by Morgan James
As it always did, Eric’s image floated to the forefront of my mind. God, I missed him so much. The crazy thing was... I swore sometimes that I could feel him, as if he were still alive. My heart wanted to believe it, but my mind knew better. La cosa nostra didn’t let people just walk away. Especially not someone like Eric. He’d been everything to me—my savior, my friend, my lover. Would I ever get over him?
The grief came then, almost crippling in its intensity. This was all my fault. I knew better than to get involved with someone like him, but loving him had never been a choice. I knew from the moment we met that he was different—and my selfishness had cost him his life.
I still couldn’t fathom it, didn’t want to believe it. Eric was so strong and vital that the idea of never seeing him again was unthinkable. The bridge of my nose burned, but my eyes remained dry. I’d exhausted the last of my tears hours ago, and my body was too weak and dehydrated to form any more. My chest hurt, and my heart constricted, as if the life was literally draining out of me. Without Eric, what did I have? I could go back to Pine Ridge, back to my job and the friends I’d made there, but it wouldn’t be the same. I had nothing left.
On the heels of despair came anger, hot and fierce. I hated Massimo, and I hated Matteo for what he’d done to me. For years I believed him, trusted him, and he betrayed me in the worst way possible. He was even worse than his father.
A soft scuffling sound broke the silence, and my ears perked up, hope causing my heart to skip a beat. Had Matteo come back for me? Fear mingled with hope in my chest. Escaping wouldn’t be easy, but all I needed was a chance. I would force myself to withstand whatever torture he had planned next, then I would figure out a way to get out of here. A soft creak filtered over the still, dank air, and I could practically envision the heavy wooden door swinging open. There was no light to speak of, and the thought sent another shiver down my spine. I didn’t want to consider how far underground we were. If what Matteo had said was true, no one would ever find me down here. My resolve to break free strengthened.
There was a soft clink of metal that I assumed was the lock sliding into place. More shuffling assaulted my ears, my body hyperaware of every movement, the sounds seeming to echo in the small room. Suddenly, a flame flared to life in the oil lantern on the wall, the soft light illuminating Matteo’s face.
Pushing down my fear and discomfort, I lifted my chin and met his gaze head on. He paused at the sight of me, something akin to surprise lighting his eyes before it slipped away, and a smirk took its place. “How are you faring, principessa?”
I refused to show any weakness, and for several long moments, we remained locked in a silent battle of wills. Despite the exhaustion of my body, I forced the slight tremor in my muscles to still. Stay strong, no matter what. I knew men like Matteo; I’d grown up with them. They lived for fear—thrived on it. They wanted their enemies to squirm and beg, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.
Finally, he broke the silence. “I see your attitude hasn’t changed.”
Striding toward the wall, he deftly uncoiled the length of rope from around the cleat. I cried out in agony as the bindings around my wrists loosened, and pain shot down my arms. I collapsed to the ground, tucking my arms in close to me. Head bowed, I watched as Matteo come closer, the polished black shoes coming to a stop a foot away. “Have you learned your lesson?”
I swallowed hard, forcing the pain away, then I lifted my head and glared at him. “Never.”
His jaw clenched, and he let out a tasking sound before turning abruptly on his heel and striding toward the workbench. I watched him warily and took the brief reprieve to massage some feeling back into my arms. Reaching beneath the workbench, he retrieved a sack and carried it over to me.
“What is that?”
Without bothering to answer, he upended the bag in front of me, and the contents spilled out. Snowy white grains made a small mound on the floor, and I lifted my gaze to his. “Rice?”
He arched one eyebrow. “Do you know anything about corporal punishment?”
I sucked in a breath, my mind automatically conjuring images of cat o’ nine tails, whips, and canes.
“You should’ve paid more attention to your history lessons.” A malicious smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as he used his foot to spread the grains so there was a thin layer covering the uneven stone. “In fact, it’s still popular in some cultures.”
Bile rose up, stinging the back of my throat. “Why rice?”
“Because the grains are small and hard.” He took a step closer and cupped my chin in one large hand. “The smaller the surface area, the more pain will be inflicted.”
My entire body went rigid, and my mouth parted but nothing came out. What the hell did he plan to do with that?
As if reading my thoughts, he released me and pointed at the small heap of rice before me. “Kneel.”
“Matteo, please. I...” I stiffened as he moved around behind me and slid his hands under my armpits. “No, please, no more!”
I tucked my elbows in close to my side in an attempt to block him, but he was too strong. I fought his hold and crashed to the floor as I struggled to get away. A scream ripped from my throat as he grabbed my wrist and tugged me upward. The tears I thought I’d cried blurred my vision as pain tore through me as he yanked my arms upward.
“Your choice,” he said coldly. “Arms above your head or behind your back.”
Slowly, I pushed to my knees and crossed my wrists at the small of my back. He wrapped a strip of duct tape around my wrists, then pointed toward the pool of granules in front of me. “Kneel.”
On my knees, I shuffled closer, and I grimaced as the sharp grains cut into my skin. “Matteo...”
