Chapter 3
SERGIO
The girl is sitting beside me wringing her hands in her lap. She’s watching wide-eyed as we pass the exit into the city. She’s quiet, like she promised she would be. It was either that or ride in the trunk. I didn’t really intend on putting her in the trunk, but she doesn’t know that.
She’s scared shitless, but thing is, I believe her.
I don’t think she was out there to spy. I would bet my life she doesn’t even know who the Benedetti name belongs to.
My uncle suggesting a cleaner was dramatic, to say the least. But Roman is all about business.
I glance over at her. If it was up to him, we probably would need that cleaner.
There are some men in my business who take a sick pleasure for the job of punishing.
Business is business for me. I’ll do what I have to do.
But soaking my hands in innocent blood doesn’t get my dick hard.
I get off at my exit and Natalie sits up a little taller.
“Where is your house?”
“Chestnut Hill.”
She nods. Is silent.
“Don’t you have another question?”
“What are you going to do to me?”
Ah. There it is. The question that matters. Actually, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do just yet. I need to make sure she doesn’t talk. I need her scared for that.
“Punish you,” I say.
“Punish me?” her voice falters.
I nod once while navigating the lonely, dark streets leading to my house. I don’t normally have to deal with a woman like this and I’m not even sure why I’m bringing her to my house.
“Here we are,” I say, pushing a button to open the tall iron gates as I turn onto the cul-de-sac where my house is one of three, each divided by a heavy stone wall. I wonder what my neighbors have to hide behind theirs.
I pull up along the circular drive and park the car.
I get out, then go to her side. She’s still strapped in, staring up at the huge stone structure with its intimidating pillars and oversized, hand-carved wooden front doors.
I pull her door open and she jumps. I stand back and gesture for her to get out.
When she doesn’t move, I reach over her, push the button to release her seatbelt and take her arm to encourage her out.
She’s pulling back, but thing is, there’s nowhere for her to go.
And still, the moment I release her and turn to the front door, she takes off.
She’s running back down the drive, back the way we came.
Back to the now closed gates. They’re twelve feet tall. She’s not getting out.
But here’s the thing with mice. I don’t mind chasing them. Especially the pretty ones.
And so I do.
I chase my little mouse down the driveway, over the manicured lawn. Up the hill and toward the gates. I could overtake her easily, but I don’t, not yet. I like this.
Just before she reaches the border of the property, I speed up and a moment later, I tackle her to the ground. She lands with a hard thud. It knocks the wind out of her and my weight on top of hers doesn’t help her catch her breath.
I lean up on my elbows.
“Now look what you’ve done,” I say, my voice low. “Dirtied my coat. Your clothes.”
“Please don’t hurt me!” Her voice is loud, it cuts into the night.
I look at her face. Watch her struggle. I let her. Let her tire herself out.
The ground is cold, frozen with the temperatures we’ve been having. I get up on my knees, keep her trapped with my thighs on either side of her hips. When she tries to push me off, I take her wrists and drag her arms over her head, transfer them into one of mine as I lean in close to her.
“Are you ready to do as you’re told?” I ask.
She tries to pull free. Fails.
“Natalie? Are you ready to do as you’re told?”
“If I go in there, are you going to hurt me?”
“If I were going to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done it at the warehouse?”
She stops, considers that.
“Why bring you to my house? DNA and all?”
Her eyes widen at that.
“I’m kidding. Christ. And I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
She swallows, her eyes cautious on mine.
“We’re going to go inside and get this done and if you do as I say, you’ll be home in no time. You can make it easy or you can make it hard. Up to you.”
She just keeps staring.
“Understand?” I ask.
She nods.
“Just to be clear, if you run again, that’ll be making it hard, understand?”
“Yes.”
I get to my feet and hold out my hand. She ignores it and gets up on her own and this time, when I walk up to the house, she follows.
The house is dark apart from one dim lamp in the living room and the light over the stove in the kitchen. I turn to my guest who’s looking around in awe.
I guess it is an impressive house. Big, old, but completely renovated with an imposing staircase dead center, the kitchen to the left, living room taking up the back half of the house, my study on the right. All the windows are leaded, and it lends a dark, almost gothic feel to the house.
“It’s pretty,” she says when she turns to find me watching her.
“Thanks.”
I take off my coat and hang it up then wait for her to give me hers. It’s a puffer jacket and although I felt how small she was at the warehouse, she’s almost petite when she’s left in her Henley and jeans.
