Owning Nicci

16. Nicci

16

NICCI

I wake up in the morning sore and aching, my skin still stinging and welted from last night despite the cream that I rubbed into every spot that I could reach. Savio punished me for hours, then fucked me twice, finally letting me come at the end. I feel wrung out, exhausted, and unsure of how to feel.

I don’t have the same roiling emotions about it that I had the night he fucked me in the car. That night was raw, unbridled need, and I hated myself for how much I wanted it. Last night felt clinical, planned, and strangely, it felt as if Savio’s heart wasn’t in it. Like he was going through the motions, demanding what he thought he was supposed to want instead of what he actually wanted from me. Like he was playing a part.

The man who held a gun to my head while he kissed me, the man who fucked me in the backseat of his car like he was moments away from breathing his last and needed me to be the last thing on earth he felt… That, I think, was the real Savio. The core of him, the part that he tries to keep hidden away. But I saw it—for a moment—and something in me responded to it in a way that I never have with anyone else.

It’s best for us both, though, if that never happens again. Not like that. Last night was better. It felt transactional, almost—even my orgasm.

I hear the sound of the door unlocking, and sit up. Savio comes in with my breakfast tray, and I barely pay attention until I see the movement of someone out in the hall. A masculine figure wearing dark fatigues walks past the door, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Instinctively, I jump up, huddling closer to the wall as I try to cover myself. Savio looks confused for a moment, then shuts the door quickly, setting down the tray of food.

“I hired security,” he explains. “It took a few days to arrange, or they would have been here sooner.”

“Security?” The word comes out weakly, and I feel a shiver of fear run down my spine at the thought of strange men in the house while I’m locked in this room—naked and vulnerable. Just the thought makes my hands feel shaky, and my eyes start to burn at the corners. Savio frowns.

“They’re here for your protection, principessa ,” he says calmly. “I can’t be here all of the time, and if Gallo attacks again, he’ll send more men next time. I told you I’d keep you safe.” His frown deepens as my teeth sink into my lip, and I twist my fingers together to try to stop my hands from shaking so badly. “What’s the problem, Nicci?”

It’s his use of my actual name—I think—coupled with the fact that he asked the question at all, that gives me the courage to actually speak up. “I don’t like it,” I whisper. “Not like this.” My knuckles whiten as I twist my fingers tighter together, wondering how Savio will react to me resisting something he’s decided on.

“You don’t want protection from another attack?” His eyes narrow. “Or are you just hoping that Gallo will take me out next time and free you from all this?” He takes a step closer, his expression dangerously sharp. “You wouldn’t like belonging to him any more than you like belonging to me, principessa . I promise you that.”

“No.” I shake my head quickly, and I find that I actually mean it. There are plenty of moments when I want Savio dead, when I still fantasize about how this will all end with his blood and my freedom—but I want it to be me who does it, if so. I don’t want someone else to kill him and take me away. I don’t want to trade one set of chains for another. “It’s just—those are strange men.” My chest tightens at the thought of explaining myself to Savio, making myself more vulnerable than I already am, but it’s the only chance I have of getting him to listen. “After all those nights at the Gilded Lily, the things those men did…having strange men in the house while I’m up here naked and defenseless feels… bad.” My throat tightens, the last word coming out choked, and Savio’s expression suddenly, unexpectedly softens.

“Having them here is a necessity right now, principessa ,” he says, and his voice is gentler than I expected. It gives me another jolt of courage.

“Let me have clothes, then.” I give him a pleading look. “I’ve been as good as I know how to be. Let me go shopping and get things to wear. I’ll feel more comfortable then. Please.”

Savio hesitates, his gaze sweeping over me, and I wish I could read him better. I see him thinking, warring with something in his mind, and I wish I knew what it was. My stomach clenches, and when I hear footsteps on the stairs, I have to bite my lip to keep from pleading again. Knowing they’re out there while I’m in here like this feels terrifying.

“I’ll think about it,” Savio says finally. “We’re leaving for the range in just a little while. You’ll have clothes then.” He turns and then pauses halfway to the door. “You belong to me, pet. No one will hurt you. They’d answer to me if they did.”

