5. Four
Four
Sienna
T he blinding light of the morning sun pierces through my eyelids, leaving me momentarily disoriented. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the brightness as I take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Reality crashes down on me quickly. It’s only a few moments before I am thrown back into the ugliness of my truth.
The first thing I notice is the neatly folded pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. They weren’t there last night. And the thought of Fabrizio entering the room while I was asleep weirds me out. Part of me wants to ignore the clothes, but the fact that I’m still wearing the same outfit from a day or two ago makes me feel filthy. Stubbornness and anger give way to a desperate need for a shower and the cleanliness it promises. With a sigh, I climb out of bed, casting one last look of disdain at the clothes before heading to the bathroom.
Wow.
If I thought the bedroom was luxurious, the bathroom is majestic. It’s almost as spacious as the bedroom. The polished marble tiles, a mesmerizing dance of veined whites and grays, are cold under my bare feet as I walk towards the bathtub. Ample natural light pours in through a large, frosted window, highlighting the marble’s beauty.
I turn on the water and watch the bathtub fill with soothing warmth. I skim through the bath additives neatly arranged on the edge—jars of scented salts, bottles of bubble baths, and packets of bath tea. I choose a lavender and vanilla bath salt, the packaging promising stress relief and tranquility. With a flick of my wrist, the crystals dissolve into the water, releasing a calming aroma. Quickly shedding my clothes, I let them fall to the floor before sinking into the hot water. As my body is enveloped in warmth, I feel the tension melting away. For a moment, I am relaxed, as if all my worries have been left on the bathroom floor with my discarded clothes.
The tears come without warning, slipping silently from the corners of my eyes. The salty release of my emotions feels liberating, so I let them fall. I remain in the bathtub, soaking in its warm embrace until I have no more tears to shed. Surprisingly, that moment comes sooner than expected, leaving me feeling spent but strangely relieved.
I wrap myself in a fluffy towel, appreciating its softness against my skin. On my way back to the bedroom, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the large mirror above the vanity. With a chuckle, I notice that at least I don’t look as horrible as I feel.
“Ah!” I jump as I return to the bedroom and find the man responsible for my presence here, standing beside my bed.
His eyes widen for a moment as he takes me in. He straightens, letting his gaze wander from my damp hair to my bare feet and back up. Despite the big fluffy towel covering my body, I feel naked under his burning gaze. His piercing eyes remain fixed on me, stripping me bare in a way that makes my skin prickle with unease. The fact that he stands there, unmoving, undressing me with his eyes, sends a wave of boiling anger coursing through my veins. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. My face grows hot, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
“Mr. Moretti, have you ever heard of privacy?” I demand, trying to keep my voice steady. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
He raises a brow, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, I know the concept, Ms. Walsh ,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “Unfortunately, I can’t allow you that luxury while you are here.”
My anger surges, my hands curling into fists. As if it’s not already bad enough that he’s taken me and is keeping me here against my will.
“You are a bastard, do you know that?” I spit out, my voice venomous.
He chuckles, the sound low and menacing. He takes a step toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. “I do, and I assure you, I have been called worse,” he says, his voice filled with amusement.
I take a step back, my heart racing. “What do you want?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. The look on his face and the visible bulge in his pants are answer enough. Whatever he wanted initially, his plans clearly changed the moment he laid eyes on my barely dressed body. I take another step back, clutching the towel to me as if it’s a shield. I promised myself not to show any fear, not to let him get to me. But the intense turmoil of emotions boiling inside me makes it hard to keep myself from shaking. Fear mingles with excitement, anger with lust.
This is crazy. I am crazy.
My throat constricts as I swallow hard, my mouth dry. A whiff of panic sends my mind spinning for ways to get as far away as possible from the man standing in front of me. Even though I already know it’s futile.
Fabrizio Moretti is a man who takes what he wants, and right now, the hunger in his gaze leaves no doubt that what he wants is me. When he takes another step forward and I mirror his movement, stepping back, my legs hit something cold and hard. The nightstand. I am trapped now. Pinned between the piece of furniture behind me and Fabrizio before me.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I warn, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremors of fear coursing through me. He merely chuckles, the low, husky sound of his laughter vibrating through every cell of my body. It sends shivers down my spine, not entirely of the unpleasant variety.
