I’d rather not escape by sea either because I can’t swim very well. When I was ten, a boy from my elementary school drowned. I’ve been wary of the water since.
But… I’ll swim if that’s the way out. Judging from the lack of people on the beach, and the perfect weather, I’d say the beach I’m looking at is private. I think it belongs to the house. There is a lot of land around, like where I live with Dad. So, I’m guessing there will be guards too.
I won’t know my surroundings properly until Massimo decides to show me around. If he does. I don’t know if he intends to keep me locked up in here, or what the hell it is he’s going to do with me.
The key rattles in the door. My heart squeezes. Unlike last night, I stand up, rising to my feet, and get ready for him.
When the door opens, the tension in my shoulders leaves when I see a guard and two maids in uniform. One is carrying a bag from Neiman Marcus, and the other a tray of sandwiches.
They’re both Italian. One looks to be a little older than me, while the other looks like she might be in her mid- to late fifties. They enter the room, but the guard stays outside. A safety measure to make sure if I try to run away, he’ll stop me. God, this is a nightmare.
“Good morning, signora,” the younger one says with a smile. “I’m Candace, and this is Pricilla.” She points to the older lady.
“Buongiorno,” Priscilla says, speaking with a hint of an accent.
“Hi,” I answer, deciding they seem harmless. At least I hope so.
Candace looks at the untouched food.
“You weren’t hungry?” she asks.
“No,” I lie. I’m starving, but I think I might vomit and never stop if I eat anything. “You brought the food for me?”
She nods. “Yes. You should try and eat something.”
I don’t answer. They both seem like nice people, so I don’t want to offend either of them.
“Won’t you try these?” Priscilla asks. I shake my head.
“I don’t want anything,” I answer.
They glance at each other. I wonder what Massimo told them. How I got here and everything. Did he tell them the truth? That he practically bought me? Or is it more fitting to describe it as being kidnapped and held captive against my will. I imagine being in a court room scenario and the judge laying down the different sentences. I’m pretty certain any court of law would agree to all the above. I never agreed to any of this. All someone would need to do is open a door, and I’d run far, far away, never to return.
“I got you some… um, clothes. Mr. D’Agostino wanted you to have these until your things arrive,” Candace says, holding out the bag to me. Her smile fades when I don't take it.
I shake my head at her. Fuck pleasantries. Fuck everything. They’re all in on it together. I don’t want anything.
“I don’t want any of it. He’s kidnapped me and brought me here to live with him. I don’t want anything. I don’t need food. I don’t need clothes. Definitely not when I have my own. I have more than my fair share of clothes. I don’t need any new ones.” The words reel off my tongue as I ball my fists at my sides.
They both look like they don’t know what to say to me. I can’t blame them since I wouldn’t know either.
Priscilla’s lips part as if she’s going to say something, but she sighs instead.
“How about we leave them here?” Candace offers, placing the bag down in the corner by the dressing table. “Maybe you’ll change your mind by lunchtime.”
“I don’t want lunch or dinner. I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.” I wince. I look at Priscilla, who seems to offer the most sympathy.
“I’m sorry, dear. We’ve been told to make you comfortable. We can’t do anything else,” she says.
Great. Just great. Perfect.
I bring my hand to my head and will myself not to cry again. No more tears. I can’t cry anymore. I did enough.
“When are my things getting here?” I demand.
“We don’t know,” Candace replies.
“Can I make a call?” I want to call Jacob. Calling the police would be the reasonable thing to do, but in my world, I know not to call cops. If you get out of a situation like mine, you head for the hills and pray the enemy never finds you. “I need to call my friend.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Priscilla replies.
“I can’t use a phone?” I gasp. The agony in my voice is evident.
“We’ll speak to Mr. D’Agostino about that.”
I get that lightheaded sensation again, like I’m going to faint. “Can I go outside? For some fresh air.”
When Candace bites the inside of her lip, I get my answer. “Not yet,” she says.
“Where is Massimo? Where did he go?” My voice sounds withered.
“He’s going to be in business meetings all day.”
“It’s Sunday,” I point out, feeling stupid. Maybe business is code, like it usually is. Maybe it’s code for screwing around. He’s wealthy. Why would he be in meetings all day on a Sunday?
“We’re gonna leave and give you some time. I’ll come back and check on you later,” Candace promises.
The two leave and the door closes. The key rattles. My heart squeezes.
I’m locked in again.
I walk over to the wall and throw a fist into it, hurting my hand. I don’t care. It makes me feel something other than helpless and useless.
I sink back down against the wall, resuming my former stance of pathetic, and stay there.
The hours go by. Candace comes like she promised. She tries each time to speak to me, but I’m a shell. Priscilla comes too. I give her the same treatment. I don’t eat either. I can’t.
Night falls. I close my eyes, falling asleep in my new prison. I remember thinking of living with my father as being kept in a gilded cage.
That was nothing. I had it good back then. I just don’t know why he would take care of me so well and allow this to happen. I blame him, but I know deep down that he was forced. That’s the only explanation. The D’Agostino monsters forced his hand. That’s why he behaved the way he did.
