Lately it's been mostly my squabbles with Lucia, but as the next event approaches, I can't even muster the strength to fight.
Enzo's birthday is right around the corner, and I've been repeatedly told what an important event it is — that I should not embarrass the family. After the conflict with Rocco, I realized that I'd rather swallow my pride instead of getting another discipline session.
And so I'd begrudgingly accepted to go get fitted for a proper dress and get my makeup and hair done.
Lucia had been in charge of the details, and while I'd been skeptical about it, with Rocco in her shadow she hadn't dared do anything unseemly.
"You've never worn make-up before?" The artist stares at me in wonder, and I can only shake my head. She purses her lips, her eyes studying my face.
"Don't worry. I'll make you real pretty," she says before she gets to work. I doubt she can work wonders, but I sit patiently in the chair. I know I've never been blessed looks-wise, so I'm not holding out hope that I'll suddenly become beautiful. I don't think anyone has that type of skill.
It takes well over an hour for her to finish, but then she suddenly tells me to open my eyes and look in the mirror. I do as told, but when I see myself I can't help but gasp.
"Is that me?" I whisper, my eyes already becoming wet.
Damn! I can't ruin this make-up.
I look up, blinking hard and waiting for the moment to pass.
"This is wonderful," I stare in awe at my reflection. For the first time ever I see something different. I'm not by any means beautiful — not in the way Gianna Guerra is — but like this, I feel beautiful.
"Thank you," the words pour out of my mouth, and I take the hands of the make-up artist in mine, trying to convey just how much this means to me. "Thank you," I repeat, and I feel tears overwhelm me again.
I'm still stupefied by my new transformation as I'm fitted for a dress — a black cocktail dress that this time, has enough material to cover my skin.
When the dress is also done, the hair is the last stop. But that proves to be a little more difficult as I engage into a heated argument with the hairdresser about the length of my hair. I've never cut my hair before, only trimming it when necessary. The fact that he's insisting on a shoulder length haircut has me incensed.
"No, no," I put my hands up.
"Yes, yes," he makes fun of me before plopping me in the chair and cutting my hair.
Apparently Lucia's been very strict with her instructions.
I try not to mourn my hair as I watch it pile on the floor. The end result though, blows my mind.
Who knew that hair could change my entire look?
I'm back at the house just in time for the celebrations to begin. There's still no trace of Enzo, though.
Losing myself through the throng of guests, I start socializing and immersing myself in conversation. To my great dismay, most of the people present speak Italian, so I don't have to make a fool of myself with my abysmal accent.
And so I start enjoying myself. Champagne flows freely, and discussions abound. The birthday party is in full swing, except the birthday boy is absent.
But I no longer care. This time, I'm going to have fun.
Fuck Enzo and fuck his family.
"No, I disagree," I say as I accept another glass of champagne from a server, "you see, there's no scientific proof for the plague of Athens. It could have simply been a metaphorical device to illustrate his disapproval of Pericles. Pericles himself was the plague." I take another sip of champagne, ready to fervently defend my argument.
When was the last time I'd felt this free?
"Beautiful and smart," the man in front of me compliments me, and I blush.
I've never been called beautiful before.
So I bask in his flattery, my laugh turning giggly from the bubbly drink.
"It's a little loud here. Why don't we go out on the balcony and you can tell me all about Pericles," he says as he's already leading me towards the double doors.
I pay no mind to the change of scenery, my brain solely focused on the discussion at hand.
"He was exiled. He wasn't exactly Pericles' biggest fan," I continue, trying to make my argument as convincing as possible. It's not often that someone talks to me about more intellectual topics — especially a man. So I feel this need to show him that I'm not some airhead. That I can think for myself.
"That's very interesting. Tell me more," he urges me on, and a huge smile spreads across my face.
The champagne does nothing but enhance my social skills, and I continue rambling about Pericles and the plague, failing to realize how he keeps on getting closer to me. Or how his hands brush against my naked arms, his palm slowly going down my back and over my ass.