“I think you don’t quite understand the predicament you’re in,” he drawls, his tone dripping with condescension. “You are—”
“What?” I snap, cutting him off. Something inside me fractures, all the simmering emotions—the fear, the anger, the helplessness—unite into a potent, explosive mix. He might think he can do whatever he wants; hell, he does have the upper hand here, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand back and allow him to toy with me.
“Your prisoner? You’ve made that abundantly clear already,” I spit out, the words bitter on my tongue. The burning prick of tears surprises me. I thought I’d cried myself dry, but it seems I was wrong. Yet I grit my teeth, forcing them back. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me shed even one single tear. “Believe me, I do understand the situation I am in. Asshole ,” I mutter under my breath, caught between the hope he heard my defiance and the prayer he didn’t. My whole body erupts in goosebumps as Fabrizio takes another step toward me, the heat radiating off his body a stark contrast to the coldness of his demeanor.
He cups my chin and tilts my head up, forcing me to look at him as he leans in so close that our noses touch. “As long as you are here, you are whatever the fuck I want. My prisoner. My possession. Mine, ” he whispers against my lips before lightly brushing his against them.
His last words sound almost passionate, but his sultry tone can’t mask the ugliness of their meaning. But I can’t ignore the way my body and mind react when his lips touch mine. All my resolve and fighting spirit evaporate into thin air with a single, light touch. His hand moves from my chin to the back of my head, fisting my hair and yanking it back hard.
“Ugh.” While he holds me in a tight grip, his other hand pulls my towel away with a flick of his wrist, leaving me standing naked in front of him. All I can do is stare at him, my mouth gaping open in shock, my mind foggy. His heated gaze wanders up and down my body, leaving me hot and wet all over. My body’s reaction is a mystery to me. When he captures my mouth with his, I am taken aback; I can’t move or think clearly as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth.
I push my hands against his chest, clawing at his shirt, pulling him closer to me. He grabs my bare ass cheek with a boldness that catches me off guard. His fingers squeeze and release my flesh, pulling me in closer until our bodies are flush. I can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, his hips grinding against mine in a rhythm that speaks of pent-up desire.
As Fabrizio’s erection presses hard against my stomach, I’m hit with the realization of just how aroused he is. That knowledge alone is enough to fuel my own excitement, my body responding in kind. A whimper escapes my lips, pushed out by the rough way he dominates my mouth. His tongue isn’t gentle, doesn’t ask permission. It takes, and I find myself getting lost in the sensation.
Oh my god.
His fingers rake down the sides of my body, nails grazing my skin before digging into the flesh of my hips. He spins me around like I weigh nothing. I stumble, but Fabrizio’s grip keeps me upright as he navigates us toward the bed. There’s a fleeting moment of weightlessness before he pushes me down, my upper body bouncing against the mattress.
In an instant, he looms over me, positioning his knees on either side of my hips. One of his hands pins both of my wrists above my head, his grip firm but not painful. I’m trapped beneath him, just like yesterday. The only difference is that I’m completely naked, and my struggles against his hold are far less enthusiastic.
He answers my halfhearted attempt to break free with a low chuckle. Unfazed by my wiggling, his free hand rakes down my upper body, slower this time. Fingertips trail along my skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. When he cups my breast, squeezing it tight, he leans down and drags the tip of his tongue from the shell of my ear down the length of my neck. The sensations make my toes curl and send my whole system into overdrive. I want to demand he stop touching me and beg him not to at the same time.
“Fuck,” I moan, unable to hold back. My hips lift off the mattress, pushing against him, seeking friction. He works his way down my body with agonizing slowness until his mouth closes over one of my hardened nipples, sucking gently at first. Against all reason, against every instinct, I can feel my arousal spiking, my body tightening with each pull of his mouth. His tongue circles the nub, a wet heat that has me gasping. Then his teeth are there, biting down hard. A jolt of pain runs through me, delicious and sharp. My mouth opens in shock, in a silent scream, but what emerges is another moan.
I feel him chuckle, his warm breath against my damp skin. His mouth hasn’t let up, his teeth still gripping my nipple. It’s a strange sort of pain, one that only seems to fuel my desire. Then he’s moving lower, his touch a featherlight whisper that leaves a tingling sensation in its wake. His fingers dance across my skin, each graze of his nails sending a shiver down my spine.
