8. Camilla
When I wake up again, it’s dark. The room I’m in is pitch-black, but I’m not alone. I can feel their presence, even if I can’t see it. The drugs knocked me out, but I’m not as groggy now as I was when I woke up the first time, and the pain has dulled slightly. Don’t get me wrong, agony still rages through every single fiber of my being, but it’s almost bearable.
The Syndicate of the Legion.
The Princes of the Underworld.
The four ruthless men who hold the key to the city, who keep law and order among criminals.
It doesn’t matter how many times I try to process the fact that I’ve found myself within the inner sanctum of the cruelest, most well-connected men in the city, it doesn’t quite sink in.
I’m so fucked. And not just because there’s a good chance they’re going to hand me over as soon as they realize who I am, but because I know who the two men who were taking care of me are, and neither are exactly the nurturing type. And the way they were looking at me, like I was theirs to take care of…it’s bad. It’s really fucking bad. Because being the object of Kovu Black’s affection is dangerous. I don’t have to have met the man to know that, his reputation precedes him. Bishop Black is almost as bad, but not because of his obsessive tendencies. No, the man with the iron poker face and the silver tongue can talk his way in or out of anything, and being at his mercy is almost as terrifying.
“I can hear you thinking from here, Little Lamb.” A deep voice fills the quiet room, and my heart stutters in my chest. How does he know I’m awake? I haven’t moved a muscle since I woke up, and I’ve even done my best to keep my breathing even despite the agony each breath brings.
“Sorry,” I whisper. I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for, or even if I should be giving away that I am in fact awake. I’m actually not totally sure what my best play is in this situation or if I should just allow myself to be handed over to the cruel man who bought my hand in marriage before I even drew my first breath.
It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, my eyes don’t adjust to the darkness, and it’s only when a warm hand envelops mine that I realize he’s moved closer to me. Or perhaps he was always there, lurking in the shadows like the demon whose name he claims. I don’t know a lot about them or how they came to power, but I’ve heard enough stories from my father’s guards over the years that upon their rise to their position, they were each given the name, The Princes of Hell, as the five families aptly named them.
When I first heard about their ridiculous name, I laughed hysterically. But now that I’ve met two of the four of them, I kind of see it. They’re every bit as terrifying as everyone says they are and not half as laughable as I expected. Fantastic.
“What are you sorry for, lamb?” he murmurs. It’s only now I realize he’s resting his cheek on the edge of the mattress, and his closeness makes my body ache for a whole other reason. I’m in so over my head with these men it’s almost comical. Almost. Perhaps I would find it funnier if I weren’t in such a vulnerable position, but right now I can’t quite find the funny side of any of it.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.” I try to laugh, but the jostling makes me wince in pain. God, my ribs are sore. But then again, all of me hurts. I may be more lucid than I was earlier, but I’m still in excruciating pain.
“Nowhere I’d rather be,” he tells me, and for some reason I believe him. I have no reason to believe a single word that comes out of any of their mouths, but he sounds almost sincere. Well, as sincere as a crazy man who runs the New York underworld can be, I suppose. “Bishop had to go take care of something, but he’ll be back soon.”
“You don’t both have to be here. I can assure you I’m in no condition to go snooping, nor am I a flight risk.” I shouldn’t be talking like this to him, not when I’m injured, and certainly not when they’re the only thing standing between me and a life as Charles Davenport’s wife. I should play this smart, but the remnants of morphine running through my veins seem to have removed my filter.
He chuckles as his thumb begins stroking my hand gently. I never thought the men of the Legion would have a gentle bone in their bodies, but they’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I suppose it’s probably because they haven’t worked out who I am yet, or perhaps it’s them trying to keep me placated until my future husband can come collect me, if he still wants me after what his thugs did to me. Maybe they did me a favor, maybe they’ve saved me from a life of misery. Or maybe he’ll use me for another purpose if I’m not fit to be his wife. I’m pulled out of the horrid thought by Kovu’s gentle touches.
“We don’t think you’re a flight risk or that you’re going to snoop. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why?” The word falls from my lips without permission, but once it’s out in the quiet room, I can’t bring myself to regret it. As if today hasn’t been confusing enough, now I have two members of the Legion interested in my health and safety, so I’m bound to have questions.
“That’s a good question, Little Lamb,” he scoffs. “But one I can’t give you an answer to right now.”
I nod against the pillows despite him not being able to see me. The movement is painful and jerky, but at least I can move. I should be grateful for the pain, because at least I survived, and at least they didn’t leave me paralyzed. It seems strange to be grateful in a moment like this, but as weird as it sounds, things could have been a whole hell of a lot worse than they are.
“Tell me something about you,” he says, and the request catches me off guard.
He could be fishing for my identity, but why not just ask? He has every right to do so, I am in his domain after all, and he is taking care of me. But what other reason could he possibly have to want to get to know me? “I’m scared.” The honest words fill the quiet room. I’m not sure if I meant to speak them out loud or not, but perhaps it’s a good thing he knows just how intimidating his presence is.
The room falls silent for long moments, and I wonder if he’s going to reply at all. He probably wants me afraid after all, I hear that’s his kink. He likes his women weak and scared, but there’s something beating in the air that perhaps that’s not the case here. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and the drugs are making me loopier than usual.
“You have no reason to fear us, Little Lamb.” His voice startles me, the deep rumble coming so long after my admission that it catches me off guard. He says that now, but what about when he finds out who I am? What’s going to happen to me when I tell them my name and who hurt me? Will they let me heal before they send me to Charles, or are they going to hand me over bloody and bruised?
“I have no reason not to fear you,” I counter.
“Touché.” He laughs, and the sound makes my breath catch in my throat. Why does my body react like this to them? It’s never reacted to anything but my own touch, and even then I wondered if perhaps sex just wasn’t my thing. But every word he speaks and every gentle touch on my oversensitive skin is like a lightning rod to my core despite the pain and fear, I no longer think that’s the case. “For what it’s worth, we won’t hurt you. We’re not in the business of hurting women.”
That much, I believe. I’ve heard a lot of stories about these men, and even if half of them are true, their mission in life truly is to keep the underworld in order. Before they came along, things were messy. Every family had experienced hard times made worse by their enemies trying to take advantage of the situation by attempting to take their territory with no grounds to do so. Even the De Marco family wasn’t immune to these hard times, but women and children have always been off limits.
“Are you in any pain?”
“Yes,” I murmur, allowing my eyes to droop closed. Even though I’ve spent the entire day asleep, I’m still exhausted. My body aches all over, and every movement makes me wince in pain.
“Do you want some more morphine? Rogers has gone home for the night, but he left some here for you, and he’s going to check in on you tomorrow.”
“Rogers?”
“One of our private doctors.”
“Of course.” I meant for it to sound sarcastic, but the words fall flat. I don’t have it in me to be sassy, and honestly, the audience is much more dangerous than I’m used to. Even growing up in a Mafia family and living with the possibility of danger every day, no one in my father’s ranks would have ever been brave enough to touch me, no matter how hard I pushed them.
But I’m not at home anymore, and I need to learn to keep my mouth shut if I want to survive.