Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Carlo
My body is still humming with the memory of Ginni whimpering and gasping in my arms. Now he is curled against my side like always, using my chest as his pillow, but everything feels different now. More intimate. More real.
I shouldn’t have done it. I should not have touched him. I know that. Ginni is beautiful and enticing and he worships me, but he quite literally is not in his right mind. He believes with his whole heart and soul that he wants me, but surely he can’t know what he wants.
Taking advantage of him proves that I’m the monster, despite the fact that he abducted me.
But out of all the terrible things I’ve ever done, it’s the one I regret the least.
Last night was... Cristo, I don’t even have words for what it was.
Intense doesn’t begin to cover it. The way Ginni responded to me, the trust he showed, the vulnerability he offered up like a gift.
And when I told him to stop, he listened.
Actually listened, without argument or manipulation or sulking.
There’s hope for my beautiful menace after all.
And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? The fact that I’m thinking of him as mine. The fact that last night felt less like captivity and more like... love.
The fact that I’m starting to plan ways I can keep him. Now, when I think of escaping, I’m imagining taking him with me. I don’t like being a prisoner. Being kept is humiliating. But Ginni in my bed? That is something I can get fully on board with.
I stare up at the artificial sunrise painting the ceiling above us and try to make sense of what’s happening in my head.
Is this Stockholm syndrome? Am I developing feelings for my captor because my brain is trying to cope with an impossible situation?
Or are these emotions real, based on genuine connection and compatibility?
The uncertainty is maddening. How can I trust anything I feel in this basement? How can I know if what’s growing between us is authentic when the entire foundation is built on coercion and control?
I look down at Ginni’s sleeping face, peaceful and unguarded, and something fierce and protective rises in my chest. Whatever’s happening between us, whatever name you put on it, one thing is absolutely clear.
This boy needs to be protected. From his family, from the world, from his own self-destructive impulses.
Getting him away from the Torrini family isn’t about us.
It’s about basic human decency. No one should have to live the way Ginni has, hidden away like a shameful secret, subjected to conversion therapy for the crime of being himself.
He deserves better. He deserves safety and acceptance and the chance to be exactly who he is without apology.
So that’s my focus. Not figuring out my feelings, not analyzing the psychology of captivity, but planning how to get Ginni somewhere safe. Somewhere his family can’t hurt him anymore.
The obvious choice would be away from London, somewhere rural and away from the reach of traditional mafia families.
Maybe Scotland, somewhere remote where he could pursue his art without interference.
I have money, connections, resources. I could set him up with a new identity if necessary, make sure he never has to depend on family approval again.
Would the Torrinis care? Would they be grateful? Or would they take it as an insult? Frame it as me stealing their youngest son?
As for Ginni himself, would he go willingly? Or would he see it as another rejection, another person trying to get rid of him? The logistics are complicated enough without factoring in Ginni’s particular brand of emotional instability.
Maybe I could frame it as a fresh start for both of us. Tell him I was coming too. A chance to build something together, away from the expectations and prejudices of our families. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie, if these feelings turn out to be real rather than circumstantial.
The thought of leaving London, leaving everything I’ve built, should terrify me. But lying here with Ginni warm and trusting against my chest, it doesn’t feel like sacrifice. It feels like possibility.
Ginni stirs against me, making a soft sound that’s half sigh, half purr. His eyes flutter open, focusing on my face with immediate awareness. No gradual awakening for my menace. He goes from sleep to complete alertness in seconds, a predator that never truly rests.
“Good morning, my love,” he says softly, the endearment falling from his lips with such natural affection that my chest tightens.
“Morning,” I reply, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Sleep well?”
“Perfectly.” He stretches like a cat, all fluid grace and unconscious sensuality. “Last night was...”
“Amazing,” I finish, because it was. Whatever else might be complicated about this situation, that part is a simple truth.
Ginni’s smile could power half of London. “I was going to say life-changing, but amazing works too.”
He starts to sit up, probably planning to begin his usual morning routine of coffee and elaborate breakfast preparation, when everything goes dark.
The projector dies. The gentle hum of the air conditioning stops. Even the small LED lights in the recesses go black. We’re plunged into complete darkness, the kind of absolute black you only get in windowless underground rooms.
“What...” Ginni’s voice is small, confused, already edged with panic.
I can hear his breathing change, becoming rapid and shallow. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, my confident, controlling captor has become a frightened boy in the dark.
“It’s just a power cut,” I say calmly, my voice loud in the silence. “Probably a blown fuse or a tripped circuit. Nothing serious.”
“But I didn’t... I don’t know how to...” Ginni’s voice cracks, and I can hear him moving in the darkness, probably wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn’t plan for this. I don’t know what to do.”
The desperation in his voice triggers every protective instinct I have. This isn’t the calculating mastermind who planned my abduction. This is a twenty-one-year-old boy who’s suddenly out of his depth, lost and scared and looking for someone to take charge.
“Ginni, listen to me,” I say firmly, injecting authority into my voice. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to fix this together. Can you feel around for a candle? They are still all over the place from dinner.”
I hear rustling, movement in the darkness as he follows my instructions. “Yes, I’ve found one on the nightstand.”
“Good. Now the matches. They were on the nightstand too.”
More fumbling, then the blessed sound of a match striking. Light flares in the darkness, warm and golden and infinitely reassuring. Ginni’s face appears in the glow, pale and worried but no longer panicked.