“Hmm,” he muses, his tone knowing, a smug smile spreading across his face. “For someone throwing so many bad words at me, you seem pretty… excited.” His voice is low and husky, dripping with amusement. I clamp my mouth shut, biting back a retort as I try to deny him the satisfaction of an answer. I attempt to remain still, to not react at all, but it’s impossible. He just drags his fingers along my inner thigh, the touch sending sparks through my system like fireworks exploding. I can feel how wet I am, my body betraying me as it begs for his touch. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing through my body until it feels like the only sound in the world. There’s no point in denying it, in trying to pretend that I don’t want this. But still, I try.
Still, I struggle against the overwhelming desire that threatens to consume me. His chuckle is a low rumble that vibrates through me, making my core clench with need. “You can’t hide it,” he murmurs, his breath a warm caress against my skin. “Your body doesn’t lie, even if you do.” His fingers tease at my entrance, not entering, just barely touching. “So fucking wet.” It’s a taunt, a promise of what could be if only I would give in. I stare at him, my mind reeling. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
But there’s something about the way he says it, the possessive growl in his voice…it does something to me. And then, within the split of a second, his face hardens, “Fuck.” The word hangs in the air, a harsh curse shattering the fragile intimacy of the moment. I watch in a daze as he pushes himself up, his body uncoiling from the bed like a predator springing into action. He towers over me, his gaze raking down my naked body with a cold, almost clinical detachment that makes my skin crawl. I feel vulnerable; I feel some sort of shame and a sense of coldness and loss as he steps back.
“I have to leave soon,” he tells me, his voice firm and devoid of any warmth or teasing. “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. Dressed.”
I remain sprawled on the bed, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath and process the whirlwind of emotions. My heart is racing, my body still humming with unfulfilled desires that now feel more like frustration and confusion.
What the fuck was that? I wonder, my mind reeling as I try to make sense of his sudden shift. First, he pounces on me like some kind of wild animal, and then he just…leaves? The man is highly confusing. As is my own reaction to him. I was spitting hate at him mere moments before spreading my legs for him. There’s not a single rational reason that could explain my ridiculous behavior.
“Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Ms. Walsh?” Fabrizio asks as soon as I step into the sleek, modern kitchen. “Or do you prefer tea?” His voice is smooth and polite, a stark contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes just minutes before.
I almost want to laugh at the absurd formality of his words, the neutrality of his tone. As if he hadn’t pressed his hard length into my naked body, making his intentions crystal clear. I can still feel his touch burning into my skin. “Why the formality after you just basically threatened to fuck me?” I shoot back. “ Mr. Moretti? ”
He smirks, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards, a small dimple appearing on his cheek. “That was more of a promise than a threat,” he clarifies.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath, but a flicker of his eyebrow tells me he heard.
“You have quite a foul mouth for someone working with kids,” he says, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest, one eyebrow arched in disapproval. “I won’t tolerate you swearing in front of my children.”
“I usually don’t,” I retort, meeting his gaze head-on. “It seems like you bring out the worst in me.”
“I tend to have that effect on people,” he replies nonchalantly.Fabrizio gestures to the chairs across the kitchen island. “Sit down; we have a few rules to go over.”
“I prefer standing,” I say firmly, my heels digging into the tile floor to underline my words. To my surprise, he doesn’t comment on my tiny act of rebellion. Instead, he simply nods and moves back to the counter, where a sleek coffee maker sits. Wordlessly and practiced with ease, he brews a cup and places a steaming mug in front of me. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, but my stomach is churning too much to appreciate it.
A moment of silence passes before he speaks again. “St. Anne’s administrative office confirmed your leave of absence last night.” His voice cuts through the silence, his words making my heart sink. My stomach churns at his words. I wonder what he told them. But then, I wonder if they even asked, blindly doing what one of their most generous donors wants.
Or maybe his name and reputation are enough for the school not to question the whereabouts of their employee. They probably don’t even expect me to return. Ever.