But he sold me.
Wasn’t there another way?
I don’t know what to believe and what to do. It all hurts me deeply, and every time I think of Italy, my heart breaks a little bit more.
I drift and float into a dream, then burning tickles my nose and I stir. Smoke. Tobacco smoke like the type Grandfather used to have. Dad also smokes them when he has company, but my grandfather would always have a cigar.
My eyes flutter open to see the bright sunlight. It’s morning, and a gentle breeze caresses my skin.
Breeze. My eyes snap wide. I twist toward the window but stop mid-movement when I see him.
Massimo is sitting on the window ledge— shirtless, smoking a cigar.
My breath hitches for two reasons. The first is the sight of him without his shirt. The next is fear.
I am afraid of him. I won’t lie to myself or be a hero and believe I can overpower him. I can’t.
He puts the cigar out and stands, giving me a better view of his body. There are tattoos covering the whole left side of his abs and all over his arms. There’s an angel inked on his left pec, and then what looks like Arabic writing all along the right side of his torso and left hip. I don’t know what any of it says, though, and I’m not going to give him the pleasure of staring too long. Not when he looks pissed. I stand up when he moves closer and pray silently my heart doesn’t beat out of my chest. And that I won’t die of fright.
Chapter Seven
Emelia
“I’ve been told you aren’t eating and you’re refusing to wear the clothes I got you. Tell me why that is,” he demands, staring me down.
My lungs constrict, but I will my body to function and block out the fear. If I show my fear, he’ll use that against me. He’ll use it to try and control me.
Nothing about any of this is good, and if I don’t stand up for myself, he�
�ll push me around until there’s nothing left of me. I can’t let that happen.
“I don’t want anything from you,” I answer, lifting my chin in defiance.
A deep rumble resonates from his chest. I swear it sounds like a growl. Like the sound a bear would make, or a ravenous wolf.
“You think that is how this is going to work?”
“Where are my things? You’ve brought me here and expected me to just be okay with this shit.”
“You think that is how this is going to work?” he asks again, with emphasis on each syllable, baring his teeth.
I’m pushing him. I know I am, but I have to say what I have to say.
“I want to make a phone call. Prisoners usually get that, don’t they?” I keep my gaze trained on him.
“The person who needs to know you’re here, knows. The next time you speak to your father will be at the fundraiser.”
I don’t know when that is, but I assume it’s before this wedding we’re supposed to have.
“I want to call my friend,” I tell him. He chuckles.
“Friend?”
“Friend.”
“You mean that boy? Is that what you call him? Friend?” His eyes narrow to slits. If I’m not mistaken, I catch a glimpse of jealousy.
It momentarily throws me for a loop. I didn’t expect that.
“Boy? So, what am I? Just a girl?”
He steps closer, but I stand my ground. “Don’t push me, Emelia. Don’t. You will not like it.”
Suddenly, fear weighs me down. “What would you do? Beat me?” God, what if he did? I couldn’t bear to be with someone like that. “Is that how you would treat me?”
“What is your relationship with Jacob Lanzoro?” He holds me firm. I see now the flash of anger in his eyes.
“He’s my friend,” I answer.
“Do you fuck your friends?” he asks. My mouth drops open
“No! What is the matter with you? I told you last night that I’m a…” My voice trails off as the memory of how I was with him last night comes back to me. My cheeks flush.
“People lie all the time.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You aren’t calling him or speaking to him ever again.”
“You asshole.” The words fall from my lips. “How can you be so cruel? He’s my friend. He’ll be worried about me. He’ll come looking for me.”
I know Jacob will. He’ll find out somehow what happened, and he’ll come looking.
“If that little fucker knows what’s best for him, he’ll stay the fuck away. Wouldn’t want his blood on my hands.”
“You monster!” I cry. When he tries to grab me, I slap him across his cheek so hard it leaves a mark.
He snarls and reaches to grab me again. I jump out the way and try to break away, but he catches me, lifts me up, and throws me down onto the bed. A scream tears from me when he climbs on top of me. All I can do is hit back at him.
He catches my face, and I slap him again. This time, though, because he’s so close, my nails dig into his cheek and rake over the skin, grazing the surface.
He hisses and stares back at me in disbelief as drops of blood fall onto my dress.
I can’t believe I just did that.
“You think I’m a monster, Emelia?” he growls. “Be grateful you ended up with me.”
“Fuck you,” I shoot back. “I was going to Italy. I’m an artist. I was going to live my dream, and you took it away. How dare you tell me I should be grateful, bastardo.”
I’m surprised when he laughs. “You are naïve and foolish if you think that’s how your life was going to play out.” He grabs my hands and holds them up over my head, pinning me down so I can’t move. “At some point, he would have sold you. Your father would have sold you. I just got there first.”
“Liar!” I cry. He gets up in my face. “You liar. You forced him to do this to me. How dare you try to justify what you’ve done? You forced him and left him with no choice. Monster.”