“There,” I say approvingly. “Much better. Now we can see what we’re doing.”
“The power,” Ginni says, his voice still shaky. “How do we get it back?”
“Circuit breaker probably tripped. Do you know where the electrical panel is?”
He nods, then seems to realize I can’t see the gesture clearly. “In the utility room. But I don’t know how to... I’ve never...”
His voice trails off, and in the candlelight I can see his hands shaking.
He’s completely out of his element, all his careful planning useless in the face of something as mundane as a blown fuse.
The competent, dangerous boy who’s been managing every detail of my captivity has dissolved into someone who has been thrown out of their depth.
“That’s okay,” I tell him gently. “I do. But I’ll need my hands free to work on it.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with implication. We both know what I’m asking for. Freedom, even temporarily. The chance to fix this problem because he can’t.
Ginni looks at me for a long moment, fear and trust warring in his expression. Then he reaches under the bed with trembling fingers and produces the key to my restraints.
“Fix it,” he whispers, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Please. Fix everything.”
There’s so much more than electrical problems in that request. Fix the power, fix his fear, fix the mess that’s his life, fix the broken boy who has never been loved.
“I will,” I promise, and I mean it.
He unlocks the cuffs with careful precision, his hands still shaking slightly. The moment my wrists are free, I could overpower him. We both know it. He’s small, I’m trained in violence, and he’s holding nothing more threatening than a candle.
But I simply sit up and stretch my arms, working circulation back into my wrists with matter-of-fact efficiency.
He diligently frees my ankles and then looks up at me expectantly. Biting his bottom lip in a way that is utterly adorable.
“Lead the way,” I tell him.
He takes me straight there, candle held steadily. A no-nonsense edge to his stride. Calm, now that he has instructions to follow.
I follow behind him, utterly naked, and wonder why I don’t feel absurd.
The utility room is small and cluttered, filled with the mechanical guts of the building’s systems. Ginni holds the candle high, casting dancing shadows on the walls as I locate the electrical panel.
There is a dent in the fascia that’s making it difficult to open. Ginni taps me on the shoulder with a flathead screwdriver. I take it and prise the panel open.
It’s a simple fix, as I suspected. One of the main breakers has tripped, probably overloaded by all the electronics Ginni has running down here.
“Hold the light steady,” I instruct, and he moves closer, his body warm against my side as he tries to illuminate the panel properly.
When the power flickers back on, Ginni’s sigh of relief is profound.
“Thank you,” he breathes, and there’s such genuine gratitude in his voice that my chest tightens. I’m so glad I could help.
I hide my pleased grin by fiddling with the fascia and getting it neatly back in place. Then I turn around and find myself looking down the business end of a cattle prod.
When the fuck did he get that? I swear this boy should be an assassin. His ability to move silently is preternatural. While my inability to keep my guard up is laughable. I gave Ginni my back. I should have known better. I did know better. But strangely, the betrayal doesn’t sting like it should.
Ginni’s holding the cattle prod with steady hands now, his composure fully restored along with the electricity. But there’s something almost apologetic in his expression, like he hates having to return to this dynamic.
“Thank you,” he says again, softer this time. “For fixing it. For... taking care of me.”
I nod, understanding flowing between us without words.
He’s not ready. Not ready to trust that I won’t run, not ready to believe that I might actually want to stay, not ready to let go of the control that makes him feel safe.
And I’m not ready either, not ready to make promises I might not be able to keep, not ready to declare feelings I can’t fully trust.
So I walk back to the bedroom and settle on the bed, extending my wrists for the restraints without being asked. Ginni follows, securing the cuffs with the same careful precision he used to remove them.
“Better?” I ask, and he nods, visibly relaxing as the familiar dynamic is restored.
But something has shifted between us. In those few minutes of crisis, we glimpsed what we could be together when the artificial barriers are stripped away. Partners. Equals. A team.
And now we both know it’s possible.
Ginni curls against my side, using my chest as his pillow. He’s locked the cuffs back onto my wrists, but he’s let the chains spool out to the longest they have ever been. So I wrap my arms around him. He sighs contentedly, the crisis already fading into memory.
“I should have planned better,” he murmurs against my skin. “I should have anticipated power problems.”
“You can’t plan for everything,” I tell him gently. “But you handled it well. You asked for help when you needed it.”
“I don’t like not knowing what to do,” he admits. “I don’t like feeling... helpless.”
“Nobody does. But sometimes letting someone else take charge isn’t weakness. Sometimes it’s wisdom.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, processing this. “Would you have fixed it even if I hadn’t been upset? Even if I’d just asked?”
The question is so soft I almost miss it, but the vulnerability underneath is impossible to ignore.
“Yes,” I tell him honestly. “I’d fix anything for you, Ginni. Electrical problems, family problems, whatever you need.”
He lifts his head to look at me, those blue eyes searching my face for deception and finding none.
“Really?”
“Really.”
The smile that breaks across his face is worth every moment of confusion and moral complexity this situation has created. And lying here with him warm and trusting in my arms, I realize I’m not confused about one thing at all.
Whatever happens between us, wherever this leads, Ginni is never going back to this basement of his family’s shame. Not if I have anything to say about it.
One way or another, I’m getting my menace somewhere safe.
Even if it means giving up everything I’ve built to do it.