“They insisted on an unpaid leave, but of course, you will be compensated generously for your services.” I hold back a bitter chuckle. The audacity of this man is unbelievable. “You will be responsible for the twins’ well-being at all times, as well as their education. I want them to stay caught up on their schedule.”
I nod. After all, this is what I agreed to last night, isn’t it?
“I assume you know how to cook?” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze roaming over me as if he doubts my abilities.
“Yes,” I answer.
“The fridge and pantry will be restocked regularly, and I have a maid come in every other day to clean and wash. If you need anything, you can let any of my men know. As long as your requests are reasonable, they will be fulfilled. You are allowed to move freely around the house and use certain amenities you might enjoy; however, you are not allowed to leave the premises.” He delivers the rules with the air of a prison guard, his eyes hard and unyielding.
I feel a surge of anger at his words, at the thought of being trapped and confined, but I push it down.
“Although if you wish, I will allow you to be taken to your apartment to pick up some of your things today.”
At this, I can’t hold back a snarky remark. “Oh, how generous of you, Fabrizio. ” I let his name roll off my tongue with as much sarcastic venom as possible. He shoots me a glare, though I think I can see some amusement in his eyes. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
“Otherwise, my men will take care of packing for you.”
I nod, my mind racing.
“The children will return home in the afternoon; as soon as that happens, I require you to stay in your room until told otherwise.”
“Do they not know that I am here?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Do they know what’s going on?
“Not yet. I will tell them tonight. Afterward, you will join us for dinner.”
I frown, my brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait… what are you going to tell them?”
“The truth.” He leans back, a cold smile spreading across his face. “You accepted my proposal to be their nanny for the time they need to be homeschooled. That is, if you still accept the deal I am offering you,” he adds, his eyes glinting with challenge.
I swallow hard, my mouth going dry. “What happens if I don’t?” My voice is quiet as I ask the question, not sure I even want to know the answer.
Fabrizio leans forward, his elbows resting on the counter. He steeples his fingers together, his eyes fixed intently on mine. “Your stay here will be a lot more… pleasurable if you do. And that you will remain here for the time being is not up for debate.”
I nod, doing everything in my power to appear defiant. “Then you already have your answer.”
“Good.” He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “I have some business to attend to; Vance will show you around and take you to your apartment should you decide to go.”
With that, he straightens and starts to walk away. But he doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he steps behind me, trapping me by placing his hands on the counter on either side of my body. I can feel his body heat against my back, his intoxicating scent wafting into my nose, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. When he brushes my hair out of the way, I can feel his hot breath against my ear. “One more thing, Sienna …” Fabrizio whispers into my ear, his voice seductive but laced with threat. “I expect you to act fully compliant. My children should not get any idea why you are really here. And I expect you to follow every one of my commands.” He pauses, his breath fanning against my skin. “If you continue disrespecting me, provoking me, throwing around profanities, I might have to be the one teaching you a lesson. In obedience.”
The mixture of his words of threat and his breath grazing the sensitive skin of my neck sends a tremor through my body. Without another word, he pushes away from me and walks out of the room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I remain frozen, gripping my mug of coffee like a lifeline, when I hear a door opening and closing.
Almost immediately, a man dressed in dark attire appears in the doorway. I can only assume that this is Vance since he doesn’t possess the kindness to introduce himself to me, let alone acknowledge me in any way.
But I don’t care; it’s not like I’m here because I want to make friends. “So, I assume you are my watchdog?” I ask, my voice laced with false innocence and friendliness. He looks at me, not a muscle of his expressionless face moving. He’s a blank slate, a hulking mass of muscle and intimidation. “Well, whatever. I’d like you to take me to my apartment. Please. ” I add the last word as an afterthought, my tone dripping with sarcasm. Vance acknowledges my request with a curt nod. Without a word, he turns and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me to follow in his wake.
As I step into my small apartment, the familiar scent of old books and stale air wraps around me like a worn-out blanket. The cramped living room, with its faded armchair and minimalist decor, stands in stark contrast to the opulent mansion I just left.
But this is my home, and I usually love it—except for today. Right now, the familiar walls seem to close in on me. The air feels thick and heavy, making it hard to draw a full breath. A wave of claustrophobia washes over me, and I question whether coming here was a mistake.