“Yeah, maybe I am a monster. But I’m not a liar. At least I don’t double-cross my friends, and I’m not a thief.” He gets close to my face and presses his hand into my stomach.
I’m aware there are things I don’t know about my father, but since Massimo has only shown me cruelty, there’s no reason to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“You’re all the same,” I rasp, and I mean Dad too. I’m here because of him. No matter how desperate he was, I’ll never forgive him for doing this to me. “Evil all the same. Whatever you think my father is, you are the same.”
Of all the things I’ve said to him, that seems to grip him the most. I can see it in his eyes.
“I am nothing like your father. He’s the devil,” he growls.
“You fucking dog!” I lash back. He answers by tearing off my clothes. The dress rips right off me in one swift move. Then my bra comes off too. He tears off my panties. In seconds I’m naked beneath him. I scream and try to fight back, but he holds me down.
Massimo then flips me over onto my front, and before I can take my next breath, a heavy hand lands on the bare skin of my ass, jolting my body forward. Another scream rips from my lips, and other slap comes down hard on my ass. And another. And another.
“Stop it!” I cry. “You’re hurting me.”
In the reflection against the glass wall I notice he was gearing up to spank me again, but he stops at my cry. When his hand touches my ass again, it’s a gentle caress of his fingers running over my skin.
There’s a moment of nothingness as I stare at our hazy reflection. Me naked, pinned to the bed with my hair falling over my face, and him half naked. Too close to me.
I keep still. I keep very still, but my poor heart can’t take this. It’s beating so wild in my chest I think it might explode.
His fingers flutter over my ass, and it’s only then that I notice how much the skin burns.
In the glass I watch him bend his head, then I feel his lips pressing against the stinging patches of skin. Four kisses for the three times he spanked me.
Before I can process the shock of that, he grabs me and pulls me into his lap. Slipping one large hand behind my head, he cups it and holds me close, bringing me forward until our lips almost touch.
I’m naked, pressed up against him, with our eyes and our lips close. With no words spoken and just the sound of my heavy breathing, the tension is thick in the air. The myriad of thoughts that race through my mind twists and scatters. My lungs tighten and the air dispels, leaving me breathless the longer he stares at me with those tempestuous eyes.
The only things I’m aware of are my shaky breath, my racing heart, my skin touching his, my nipples pebbling against the hard wall of his chest. The wetness gathering deep in my core, stirring and growing only for him. Arousal.
Maybe I’ve gone crazy. The last forty-eight hours have made me crazy, because how can I feel aroused after what he just did? He ripped off my clothes and spanked me. No one has ever laid a hand on me and hurt me like that.
How the fuck can I be aroused by that?
Now, what is this?
Is he going to kiss me? Is he going to steal my first kiss away from me too? It’s so naïve and child-like to think that way. Foolish.
When he leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, electricity sparks deep inside me and pulses through my body, but instinct makes me turn my head away. Instinct to protect something that seems more passionate to me than him claiming my virginity. I can’t give him my first kiss. I won’t allow him to steal it… yet.
Yet is the word I need to bear in mind because I can’t fight him. I’m weak and defenseless against his strength, and… this thing that seems to screw with me every time he touches me. This is the second time I’ve been naked in his presence, and look at the way my body responds to him.
What will happen next time?
“So pretty, so pure, so innocent. You’ve never been kissed, have you?” he breathes. I look back at him.
I tr
y to pull away from the invasion of my space, but he latches on to my hair and holds me still.
“Answer me,” he demands.
“You just accused me of fucking my best friend. Why are you asking me about something as simple as a kiss?” I challenge. I don’t know where my strength, or courage, comes from to talk to him with such defiance.
Maybe it’s an enhanced version of fear talking, but I feel a small victory when annoyance spreads across his face. The victory is only momentary, though, because he presses his cheek to mine and gets close to my ear.
“Answer the question I asked you, Emelia. You’ve never been kissed before, have you?” His voice is crude and demanding.
When he tugs on my hair, I press my hand to his chest. The taut skin and deep ridge of muscle tighten under my palm, and he runs his fingers over my ass.
One hand on my head, the other on my ass, making sure I know I’m locked in, paralyzed against his hold on me.
“No. I have not.”
“Your kisses belong to me now. Your arousal is mine, your fantasies are mine, you are mine. Nothing is yours. You don’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with you either.”
And just like that, he picks me off him and sets me back down on the bed. He stands up. My gaze drops to the bulge in his pants. It’s more pronounced against the joggers than what he wore the other day.
He smiles when he sees me staring and smiles wider when he reaches for the remains of my little dress. Gives it another tear, and another. He rips it up like paper and reaches for my panties, which he pockets.
“Don’t want my clothes? Well, then you won’t wear any,” he snarls.
“You asshole. You can’t leave me in here naked.” I shuffle against the bed and straighten up.
“Watch me,” he answers, reminding me that I’m about to marry a monster.
Massimo stalks to the corner of the room where Candace left the bag of clothes and picks it up.
“If you ever want to wear clothes again, you’ll do as you’re told,” he warns.
Ruthless Prince : A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Dark Syndicate Book 1) Page 6