His answer feels final, and my stomach drops. I have to fight back tears as the door closes and locks behind him, viscerally aware of my nudity in a way that I haven’t been in days. I’d almost gotten used to it, but with this change, I feel like I did the first day I was here—vulnerable, exposed, and utterly alone.

I know I need to eat before our training session, but I can’t do more than just pick at the food. I force down what I can, but most of it is still left when Savio comes back with clothing for me.

He gives the tray—and then me—a disapproving look, and I don’t dare broach the subject of clothes again. Instead, I take what he hands me and get ready to leave.

I see four different security guards as we leave the penthouse—one stationed upstairs, one down, and two outside by the front door. Tension ripples through me as I feel their eyes on me, and it makes me move closer to Savio. He said they were here for my protection, to make me feel safe, but it has the opposite effect.

I’m glad when we get to the range. The routine—shooting, fighting, and the workouts, as grueling as they are—has become almost comforting. I’m startled to find that the tension drains out of me as we start to go through the usual motions, beginning with the shooting range, then stretches and cardio, then knife work and grappling. My fears about the strange guards in the penthouse fade away, and the only tension that remains is what there is between Savio and me as we go through the routine of practicing my self-defense.

Last night, I could feel the frustration rolling off of him. Now, as I block, and duck, and weave, and he closes in on me, going for a grapple, I can feel that frustration leaching out of him—replaced by an all-too-familiar tension. Sweat beads on his forehead, and my heart beats faster at the scent of him —musky, warm, sweaty, and masculine. I duck out of his grasp and feel the hot weight of him at my back for a moment before I dart away.

I like this, I realize. As much as I hate him, in these moments, I see a different man. One who, if circumstances were different, I might like. I might more than like.

I clench my jaw, refocusing, and dart out of his grasp again.

“Good,” Savio says when we’re finished. “You’re getting quicker. You’ve made a lot of progress, principessa .”

I manage a small smile, trying to catch my breath, but my chest feels suddenly tight at the compliment. It hasn’t escaped me that the only time he compliments me is here, in this place that’s started to feel removed from the world I normally occupy with him. Here, it almost feels like we’re a team. Like we’re equals, rather than captor and captive.

It makes me not want to leave. To cling to these moments of normalcy.

The security is still at the penthouse when we come back, and I feel squeamish and uneasy, thinking of giving Savio back my clothing. When we go upstairs, he stands there waiting in front of the closed door for me to remove it, and I reach for the hem of my shirt.

I can’t do it. I give him a pleading look—not wanting to beg, but feeling as if I might unravel at the seams just thinking about being naked in this room, with four strange men patrolling the apartment outside.

“Please,” I whisper, and I fully expect him to tell me again that there’s nothing to worry about. That it’s all for my safety, and it will all be fine.

Instead, his eyes narrow, and then he lets out a sharp, quick breath. “Alright,” he relents. “Take a shower. I’ll come back with a change of clothes for you, and we’ll go shopping.” He pauses. “You’re right. You’ve done everything I’ve asked. Consider the privilege of clothes reinstated.”

And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves, locking the door behind him.

I should be angry at the idea of clothing being a ‘privilege.’ I should be furious at his arrogance. But all I am is relieved. For the first time since waking up here, I keep myself wrapped in a towel after my shower—even that small bit of fabric feels like armor against the men outside. When Savio brings my clothes, I don’t even care that it’s the same jeans and red tank top that I wore to the bar the night he killed Marco…and the night he fucked me for the first time. All I care about is that I won’t spend another hour in this room naked unless I want to be.

“Let’s go,” Savio says crisply. “One of the security guards will be coming with us, but he’ll remain out of sight, mostly. His job is to blend in, so you’ll barely notice him.”

I nod, buzzing with excitement as I follow him out of the penthouse and down to the waiting car. Savio slides in first, and as I follow him in, he slips a black credit card out of his wallet and extends it to me between two fingers. “There’s no limit on it,” he says calmly. “Feel free to use it as you like. Get whatever you want.”

I take it, the cool metal on my fingers sending me reeling back to months ago, when I had a card like this of my own—one that I could use whenever and wherever I liked. I had no idea what was coming for me then. No idea how drastically my life was about to change. My throat tightens—not because I miss the money and luxury—but because I miss the freedom. The illusion that I had some control over my life.