I walk into the living room and she follows. I go directly to the liquor cabinet and get the whiskey and two tumblers. She’s standing at the entrance looking at everything, nervously pulling the sleeves of her shirt down to tuck her thumb through the holes at the wrists.
I carry the glasses and the bottle to the couch, sit and pour for both of us.
“Come here.”
She hugs her arms, but moves toward me.
“Here.” I hold one of the glasses out to her. She eyes it but doesn’t reach out for it. “It’ll calm you down.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“Whiskey.”
She takes it, drinks the smallest sip. Flinches when she swallows.
After draining mine, I pour a second glass and reach to turn on the lamp beside me.
I sit back folding one ankle over my knee and stretching an arm over the back of the couch to get a good look at her.
She was wearing makeup at some point but her earlier tears have smeared mascara across her cheek.
Her eyes, a pretty almond-shape, are so dark, they’re almost black.
Her skin has a pale olive tone and she keeps biting her lower lip so it’s bleeding a little.
I can’t tell how long her hair is. She’s bound the dark mass into a messy bun.
“What did those men do?” she asks, surprising me.
I smile. “Don’t worry about that.” She’s standing awkwardly and I’m thinking. “Do you know who I am?” I know she would have heard my name more than once.
She lowers her lashes and I wonder if she’s contemplating lying, but then she nods once.
“Who?”
“Mafia.”
“My name.”
“Sergio Benedetti.”
“Do you know my family?”
“Not really. I’ve heard the name, that’s all.”
“Drink your drink.”
She takes another sip. “I have class tomorrow,” she says.
I nod. Sip. Consider.
“What are you going to do?” she asks finally.
“I’m not going to do anything. You are. Get undressed.”
“What?” She begins to tremble, shrinks into herself as she hugs her arms tighter to her.
“Get undressed, Natalie.”
“Why?” her voice is a squeak.
“Insurance.”
“Why?” she repeats, taking a step backward.
“Because I need to make sure when I take you home later, that you’re not going to tell any of your friends what you saw or heard.” I wait. Watch her process. “It’s the only way to keep you safe,” I add on, not really sure why.
“Safe? How will that keep me safe?”
“Trust me—”
“And safe from who? You?” Her eyebrows knit together. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“I said I wouldn’t hurt you unless you made me.”
“I already told you I won’t say anything. I promise.”
She wipes fresh tears from her eyes. I finish my drink, set my glass down and get to my feet. She takes a step away from me when I come around the coffee table.
“Remember what you agreed to outside.” I reach her, take hold of her arms, rub them. “Just relax, no reason to get so upset.”
“No reason? This isn’t—”
“Now, what’s going to happen next is you’re going to do as I say and take off your clothes and I’m going to take some pictures.”
“Pictures?” She’s panicking. “Why?”
“You repeat yourself a lot, you know that?” I pause but I’m not expecting an answer. “Like I said, insurance. You talk and the photos get sent to your parents, your friends, are posted along the walls at school, etc…”
“Etcetera?”
“Trust me, this is the easiest way for me to do this.”
“What’s the alternative?” she asks as she pushes out of my grasp.
“The alternative would be…painful.”
She swallows. She’s wringing her hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“You’ll be fine. It’s just a few pictures.”
She shakes her head, rubs her face. “No.”
I point to the bathroom, and when she walks out of the room, I resume my seat on the couch. She doesn’t come back for a full ten minutes, but when she does, her fear seems to have lessened, or at least it’s well hidden behind eyes of fire.
She’s pissed.
“You want dirty pictures?” she asks, spitting the words.
I casually shrug one shoulder. It’s sort of funny to see her like this. I wonder about the pep talk she must have given herself to get so worked up because she’s so mad she’s practically shaking. “You think you’re going to blackmail me?” She takes a step forward, then back again. “Huh? Pervert?”
She’s bouncing from one leg to the other like a boxer. I chuckle at the image but it only makes her angrier. She finally stands still, fists her hands at her sides, her face going bright red.
“Well you can try and make me.”
I lean deeper into my seat, consider her, wonder if she’s realized how much more interesting she’s just made this. Taking my time, I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, roll the sleeves up to my elbow before I reply. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Are you?”
“Fuck you.”
“And you seemed so sweet,” I say, standing.
She spins to run from the room, but I catch her easily, my hand wrapping around her arm to halt her. I pull her into my chest. Cock my head to the side. “I was thinking I’d get a slow strip tease, but this will be much more fun.”
“Let me go!”
I lean in close, inhale the scent of her. Smell the fear creeping back up to the surface. Make a point of doing so. “Just remember, you chose this. It could have gone easier.”