Chapter 11
Sienna Luciano
Every inch of me pulses with pain, from the handcuffs cutting into my wrists to the bite mark on my shoulder and the metal digging into my ankle, but none of that compares to the stabbing deep in my abdomen as his massive cock prods sensitive organs.
I can’t breathe. It hurts. Silent tears stream down my face.
Romeo’s labored breaths gush over my mangled shoulder and throat as his dick jerks inside me. I sob.
His words have meaning. I can’t decipher them, but his gravelly tone and slowly relaxing body—as well as the flood of fluid inside me—assures me the worst of the storm has passed.
So why won’t his cock soften?
By the time he lifts his head, I’ve convinced myself this is how I die. I won’t survive.
He tilts his hips, pulling back the tiniest amount, but it’s enough to stop the stabbing pain. I suck down a desperate breath and release it on a sob.
“I told you I’d make you pay, bambolina.”
Even as my heart shrivels at his hurtful words, I nod, too tired to argue. All I want is for him to pull out and let me sleep. I don’t even care if he leaves me chained to the chair. I’m so tired.
He releases my leg and traces a finger around the wound on my shoulder.
I don’t dare look for fear of seeing a gaping hole clear to my bones with blood gushing down my front.
My logical brain knows it’s not that bad, but with most of my focus on the pain in my abdomen, it’s hard to regulate my imagination.
“I lost control and was too rough. You’re not recovered enough for this,” he rumbles.
His words hold no apology. No remorse. I shake my head and flex my arms. He pulls my wrists down. I hiss as the movement hurts from my shoulders to my finger joints and jostles the weapon lodged inside me.
An odd rumble escapes from Romeo’s throat as he inspects my wrists.
Romeo Yovanni. I heard his full name for the first time from my uncle during the call a few minutes ago. It feels like lifetimes.
He stiffens. I follow his gaze down to our joined bodies. Amid the ruined fabric of my dress are blotches of blood mixed in with my arousal.
“No.”
I blink in confusion at Romeo’s single-word declaration. He pulls out in one sudden, smooth, shocking extraction, curses, and stomps away.
Fresh emotions barrel through me. I close my legs and push my skirt down to cover myself.
I thought I wanted him to leave, but now that he’s gone, the silence is too much. He left without an explanation. The disdain on his face after such an intimate, painful experience shrivels my heart.
He returns without a stitch of clothing on his impressive body. Even after the whirlwind of the last few minutes, I can’t peel my eyes off him. I’ve never seen a man fully nude in real life before.
Somehow my soul rejoices over him being the first.
He came back. I swallow a sob.
He drops to a knee, unlocks my ankle, then releases the handcuffs from my wrists before lifting me off the chair. Cradled against his chest, I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.
After a few steps, he sits with me on his lap and unzips my dress. Uncertainty wriggles through me, but I’m powerless against his strength anyway, so I let him undress me like the doll he always calls me.
When he rises with us both naked and me held against his chest, apprehension coils through me. As he carries me into the bathroom the rushing of water grows louder, and I yearn to wash the filth from my body.
Romeo steps into the bath and slowly lowers us both into the scorching water. I hiss as the heat hits my sore nether region.
“Don’t put your wrists in the water,” he rumbles.
I nod and interlock my fingers around his neck. He props my heel on the edge of the tub. I rest my forehead against his shoulder and doze as the heat seeps into my body. The steady lubdub of his heart lulls me toward a deep, peaceful sleep.
A sense of belonging wraps around me. With Romeo holding me, the world fades away.
Part of me can’t believe I’m waxing poetic about the man who brutally ravaged me while I was handcuffed to a chair, but the other parts of me tell the naysayer to shush. This is the most wanted I’ve felt since my father stole Valentina’s journal.
Romeo rouses me much too soon.
“C’mon, bambolina. Let’s bandage you up,” he urges.
I huff and shake my head. He rises anyway. I sigh and relax my arms.
After a quick towel dry, he carries me to the bed and pulls out a massive first aid kit. The container isn’t something found in most hotel rooms, so it’s most likely his personal one.
He cleans, dries, and bandages my shoulder, wrists, and ankle with an adeptness that speaks volumes. I study his body more closely and find signs of a hard life.
Amid the tattoos—which he only has on his torso and upper legs—are innumerable scars. Some are thin and straight like the one through his eyebrow, while others are thick and jagged. I don’t want to think of how he got them.
I was forced into the mafia lifestyle by birth. I didn’t choose it. and it hasn’t done me any favors, but I don’t know Romeo’s story other than he’s successful and has a lot of scars.
Naked and on his knees from wrapping my ankle, he takes a pair of exam gloves from the kit.
“Lie back, Sienna.”
My head does a slow whirl.
“No.”
My response sounds nothing like Romeo’s before he walked away, but the notes of denial are unmistakable.