It's enough of a sobering thought to try to put some distance between us. But he's not having it.
Cornering me against the railing of the balcony, we're far away from the crowd that no one can hear us and secluded enough that no one can see us.
"If you'll excuse me," I say, and I make to move past him, the situation too uncomfortable for my liking.
"Now, where do you think you're going, princess," he whispers in my hair, close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin.
"Let go," I grit my teeth, surprised he'd try something like this in my own home, with so many other people present.
"Don't be shy now," he says as his lips land on my cheek. I shudder at the disgusting feel of saliva against my skin and continue to push at him.
Then he's gone.
My eyes widen as I see a terrifying Enzo grab the man by the collar, dragging him in the center of the ballroom.
No... he wouldn't...
I run after them, only to witness a scene made for horror movies.
Enzo starts pummeling away at the man on the floor, his knuckles stained with blood as he keeps on hitting. The man's face morphs from human to an unrecognizable mess, his words turning into incoherent grunts of pain.
Gasps surround us, with people asking him to stop, but none daring to intervene.
He doesn't.
He keeps on beating him until the man stops moving. Enzo's eyes are blank as he pulls a gun from the waist of his pants, aiming for the man's head.
My eyes instinctively close as the shot resounds in the room, only to open to a sea of red. A pool of blood gathers around the body, slowly getting bigger and bigger until it reaches my feet.
I take a step back, feeling a little lightheaded — both from the champagne and from witnessing the massacre in front of me.
"You're coming with me, madame," I hear Enzo's harsh voice in my ears, and before I know it I'm thrown over his shoulder as he exists the ballroom.
Chapter Sixteen
"LET ME GO," I KICK at his back, but his grip is too firm on my body. It's only when we get to my room that he drops me on the bed, turning to lock the door behind him.
Blood is all over his white shirt, spattered across his face and clinging from his knuckles. He lifts the back of his hand to his face, smearing it around his chin. He takes measured steps towards me, his features devoid of any emotion.
This side of Enzo scares me...
Strengthening my dress, I get off the bed and attempt to get past him. I don't want to be anywhere near him when he's like this.
"What did I tell you?" His voice is low, unmistakable danger reverberating from it.
"Enzo, did you have too much to drink?" I try to diffuse the situation, and as I get closer to him I can smell the alcohol on his breath. More than anything I can see that his eyes aren't the usual startling green I'd come to love, but a tumultuous emerald color, his black pupils expanding and engulfing what's left of the irises.
He doesn't look fine. After the display in the ballroom, he isn't fine.
"What did I tell you, Allegra?" He grabs my wrist, bringing me flush against his chest.
I'd imbibed enough champagne to have it go to my head, but as I look into his eyes, danger radiating off him, m
y mind clears instantly.
"Let me go, Enzo. We can talk tomorrow." My words are soft, and I hope to reach that side of him that isn't completely gone.
"Anyone touches you and they cease to exist," he repeats the promise from before, his tone sharp but lazy, almost like a predator playing with its prey.
"What I didn't tell you..." he drifts off, and his bloodied hand trails up my neck and to my face, smearing red on me, "is what I'd do to you if that ever happened."
He takes a step forward, and I'm forced to take a step back. A waltz of fear ensues as I look for an exit, but he doesn't give me one.
One hand wraps around my neck while the other removes a knife from his pocket.
My eyes widen in fear as I see him test the blade, softly moving it across my skin.
"I don't think I told you, wife," his tone is mocking as he looks down at me, cruelty stretched taut over his features, "but you look exceedingly beautiful tonight," the knife continues its ascent on my skin, moving past the barrier of the clothes, the cold edge of the blade digging slowly but steadily in my skin without breaking the surface.
I still, a shiver going down my back.
Who is this Enzo?