Savio wasn’t the first to take that from me. But he will be the last. I steel myself as I take the card from him, because I can feel myself melting at the show of kindness—when I should be reinforcing my defenses against it. Him granting me this doesn’t forgive what he’s done. It doesn’t change who he is or make any of this better.

Right?

We head to Fifth Avenue, and the driver pulls up in front of the curb. Savio steps out, coming around to open my door for me. I blink at him in surprise as I slide out of the car. He says nothing, only looks at me with an unreadable expression, and flicks his hand toward the stores. “Wherever you want to go, principessa ,” he says, and my heart flutters with sudden excitement.

It feels as if it’s been ages since I’ve been shopping, and I’ve just been given free rein. I head straight for Dior—one of my favorite stores—with Savio just behind me, the security guard blending into the crowd.

The moment we step in, the sales associate who approaches raises an eyebrow. I recognize her immediately—she’s helped me personally on a number of occasions before. I flash her a smile, feeling as if I’ve stepped seamlessly back into my former life. “Sara! I’m here to get most of a new wardrobe, and if you have the time?—”

“You look like you need it.” Her gaze sweeps over my clothing—the tight jeans and the cropped tank top that’s definitely not designer. She peers at me as if trying to remember if she’s worked with me before. “You look familiar. But I must be mixing you up with someone else?—”

“You’re not.” Savio steps forward, his tone cutting and cold, like a shard of ice. My heart stutters in my chest, and I blink at him, momentarily confused as he steps slightly in front of me. “I’m sorry—Sara, is it? Your job is to sell clothing, correct? I assure you, the budget we’re working with is unlimited, so your attitude is unnecessary. But since you’ve decided to speak to Nicci in that way, I’d like the name of your manager.”

Sara blinks. “She’s—she’s on break, actually.”

“Go get her.” Savio’s tone brooks no argument. “Now.”

Sara turns pale. She opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say anything, a woman in a pleated red skirt and white embroidered blouse who looks to be in her mid-forties walks up behind her, a tight smile on her face.

“I’m Marie. The store manager. Is there a problem here?”

“There is.” Savio gestures to Sara. “Your associate here doesn’t seem to know how to treat a well-paying customer. In fact,” he pauses, before sliding his wallet out and reaching for a business card, making sure that Marie gets a good look at the credit cards inside. “I think it would be best if she didn’t work here any longer. We’d be more inclined to stay if I felt sure that Nicci wouldn’t be spoken to that way again.”

I grit my teeth to keep my mouth from dropping open. What is he doing? I can’t fathom why he’s standing up for me this way, throwing his weight around to get a woman fired for being rude to me. Maybe it’s because he feels it reflects poorly on him—to have someone be rude to me when I’m so clearly here with him…but I don’t think it’s that. He looks angry. I can see it in his clenched jaw, the muscle twitching in the corner of it, the tense line of his shoulders. I don’t think he’s angry for himself, I think he’s angry for me .

Something squeezes tightly in my chest as I stand there, waiting to see how this is all going to play out. I can’t recall a single time in all my life when someone has stood up for me. Defended me. I know I should protest—tell Savio that there isn’t any reason to fire this poor woman just because she talked down to me, but I can’t speak. I’m too stunned by what’s happening.

“—I’m so sorry,” Marie says, her voice cutting back through the haze. “I’ll be happy to help you myself. Sara, go clock out and get your things. You’ll be paid your commissions up through today, but there’s no need for you to come back.”

“I—” Sara stares at her, her mouth dropping open. I look at Savio, feeling a wave of guilt that this is happening.

“Savio, she doesn’t need to be?—”

Savio gives me a sharp look, and I swallow hard, going quiet. Marie murmurs something about being right back, and I wait for her to escort Sara away before speaking again.

“You didn’t have to get her fired,” I whisper.

Savio looks at me narrowly. “Should I have let her speak to you that way? Insult you? Of course not.” His jaw tightens. “As long as you’re mine, Nicci, no one will ever speak to you that way again.”

I stare at him. Hearing that feels like a jolt straight to my heart, flooding me with a feeling I’ve never had before. I feel protected. Wanted . And I know that I’m probably reading into it, that there’s likely some selfish, ulterior motive for what he’s doing, based on everything that’s come before. But in this moment, I want to step forward into his arms and kiss him.