I force myself to exhale slowly, trying to calm the panic rising in my chest. The thought of Fabrizio’s goons pawing through my belongings and violating my personal space is even more nauseating than the realization that I’m being ripped away from my home, my life, my freedom—piece by agonizing piece.
Steeling myself, I march into my bedroom. The creak of the wooden floorboard beneath my feet echoes through the silent apartment. I barely register the familiar sight of the faded quilt on the bed and the framed photos lining my dresser. Without pausing to think, I fling open the closet door and drag out my suitcase. As I spin around to toss it onto the bed, a startled yelp escapes my lips. Vance is looming in the doorway, his piercing gaze fixed intently on me.
“Could I get a little privacy here?” I demand, trying to keep my tone polite. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t budge either, simply crossing his massive arms over his chest.
I guess that’s a no.
Under the weight of his unblinking stare, I feel a blush rise to my cheeks as I hurry to open my dresser drawers. I grab clothes at random—socks, panties, bras—barely giving any thought at what I’m shoving into the suitcase. It’s not that I don’t care; it’s just that right now, none of it seems to matter.
As I stalk back over to the closet, I consider asking Vance how long I’ll be gone and what kind of occasions I should pack for. The question is on the tip of my tongue when I swallow it back down.
I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to get this over with. I’m not packing for a fun night out or a casual day with friends. I’m dismantling my life, one article of clothing at a time, because I’ve been dragged into some kind of twisted nightmare. Because I’ve been taken hostage. From my life. From my reality. From everything I know.
Blinded by tears welling up, I grab a handful of pants, shirts, sweaters, and a few dresses for good measure and stumble back over to the bed. I dump the clothes into the suitcase without any care for neatness or organization. As I reach for the zipper, Vance is there, his large hand closing over the handle.
“Is that everything?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I still need to grab some stuff from the bathroom.” In a daze, I stalk into the bathroom, scooping up toiletries and makeup and shoving everything haphazardly into my cosmetic case.
I think I’ve got it all, but who knows at this point?
As I turn to leave, my gaze falls on the apartment one last time. I take in the sight of the faded armchair, the chipped kitchen counter, and the framed photos on the mantle. Is this the last time I’ll see these familiar things? Will I ever get to come back to this life, to this version of myself?
Without waiting for myself to come up with an answer, I square my shoulders and follow Vance out the door, leaving behind the only home I’ve known for years, silently saying goodbye to a life I’m not sure I will ever return to.
As soon as we step back through the heavy front door of Fabrizio’s home, Vance assumes the role of my personal tour guide, leading me through all the areas of the house to which I am granted access. After seeing the room I’ve been assigned to and the kitchen, I already expected the rest of the house to exude a comparable level of luxury, a dazzling display of unbridled wealth.
Yet, every room I tour surpasses my expectations. Each piece of furniture exudes luxury—sumptuous velvet sofas and gleaming antique wood tables. The rugs, surely crafted from the finest silks, feature jewel-toned colors that beautifully match the heavy drapes adorning the windows. The atmosphere evokes a meticulously designed setting from an architectural magazine, highlighting the refined elegance of each space. Thoughtfully placed pieces of contemporary art adorn the rooms, their vibrant colors and bold brushstrokes contrasting delightfully with the timelessly sophisticated decor. But what strikes me the most is the complete and utter lack of one thing—a soul.
It’s a hollow shell, a monument to excess devoid of warmth or character. However, that’s not a fact that should surprise me, given who it belongs to. Still, the complete absence of personal touches startles me. There are no cherished family portraits adorning the walls, no framed snapshots of Maddy or Flynn.
It’s not a home; it’s a mansion—massive in space and amenities, but nothing more. Vance takes me to the lower level first, where a state-of-the-art home theater, a fully equipped fitness studio, and an indoor swimming pool accompanied by a sleek sauna await. On the main floor, he leads me through the spacious living area, then down a hallway to a small but perfectly equipped classroom for homeschooling the twins. Our tour through the house ends when Vance takes me back to my gilded cage on the first floor, where I am to remain like a good little prisoner. While he showed me around, my suitcase was delivered to my room. Looking at the nightstand’s alarm clock, I realize I probably have more than enough time to get settled into my new home. Laughing to myself, I take a look around the luxurious room. At least my impending captivity promises to be a comfortable one.