"Tell me," he drawls, tilting his head to the side to assess me — study the terror on my face as the sharp side pretends to penetrate my skin only for him to switch to the blunt side, "who did you put this on?" He nods towards my dress. "What about this fucking clay you put on your face? Who did you put it on for?" His words are getting increasingly accented, a sign he's getting heated.
And that's the last thing I want — not with a blade at my throat.
"Myself. I did it all for myself." I raise my chin at him, wearing my newly found confidence with pride. Is it so much to ask for one day... just one day to feel beautiful?
"Really?" There's a sinister amusement behind his voice, but I'm the only one not on the joke.
"Yes. That is correct."
"You mean to tell me you didn't go intending to fuck whoever? What was it that you said..." he frowns theatrically, "you were lonely," he pouts, mocking me once more. "You want me to believe you didn't intend to spread your legs for that man if I hadn't conveniently showed up?"
Bringing my hand up, I slap him hard across the face. His only response is a wry laugh, before he's on to me once more, his fingers like a tight cage around my neck.
"Where did he touch you? Be honest, wife, and we might finish this faster." The anger radiating off him is almost palpable, and though my limbs tremble in response, I try not to show my fear.
"Nowhere," I barely get the words out before his hand moves up, holding my jaw between two fingers, forcing me to look at him.
"It sure looked different from where I was standing," he comments, his features morphing again from anger to a more relaxed nonchalance.
"How bad do you want to get fucked?" His knife is back at work, this time cutting through my skin right above my collarbone. I don't wince, although I want to. I simply don't let my gaze waver from his.
Show no fear!
"I don't. But thank you for the offer." I answer back, trying to regain a modicum of control.
I feel a small trickle of blood flow down my skin. Enzo dips his head lower, and his tongue sneaks out to catch the droplets, suctioning off the wound, searing it with a lick.
Shock is an understatement for what I feel, especially as he lifts his hand up to my face, palm facing forward, and cutting a straight line through his skin. A rift appears as the skin breaks and blood immediately pours out.
His palm covers my mouth, the viscous liquid dribbling down my lips.
"Suck," he commands, and I just shake my head. "Suck," he says again, more forcefully, his hand pushing past the barrier of my lips. Some drops of blood make their way inside my mouth, but as he slides his hand down I spit it right back in his face.
Serves you right, asshole!
He doesn't react as I expect him to. No, his tongue slips past his lips to lick the mix of blood and spit off his face, his expression challenging me to do more.
Then his hand slides down even lower until it covers the cut he just made.
"You were mine the moment I pumped my blood into your body, little tigress. I gave you my life force and in return I tied you to me. That means no one, absolutely no one, touches you."
His palm moves in circular motions, rubbing his blood into my wound, mingling our fluids together.
I can only stare in awe at him... at this madman before me.
"I thought I could let you go," his voice is barely audible as he seems to muse to himself. He digs the knife under the bodice of my dress, effectively cutting through the material.
"What?" My eyes widen as I see him hold me with one hand and cutting the clothes off my body with another.
"You wanted to be fucked, little tigress. Congratulations, you'll finally get your wish."
With one last tug, he pulls the dress off me, ripping it all the way. His hand is no longer on me so I take advantage, backing away slowly.
But he's a predator on a prowl, and soon it's clear that no matter what I do I won't be able to shake him off.
My knees hit the bed and I fall on my back.
He's on me at once, and his blade cuts into the last scrap of material covering my body.
Bare... I'm completely bared to him. At his mercy.
His eyes roam wildly over my body, lingering on the scar from the gunshot and then on the new cut he's given me himself. They go lower, over my breasts, my stomach, and over my most private place.
Unnerved by his perusal, I tug the sheet off the bed to cover myself with it.
"You can run, but you can't hide." Enzo says, his expression emotionless. He makes quick work of his shirt and trousers, and in no time he's just as naked as I am. His cock juts proudly between his legs, his erection massive.