“Yes. I hurt you. Let me—”
“Put those away. Now.”
He follows my gaze down to his hands.
“The gloves?”
“Yes. Away. Now.”
The same manic energy from eating unsafe foods vibrates in my bones.
“Baby doll, I need them to—”
I shove off the bed and stumble out of his reach but don’t make it to the toilet before losing the meager contents of my stomach.
He gathers my hair with glove-free hands and waits with the patience of a saint—or a killer—as I find my composure.
When I stand, he twists his fist in my hair before I can apologize.
I place my hand over his mouth before he can demand an explanation.
“My head hurts.”
I’ve never spoken truer words. It hurts so much I can barely keep my eyes open, much less think, especially with the rest of me battered and broken.
“No gloves and no opened food. Got it, bambolina.”
The fact that he saw the correlation without me having to utter a word fills me with gratitude, sadness, joy, and misery. The emotions are too big. I let him lead me back to the bed and under the covers.
He retrieves another bottle of juice and watches me take a few sips before sitting on the edge of the mattress and skimming his fingertips up and down my leg.
Goosebumps rise all over my body despite the blankets.
It’s weird having a virile, sexy mafia man sitting naked beside me, but he makes no move to cover himself.
“I’m going to wash my hand and check you without gloves,” he says.
I shake my head.
“Yes, Sienna. You’re hurt.”
Everything hurts, but he’s freaking out for nothing. I sigh and roll my eyes, too stretched thin to argue or worry over how he’ll react to my next announcement.
“I’m not hurt. I was a virgin.”
His stillness permeates through the entire room. Even the air conditioning falls silent as though by his will.
“You’re twenty-three,” he argues.
“Yes. I was a twenty-three-year-old virgin. I’m not anymore,” I state.
He stands and crosses his arms over his chest. Part of me wishes he’d put on clothes while the other salivates over his terrifying physique.
“You were a virgin. A twenty-three-year-old virgin running from a biker gang in San Francisco.” He waits until I nod to continue.
“A virgin on the plane when the stranger copped a feel.” Another nod.
“A virgin when we shared a changing room. A virgin when I choked you out, kissed you, and almost—fuck,” he curses, spins on his heel, and stomps into the bathroom.
Muttering and cursing, he paces between the bathroom and closet for a few minutes. I sigh, settle back against the headboard, and sip my juice as he works through something I no longer care about. I endured. It’s over.
Sure, he could toss me aside like garbage, but I’ve survived my family doing that already, so I’ll figure it out if that situation ever arises. I don’t have the bandwidth to worry about something that hasn’t happened yet.
He emerges with a resolute expression. I don’t flinch when he snatches my empty juice bottle away from me, half expecting him to choke me to death to rid himself of the trouble.
He flips the blankets back and pulls my knees apart. I tense and close my fists in the pillows.
“I didn’t hear you wash your hands,” I snark.
He spares my face a scathing glance before ducking down.
“I’m not touching you. Just checking for fresh blood,” he snarls.
I shrug and drop my head back.
“I’m sorry, bambolina,” he whispers.
A tear slips down my temple. I choose to ignore it.
“For what?” I ask.
“I hurt you,” he snarls.
“Yeah, and? We both know that was your goal. Maybe I found out a little later than you did but…” I shrug again.
He pulls the blankets back over me and frames my face with his bag hands.
“I’m taking you to the hospital. You’re bleeding.”
“You saw me two seconds ago, right? How I reacted to a pair of gloves? No, I’m not going to the doctor. I’m going to sleep. Leave me alone.”
He traces my features with gentle fingertips and murmurs my name.
“No, I’m not telling you why I freaked out. Maybe after I sleep for a week,” I grumble.
He sighs and rolls off the bed. I peek through my lashes, note his absence, and check under the covers. The spotting isn’t bad, just a few pinkish splotches, so I roll onto my side and close my eyes. After how much it hurt to have him so deep inside me, I’m not surprised by the blood.
As I drift into sleep, a massive, hard body presses against my back. Although the sensation is foreign, I welcome my mystery mafia man into my bed without hesitation. His arms may be hard, but they’re more comfortable—and offer more safety—than the floor.
I turn and burrow into a living shield that smells of cologne and cigarettes.
Romeo Yovanni took so much from me, but in a way, he didn’t steal anything. I had nothing. No safety, money, or a place to belong. He gave me all those things.
Sure, the path was messy, brutal, and violent, and won’t be sunshine and roses in the future either, but it’s our path.
He said he’ll never marry me. All he wants is to hurt and humiliate me. I’m his plaything. His revenge.
Fine. I’ll be all those things. All those things and more. Somehow.
Romeo Yovanni can’t get rid of me now. I’ll find a way to stay by his side forever, no matter what it takes.
He’s mine. All mine.