I don’t, though. I doubt he’d appreciate it, especially here. That’s not the relationship we have, and for the first time, I almost regret that things aren’t different between us.

They never will be.

Savio is still looking at me, his gaze intense, and I wish that I knew what he was thinking. I wish I could ask .

“Once again, I’m so sorry about that.” Marie’s bright, too-chipper voice cuts through the air, and Savio turns abruptly away, the moment shattering. I feel grateful and bereft all at once, both glad to escape the moment of connection that I shouldn’t feel, and wanting it back.

Savio is true to his word, regarding the credit card. He doesn’t blink when I spend five figures at Dior, or when we visit three more stores after that, each one coming in at a similar total. When we pass La Perla, I hesitate, wanting to get silky pajamas like the ones I used to wear—something luxurious and elegant. But the idea of bringing Savio into a lingerie store with me feels strange. Never once has he hinted that he wants to see me in silk and lace for him—that feels like something a lover does, not a captor. He wants me naked, bound, vulnerable while he stays clothed. A place like that isn’t for us.

But I do miss nice sleepwear. And so I bite my lip and veer off into the store, fighting back the flush that I feel creeping up my cheeks as Savio follows me in.

I do my best to ignore him as I shop. I find bras and underwear, silky nightgowns and luxurious pajama sets, handing items to the sales associate that follows me as I go. With every item I hand over, I feel more and more like my old self. I’ve felt like this since Marie came back at Dior and started bringing me stacks of items to try on—more confident, more sure of myself, like my feet are on solid ground again. It’s a little shallow, maybe, but I’ve always loved fashion, and I used to feel like clothes were like armor to me. A way to express myself, when the rest of my life was completely outside of my control, for the most part.

I can’t stop myself from glancing over at Savio from time to time, out of the corner of my eye. I see him standing at a rack of lace corsets, nudging them aside as he looks through them, and I feel something warm and tight curl low in my belly, imagining him choosing one of those for me. I can almost feel his fingers running over my skin through the lace, the tactile sensation of it sending shivers down my spine, and it takes me a second to realize that I’m staring at him now. I look away just as he looks up, just in time for him to not catch me.

Fuck . I bite my lip, handing the sales associate another silky camisole and shorts set. I need to finish this. I need to be done with the Crows, done with my family, so I can get rid of Savio and leave Manhattan forever. The longer I’m with him, I’m realizing, the closer we’re getting. Things are changing between us, and that can’t happen.

Once again, Savio doesn’t blink at the total when all of the items are rung up. He just takes the bags from my hands, refusing to let me carry my own things, and we go back to the car. He deposits everything with the driver, then glances over at me.

“Let’s get dinner,” he says abruptly. “I’m hungry. I’m sure you are as well.”

I am. My stomach was growling all the way through lingerie shopping, but I didn’t want to say anything, unsure of whether or not I should test the limits of Savio’s generosity. I nod, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. This feels like a date—the kind of date I’d have loved for a man to take me on at any point in my life before. Shopping and having dinner out is an ideal day for me. But suddenly, the moment feels too intimate. I take a step back, swallowing hard.

“I’m hungry,” I admit. “But we can just go back if you have things you need to do?—”

“I’d rather go out.” Savio gestures for us to head back out to the street. “There’s a particularly good steakhouse here that I enjoy, and steak is always better fresh rather than ordered in. Let’s go.”

It’s a command, technically, but it lacks the usual weight. It feels more like a request, and I’m struck by that feeling that I’ve often had when we’re training together, or when we’ve gone after the Crows together, like the power balance has shifted. Like, for a moment, we’re equals.

Dinner is delicious. Savio orders a bottle of expensive red wine for us both, with oysters and caviar service for an appetizer, and I get the most heavenly filet that I’ve eaten in months, with a buttery crab bearnaise sauce and a salad.

“I looked into Vince,” Savio says, as he cuts into his own steak. “I think you were right, that it’s wise to go after him first. I think I have a lead.”

I press my lips together, trying to stop the laugh that’s on the verge of bubbling up. Savio must see the humor on my face because he looks at me curiously.

“What’s so funny, principessa ?”