His hand fisted in my hair, the motion both keeping me upright and propelling me forward. I moved my other knee forward and sank my teeth into my lower lip to keep from crying out. The skin stretched tightly over my kneecaps, and each tiny granule felt like a needle stabbing straight into the bone. The grains of rice dug into my skin as they shifted beneath me, and I winced.
When he was satisfied I was in place, Matteo began a slow circuit around me. I stared straight ahead, avoiding his gaze completely. With a harsh exhale, he stomped over to the workbench, and I watched in my peripheral vision as he grabbed the metal folding chair. My body recoiled, my toes curling and my fists clenching tightly as he slammed it to the floor in front of me and slouched into the seat.
In this position, my eyes were at chest level. I took in the clean shirt, the newly pressed suit. He’d changed. That meant he’d at least had time to go home, and I suspected I’d been here far longer than the couple hours it would have taken him to do so.
Reluctantly, I moved my gaze upward until it collided with his. He stared at me for a moment, his head cocked slightly to one side. “You won’t win.”
The words were deceptively soft, borderline regretful. It triggered something inside me, and I tried to appeal to him once more. “You don’t want to hurt me, I know you don’t.” His expression darkened, and his mouth parted as if to speak, but I cut him off. “For as long as I can remember, you’ve been there for me. When Uncle locked me in the closet, you tried to help. You always wanted me to be safe. What happened? Why are you doing this?”
A flicker of hurt appeared in his eyes. “I have always wanted what was best for you.”
“Do you really think this is best for me? You’re hurting me, Matteo. Please let me go,” I pleaded.
His brows were furrowed slightly, as if he was somehow confused. “Don’t you realize how much it hurts me to do this?” He shook his head. “This is your birthright. This is where you belong.”
“I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this!”
“You’re a Capaldi,” he shot back. “This is your legacy. This is how it’s meant to be.”
“No.” I shook my head. “My last name doesn’t dictate my future, and it doesn’t have to determine yours either.”
M
atteo let out a mirthless laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong, principessa. My name has everything to do with it.”
Despair settled over me. What if he refused to see reason? I knew that, for the men, la famiglia took precedence over everything. Once you were part of la Cosa Nostra, you were in it for life. But I was a woman. I was absolutely powerless. With my father gone, I had literally no say in anything that happened—not that I’d held much sway to begin with. No one would care now whether I lived or died.
“I don’t understand,” I cried out. “If I wanted to turn you in, I would have tried already. All I want is to be free. Please let me go,” I begged.
He shook his head sadly. “I can’t do that.”
Anger took hold, and I snapped at him before rational thought kicked in. “Why the hell not? You’re torturing me to what—prove that you can control me? That’s not very manly of you.”
Before I could blink, Matteo lunged toward me. Breath suspended in my chest as his fingers bit into my biceps as he grabbed me and thrust his face barely an inch from mine. “Don’t you dare fucking speak to me that way. Not if you want to live to see another day.”
My inner flight mechanism kicked in, and I mentally retreated. I dropped my chin, my gaze glued to his chest as it rose and fell rapidly. After a long minute, he slowly released me and settled back into the folding chair. Silence descended over us once more, and I finally summoned the courage to look at him again.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “You killed your father for me, and—”
Matteo let out a mirthless laugh. “He was never my father.”
My brows drew together. I knew they’d had a tumultuous relationship, but for Matteo to so blatantly deny Massimo was inconceivable. I tried again. “I know you didn’t get along—”
Matteo cut me off with a wave of his hand. “You don’t understand. He’s not my father; we’re not blood.”
I blinked up at him, my mind frozen. Not blood? “What are you talking about?”
We’d been raised side by side for more than two decades. Surely I would have known something this important.
Matteo let out a gusty sigh. “I don’t know who my real father is. It was no secret that my mother’s marriage to Massimo was unhappy. He drove her into another man’s arms about a year after they’d married, and she ended up pregnant.
“I think deep down I always knew.” His voice was sad, resigned. “I always felt... different. Like I didn’t belong.”
Oh, God. It explained so much. I’d never understood why Massimo treated him so abominably, but now it made perfect sense. They weren’t flesh and blood, and Massimo resented the fact that Matteo was a bastard. Massimo had to claim him publicly, but he punished my cousin for his mother’s sins.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I never dreamed...”
Matteo slumped down in the chair, elbows resting on his knees, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he brought me down here. “My mother was always the most important person in my life.”
I wasn’t surprised by his admission. Considering the way Massimo had treated him, I was sure he relied heavily on his mother to protect him.
“Of course she was,” I soothed. “She was your mother. She loved you.”
His lips curled into a sneer. “Not enough.”
To this day, I had no idea what had happened to Aunt Helena. “Did Uncle Massimo...?”
I couldn’t finish the thought. Rumors had swirled for years, and no one ever spoke of her. It was as if, with her death, her name had been wiped from everyone’s vocabulary.
“He didn’t kill her,” Matteo said. “Though that would’ve been preferable to the truth.”
My jaw dropped as I regarded him. “How can you say that?”
“It’s true,” he snapped. “What kind of mother leaves her son?”
