” He slaps me again, scorching my skin, and again, and again. I bury my face in the mattress, screaming. Then it stops. My legs shake so badly that I can barely stand. I jerk as he pushes his cock in between my legs, sliding it along my slit without entering. A hand on my back holds me down while his other hand finds my clit and expertly begins to caress it. I grit my teeth. He knows exactly how to play it. He’s brought me to the brink of orgasm more times than I can count.
My pussy swells, tingles, achingly empty. He’s so close. All I need to do is tilt my hips and he will fill me. It’s impossible to hold on to my hate when my body screams it’s good.
“You will come for me tonight, Chloe Becker.” His voice is dark, tainted with arousal.
“No,” I choke out.
“You will beg me to take you, to use your body as my own personal playground.”
I shake, fight the rising tension, fight the unholy need he awakens. “No.”
“I’ll claim your every hole while I spank your delicious butt until you scream, cry, and still beg me for more.”
My stomach tightens in fear as my pussy pleads for release. I squeeze my thighs together only to have him kick them apart.
“Why are you doing this?” I gasp.
He rubs my clit harder and then he suddenly thrusts his fingers inside me, pushing in and out. I come completely undone, my vision wavering as I thrash in an orgasm so strong it robs me of any sane thought.
“No!” I sob
My mind spins from the sudden change of position as he pulls me up off the bed and pushes me to my knees, thrusting his cock into my mouth. My pussy is still convulsing, feeling as if it will implode and I put a hand between my legs as he takes my throat until he stills, buried deep, his cock twitching.
“Fuck!” he roars, clutching my hair, staying until I think I’ll black out from the lack of oxygen, my chest burning with the desperate need to breathe.
His come dribbles down my chin as he pulls out. I fall on all fours and gasp for air. Salvatore crouches before me, his thumb caressing my lips, spreading the slick substance.
“You have one week.” His voice is soft, as if he’s a lover, and not threatening my brothers’ lives.
“Fuck you!” I scream and tear away from his light hold.
He laughs and stands. “Pull yourself together, Chloe. You know what you have to do. Now go wash up.”
I crawl backward, away from him, then I dart to my feet, wiping furiously at my lips with the back of my hand. “You’re sick!” I spin around and run to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. The tears fall as I spend an eternity in the shower. When I finally come out, he’s lying naked, on his stomach, sprawled across the bed. His breaths are deep and even, the rise and fall of his shoulders almost making the dragon on his back come to life. He’s fucking sleeping! My heart leaps to my throat as my eyes dart between him and his discarded clothes, lying in a pile on the floor. Tiptoeing toward it, I sink to my knees and pat the fabric frantically, pinching it until my fingers come across a shape that makes my head spin with excitement. Keys! I pull them out, careful not to make a sound, then I put my clothes back on, never taking my eyes off the unreasonably beautiful man sleeping a few feet away. My pussy is still raw and swollen. I shudder. I can never give in to his demands. I have to get away or I’ll lose the very last piece of me.
Thankful for the thick carpet, I rush through the hallway. My hands shake as I try one key after the other and the air rushes out of my lungs when one suddenly turns in the lock and a click is heard. I glance behind me, then I pull the door open a sliver, slip through the crack, and close it behind me just as silently. My heart beats so fast that I think it’ll tear loose. The large room is dark and I don’t see or hear anyone. I run to the double glass doors that stood ajar this morning. They unlock with a sharp snap that makes me gasp, then, without a second thought, I pull them open and I’m out!
The stones are chilly beneath my naked feet. I rush soundlessly in the dark, across the patio and onto soft wonderful grass. I haven’t felt grass, or the breeze on my skin since I don’t know when. Months and months! Suddenly the lawn is flooded in mercilessly bright light. I stop flat, like a deer in headlights, looking around me, near blinded, then I run toward the darker parts, toward bushes and trees, my heart in my throat.
“Chloe!”
His roar makes my knees fold and I stumble, fall, smack my knee into something hard, get back on my feet, keep running. Twigs slap my face, I stub my toes against roots, tear up the skin on my naked arms as I plow blindly through the foliage. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know if there’s a way out. I just know I have to try.
Something massive slams into me from behind, knocks the air out of my lungs, and I fall to the ground. Salvatore grabs my arms, pinning them on my back as he sinks down on me. I kick and squirm. He pushes my arms up higher and phantom pain from where my arm was once broken makes me go completely still. He breathes heavily, says nothing, then he leans in and puts his mouth to my ear.
“Impressive. But I’ll always be faster, always stronger.”
I let out a whimper, anticipating pain, punishment.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers, “you are going to tell me about Christine. For now,” he grabs around my chest and pulls me to my feet, “we’re going back to bed.”
I’ve had more lives than most people. The child Christine Bourne, loved, happy, cared for. The orphaned youth delinquent and thief, Chrissy B. The accountant and forger of a false identity Chloe Becker, and now the captive, the slave to a mob boss, whose name probably doesn’t matter anymore.
I wonder if this will be my last life.
Chapter 17
Luciano
I half carry, half drag a beaten and defeated Chloe across the lawn. She gives out little whimpers on each exhale, with each step, and when we get inside I reach for one of her legs and pull it up. Her partly grass and dirt covered foot is bloody, filled with l
ittle wounds and a couple of larger lacerations.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter and grab under her knees and back, hoisting her up against my chest. Voices from behind, barking out orders, make me spin around. Two of my guards come up to me. I turn half away so they won’t see Chloe’s face. I don’t know why I do it, but instinct tells me to keep her existence to as few people as possible.
“Boss, there was an intruder!”
I narrow my eyes. Tomorrow I’ll have them strung up by their balls for being so fucking late.
“Everything’s in order,” I snarl. Their gazes dart between my naked body and the violently shaking blonde I’m clutching. “Get the fuck back to your duties!”
They flinch and straighten. “Yes, Boss!”
“And turn off the fucking spotlight!” I roar at their retreating backs, then I head back toward our bedroom.
Our? Mine, I mean.
Chloe’s breaths keep hitching, and she’s tense in my hold, but when I’ve locked the door behind us, the keys still in the lock where she left them, it’s as if she deflates and falls heavy against my chest. She’s gained back her curves, and her body is even more toned than when she first came here, but I still carry her with ease.
Her workout routine is impressive. I’ve kept an eye on her. She has no idea of where the cameras are, which has been kind of amusing because she has looked for them. She goes for the free weights more than the machines. Like me. I like that. I wonder what it would be like working out with her. Would she try to slam the dumbbells across my head? Probably.
I wasn’t lying. I am a little bit impressed. I like that she fights me. It makes conquering her all the more sweet. I wonder if I’ll grow tired of her after, when she’s given in, given up all hope, when the opposition leaves her. Within a week she’ll be like any of Elena’s whores who will please me, emotionless, a professional smile plastered across her face. I’m not overly fond of the thought.
Capo Page 13