I hesitate. “It’s just—” I bite my lip, realizing that there’s genuine curiosity on Savio’s face. Like he really wants to know what I’m thinking. “We’re sitting here at this fancy restaurant, talking about what essentially amounts to a hit. Planning it out. It’s just so—it’s not what I ever pictured myself doing.” A small laugh bubbles up to my lips, and I see a smirk playing on Savio’s mouth.

“What did you see yourself doing, principessa ?” he asks casually, taking another bite of his steak.

The question catches me off guard. “I—I don’t know,” I admit. “A lot of my life was decided for me, even before…” I break off, unwilling to discuss this with Savio, especially here. “Not so different from now, really,” I add, a slight bite to my tone. I wonder if he’ll call me out on it, but he doesn’t.

Savio pauses, as if he’s not sure what to say to that. “Two days,” he says finally. “I have a lead where this Vince fellow lives. We should be able to hit him there. After that, we’ll take out the two others, and the Crows will be finished.”

“And then my father and brother.” I look at him, wondering if he’s going to say he’s changed his mind about that part of the deal, but he just nods.

“Of course.”

There’s no mention of what happens after that—of what happens to me after, of what his plans might be for me. I don’t push, because I’m not sure I want to know. Today has left me feeling as if I’m standing on uneven ground, and the only thing I know how to do is to keep moving forward—slowly. To focus on the next target.

We finish dinner, including a creme brulee that melts in my mouth, and head back to the car that’s waiting at the curb. Savio is silent on the drive back to the penthouse, and I wonder what he’s thinking. What will he want when we get back? I haven’t done anything to upset him today, so technically, there’s no reason I can think of for him to punish me, but he might take me to the playroom anyway, purely for his own pleasure after the day he’s just orchestrated for me. He’ll want some kind of payback, surely. The thought doesn’t upset me as much as it should. Instead, I feel a warm, curling anticipation in my stomach at the thought of it, even as I know I should be hoping that he leaves me alone.

What if this new…kindness is him turning over a new leaf? Seeing things differently? It doesn’t change anything about what he’s done, of course, or mean that I should forgive him. But what if I could enjoy the physical part of our relationship for what it is? What if I allowed myself that pleasure…use him for it, the way he’s using me? The chemistry between us is there. It’s been there since the very beginning. And if I let myself enjoy what there is between us, maybe the days or weeks between now and when I’m finally free could be good for us both.

What’s the harm in it? It’s not as if I could fall for him. Not after everything he’s done.

To my surprise, instead of taking me to the playroom, he has the security guard carry all of the bags up to my room, and leads me there, motioning for the man to go once we’re in the room.

“You’ll be busy putting all of this away for the rest of the night, I expect,” he says, glancing at the bags. “I’ll see what I can do about getting some kind of entertainment for you—a television, or maybe some books, if you tell me what you like to read.”

“Maybe we’ll go to the bookstore next time.” It’s meant to be a joke, but it comes out before I realize that he might take it as an assumption that there will be more days like this, when I’m still shocked that there was even a single day like this one at all. But Savio just looks at me for a long moment before shrugging.

“Maybe,” he agrees, startling me. “It’s been a long day, and I still have work I need to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns to leave, and I almost protest, despite myself. Today has felt different, has been different, and a part of me doesn’t want it to end. What if tomorrow, it all goes back to the way it was before? What if Savio changes his mind and he’s cruel again, making up for today’s momentary lapse?

I watch him go as I stand there, still fully clothed, with bags and bags of all of today’s purchases surrounding me. It feels like it could be a trap. It might be a trap. But I’ve craved something like this for so long.

Savio stood up for me today. He defended me. He told me that as long as I’m his, no one will treat me cruelly ever again.

A part of me wants to believe him. To sink into it and enjoy it while it lasts. And a part of me wants to give him something, too, for making me feel protected, wanted…even if it was only for a day.

It takes me a minute to realize that he didn’t lock the door behind him. Maybe he forgot, or maybe it was intentional—to see what I’d do if I were granted a fraction of freedom.

I bite my lip. I have some idea of what I might do with it. A way to keep Savio malleable, pleased, and to gain back a little more of my power.

And who knows?

Maybe I’ll even get some pleasure out of it, too.