I shook my head, confused. I knew he was hurting, but... “Your mother passed away,” I said softly. “She—”
Matteo leaned forward, so close that our noses almost touched, and wrapped one hand around the back of my head. “Do you want to know what really happened?”
Did I? I wasn’t sure. Haltingly, I nodded. Dark eyes bore into me for a moment before Matteo spoke. “Massimo was right when he called her a coward. She couldn’t take it anymore, and she killed herself.”
My eyes widened. Surely he was wrong. Whatever Massimo told him must be wrong. “Matteo, she wouldn’t do that to you. She wouldn’t—”
I winced as he squeezed tighter. “She did. She left me with that monster. She knew how awful he was, yet she didn’t spare a thought for what it would be like for me.”
“Matteo.” Aunt Helena had loved him so much. She was more a mother to me than my own, and I believed with all my heart that she would have given her life for him. “Do you really believe that? After all the lies Massimo has told you over the years, after everything he’s done to you—do you really believe he would tell you the truth of your mother’s death?”
Indecision flashed in his eyes, then promptly disappeared. “No, principessa, it is the truth. Do you remember her funeral?”
I thought back to that awful day nearly a dozen years ago. I remembered standing beside her closed casket, thinking it odd even at the time that she wasn’t in the family plot. My brows moved together as snippets gradually came back to me.
Matteo watched my facial expressions, then finally released me and stood. “They wouldn’t even say mass for her.”
I bit my lip. Of course they hadn’t. According to the Catholic Church, suicide was one of the greatest sins you could commit. Most believed that if you took your own life, you were doomed to an afterlife in hell. I didn’t know what to say. It was awful no matter what had happened. I wanted to offer encouragement, but I couldn’t find the words. Would his mother be proud of him kidnapping me and holding me hostage below the church that had cast her away? I seriously doubted it, but I kept my mouth shut.
Matteo strode to the workbench and leaned against it, his arms spread wide as his hands rested on the roughhewn table. “I loved her more than anything, and she turned her back on me. Maybe I’m not worthy of love,” he murmured dejectedly after a long pause.
“Of course you are,” I said softly. “I’m sure she would take it back if she could.”
He didn’t bother to acknowledge me, and I wondered if he was lost in thought. “I’m sorry,” I said. “For all of it. I’m sorry your mom left you, and I’m sorry you were subjected to Massimo’s abuse for so many years. If I’d known...”
Nothing would’ve changed. Had I stood up for Matteo, Massimo probably would’ve killed him on principle. We could’ve figured out something else. I winced again as the grains of rice shifted beneath me, and I couldn’t hold back my cry of pain this time.
Matteo turned, watching me for a moment, then he picked something up and strode toward me. Moving behind me, he lifted me to my feet and brushed away the granules that had stuck to my skin. With a blade he drew from somewhere, he cut loose the duct tape binding my wrists. I rolled my shoulders in relief, and brought them in front of me as I massaged the store flesh.
“You’re the only good thing in my life,” Matteo said quietly. “You were always there for me. Until you ran away. Why did you have to leave me, too?”
I turned toward him and met his gaze. “I understand you’re upset. But please let me go. I had nothing to do with this.”
The sadness from a moment ago had leached away, giving his tone a harder edge. “Yet you are willing to walk away from me, from your family?”
Annoyance flared once more. “They are no more my family than they are yours,” I said. “Family doesn’t treat each other the way they treated me, or you, or even your mother.”
“I deserve this. We deserve this,” he stressed. “Don’t you see? We can make them pay for every wrong that was ever inflicted.”
That’s not what I wanted. They could kill each other for all I cared, but I wanted no part of it. “My life is
no longer here. You don’t have to do this,” I said. “Just walk away. You’re not blood anyway.”
I didn’t have time to react as his hands snatched up my wrists and yanked me close. “I’ve thought of nothing but this for the last dozen years. I waited and bided my time, and now we can finally be together. You’re mine, Giuliana.”
“Please don’t,” I pleaded, and he yanked me close when I tried to pull away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“We’re not blood; there’s nothing stopping us now.”
Panic made me blurt out the truth. “I don’t love you!”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Matteo’s head tipped slightly to one side, his eyes cold and blank as he studied me. “But you love him. Your cop.”
I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him, so I appealed to his emotions. “Please, Matteo, please try to understand.”
He glared at me for a long moment, his long fingers still wrapped around my wrists, holding me in place. “This is your birthright, your duty,” he spat at me. “You’ve turned your back on your family. Where is the honor in that?”
“What would you know about honor?” I shot back. “Do you really think this will change my mind? I will never love you the way you want.”
He transferred my wrists to one hand as he reached up to snatch the leather band. I twisted and writhed against his hold. I kicked backward, and he released me with a grunt as my foot connected with his knee. I jabbed at him with my elbow and finally managed to break free. My gratification was short-lived as one strong arm came around my waist and spun me so I was locked in his embrace, my back firmly against his chest. His free hand moved to my neck and pressed lightly against the Vega nerve there—just hard enough to send a spike of pain through my body. My knees went weak and I cried out as I slumped against him, black spots bursting before my eyes. He took advantage of my momentary impairment and locked the cuff around my wrists, then yanked them over my head and secured the rope in place.