My eyes widen at the realization.
I'm fucked. Literally.
I scramble back on the bed, but my efforts are in vain as he wraps his hands around my ankles, pulling me down towards him.
He drapes his body over my own, skin to skin. His nose starts nuzzling at my flesh, traveling up and down my neck. I freeze, not knowing what to expect.
"Enzo, please don't. Not like this," I take his face in my hands, hoping he'd see the entreaty in my eyes.
He doesn't seem to hear me as he parts my legs, settling against me.
And I feel him there — hot, pulsing, threatening, yet exciting.
God, I'm sick.
And he's just as sick as I am as he drives forward, sliding into me with one thrust. Eyes closed, my back arches, and a gasp escapes my lips. My walls stretch and stretch trying to accommodate his size, leaving a burning sensation behind. My hands grasp at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
It hurts, yet it feels good.
He's lodged so deep inside of me; I wish he'd never leave.
I feel his hot breath on my face, his face contorted in something akin to pain.
"Do you feel like a marauder now? Taking what's not yours to take?" I ask him, the words meant to condemn him, yet my body only wishes he'd move — fuck me so bad I'd hurt so good.
"No," he caresses my hair, a semblance of emotion in his eyes, "I feel like the only man who's ever going to be inside you. The only man who's ever going to know what it's like," he pauses, sliding all the way out of me before slamming back in, "to fuck your tight pussy."
Fingers on my ass, he brings me into him, his cock pushing deep inside of me and eliciting an involuntary moan.
But the expression on his face, so smug and superior... I can't help myself as I bring my hand up and slap him, catching his lip with the ring on my finger — ironically, my wedding ring.
"I hate you," I grit my teeth, willing myself not to enjoy this but failing miserably as he strokes me all the way to my soul.
Lip bleeding, he doesn't stop his assault, thrusting in and out of me.
"I know you do, little tigress
," he says before he lays siege to my lips, coaxing them open, feeding me his blood once more.
Maybe I should feel disgusted. Maybe.
But as I feel him gain speed, I wrap my legs around him, holding him tight against me and returning the kiss. Our tongues are wildly moving against each other. I breathe him in and let him breathe me in.
An exchange of souls.
Entangled limbs, rough jerky movements, we're so wrapped in each other that nothing else matters — just him fucking me, his cock moving in and out of me, flesh slapping against flesh, my juices coating his shaft as he impales me all over again.
"More," I rasp out, his lips molded to my neck, sucking, licking. His fingers are playing with my nipples, tweaking and pinching them.
"Who's fucking you, little tigress?" he suddenly demands, stopping mid-thrust. My heels dig into his ass as I urge him on, already drunk on the sensation.
"You, only you."
"Good," he says before he takes one nipple in his mouth, his lips wrapping around the tight bud. I cry out, the combined sensations sending me into a spiral of bliss.
"Now tell me," an evil smile plays at his lips, one finger circling my clit. I'm so close... I can feel it. But then he suddenly stops. "Who do you belong to?" He holds himself still, waiting for my answer.
Asshole!
"Me," I reply, capturing his lips with mine, my muscles clenching around him.
"Little tigress," he groans, and his hands are once again stimulating that one spot.
I feel an intensity come crashing down on me, and eyes closed, I seek to ride it.
"Open your eyes," I flick them open to find him staring at me. My mouth forms an o, my pussy contracting around him, milking him.
His expression mirrors my own as I feel him filling me, shooting his seed inside me.
We gaze into each other's eyes and for once there's no hate, no animosity.
It's just... us.
I WAKE UP SOMETIME in the middle of the night, and one look at Enzo's naked body next to me makes me remember everything. Clarity slowly returns and last night's events look entirely different.
I remember clearly how Lucia had introduced me to that man, how she'd had nothing but good words to say about him, and in my champagne-addled brain he had seemed like a wonderful conversation partner.
Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3) Page 22
