Chapter 21 Camilla
I've been sitting in silence for three hours, and I'm done.
Done with his business euphemisms, done with pretending what happened today was anything other than what it was—two men thinking about how they’re going to rape me while I stood there unable to speak or move.
When the lock clicks and Renato enters my room, I'm ready for war.
"How did it feel?" I ask before he can speak.
"How did what feel?"
"Listening to them discuss my breeding potential while I stood there like a fucking mannequin."
He sets down a dinner tray I have no intention of touching. "The viewing went well. Both buyers expressed serious interest."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"That's what it was."
"No, that's what you want to call it because you can't face what it actually was." I stand from the window seat, my hands clenched into fists. "Tell me, Renato, when Kozlov asked about my pain tolerance, what was he really asking about?"
"You heard the conversation."
"I heard him ask if I'd been tested to see how much suffering I can endure before I break. I heard you answer like you were discussing the horsepower of a fancy sports car you're selling. What I want to know is how that made you feel."
"I didn’t feel anything."
"Bullshit." I move closer, noting the way he averts his eyes from me. "You looked like you wanted to put your fist through his throat.”
"You're imagining things."
"Am I? And when Al-Rashid asked about my breeding potential? When he discussed my ability to produce children for him? With him? How did that make you feel?"
"It told me he’s a serious buyer with traditional expectations."
"It made you want to throw up. I could see it in your face. Tell me something, when they come back for the dinner party, and don't pretend they're not coming back, what exactly will they expect to do to me?"
"It will be standard evaluation protocols."
"Stop hiding behind your fucking protocols and tell me what they're going to do. Don’t sugarcoat it. I’m sick of this and I’m sick of you."
His hands clench at his sides. "They'll want more detailed assessment. Physical condition. Responsiveness. Compliance."
"For fuck’s sake! Say exactly what you mean, Renato. With regular street talk."
"I just did."
"No, you used pretty words to avoid ugly truths. When Kozlov wants to assess my physical condition, what's he really going to do?"
"Examine you,” he finally says.
"Will he want to see me naked?"
"Probably."
"Will he want to touch me?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Wherever he feels is necessary for proper evaluation before the purchase."
"Will he want to put his fingers inside me to verify I'm still a virgin?"
The pulse in his neck muscle ticks. "Possibly."
"Possibly? Come on, Renato. We both know that's exactly what he's going to want to do. He's going to want to spread my legs wide and finger-fuck me to make sure he's getting pure, undamaged merchandise."
"It's not—"
"What? It's not rape? Because that's exactly what it is." I back away slightly, giving him space to breathe. "When a man forces his fingers inside a woman without her consent, what do you call that? In your professional fancy words."
"It's part of the evaluation process."
"No! Say what it is."
"Camilla—"
"Fuck you, Renato! I hate you right now! Say it. When Kozlov puts his hands on my body and penetrates me with his fingers, what is that?"
"It’s a physical examination."
"Wrong answer. Try again."
"It's verification of a woman’s condition."
"Last chance. What is it when a man forces himself on a woman who can't say no?"
He's quiet for a long moment, staring at me with something that looks like pain. "It's rape," he says finally, the word barely audible.
"Right. So, you do know the right word. And you're going to arrange it, profit from it, and call it business. But here's what's going to happen. You're going to be there for every second of it. I won’t make this easier on you. I won’t let you hide from what you’re really doing."
"What do you mean?"
"You heard me. When they come for their little dinner party, when they want their detailed evaluation, you're going to stand there and watch.
You don't get to delegate this to Matteo.
You don't get to step outside for a phone call. You don’t get to send me to a private room with one of those assholes.
You're going to stand there and witness every moment of what you've arranged. Of what you’ve done to me. You did this to me, Renato. You alone. And you’re going to pay. "
"That's not necessary."
"It's absolutely necessary. You want to sell me? Then you get to see exactly what that means. You get to watch Kozlov put his hands on my body. You get to watch Al-Rashid examine me. You get to see their faces when they decide how much my suffering is worth in euros."
He blows out a long breath. "Camilla, you don't understand what’s happening here."
"I understand perfectly. You've been telling yourself this is just business because you can't face what you actually are." I stop directly in front of him. "What are you, Renato?"
"A debt collector."
"Wrong. What are you really?"
His breathing is ragged now, his control slipping. "I'm someone who got in too deep to stop."
"You're a man who arranges for women to be raped and tortured for money. Say it."
"No, I won’t."
"Say it, or I'll make sure they know exactly how much you don't want to sell me.
I'll tell them about every training session, every moment you lost control, every time you looked at me like you wanted to keep me for yourself. The things I did to you, how I took your cock in my mouth. Wouldn’t that lower my worth considerably?
How many millions would that little blowjob knock off my worth? "
"You wouldn't."
"Try me. I'll tell Kozlov how you kissed me. I'll tell Al-Rashid how your hands shook when you touched my breasts. I'll make sure they know you've handled me inappropriately."
The threat hits its mark. He goes very still.
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to own what you're doing. Stop hiding behind euphemisms." I move closer again. "I want you to say what you are."
"You want me to say I'm a man who sells women to rapists for money."
The words come out broken, like they're tearing pieces of him away.
"Exactly. Was that so hard? That’s why I’m insisting you stay in the room with me at all times at the dinner party."
"You have no idea what you're asking of me."
"Too damn bad,” I tell him. “You're going to watch every moment."
"Why, Camilla?"
"Because maybe if you see what you're really doing, you'll finally grow a set of balls and stop it."
"I can't stop it."
"Bullshit. You're the only one with the power here. You're the one making the arrangements." I reach up and touch his face, feeling him tense under my fingers. "You could call this off right now if you wanted to. All you have to do is pick up the phone and start making calls."
"You don't understand what that would cost."
"I understand what selling me will cost." I let my thumb brush across his lower lip. "When Kozlov takes me to Moscow, when Al-Rashid locks me in his compound, when they're using my body however they want, you'll remember that you could have stopped it."
"Camilla, don’t."
"You'll remember every training session, every moment we had together, every time you almost chose me over the money. And didn’t.
Will you think about me when you're counting your profit?
What will you buy with the money? Another villa your rarely use?
Will you wonder if I'm still alive, or if they've already gotten bored and killed me? "
"Enough."
"Will you remember how I felt under your hands when they're hurting me? Will you—"
He grabs my shoulders, his grip tight enough to bruise. "I said enough."
"Then prove it. Call off the dinner party. Tell them the merchandise is no longer available."
"I can't."
"You won't."
"There's no difference."
"There's every difference. One makes you a victim of circumstances. The other makes you a willing participant in my rape."
He releases my shoulders and steps back.
"Which one are you, Renato? Victim or participant?"
"I honestly don't know anymore."
He's quiet for a long moment, and when I turn back to face him, something has shifted in his expression.
"The dinner party will happen," he says quietly. "Three potential buyers will be here for that. Kozlov, Al-Rashid, and Torretti. They'll expect full evaluation access."
“Is that your final decision about this then?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want you to live with your choice for the rest of your life because I sure as hell will be.”
"Camilla..."
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
The apology catches me off guard. Not because he said it, but because of how broken he sounds.
"Sorry doesn't change anything. Sorry doesn't undo what's going to happen."
"I know."
"Then why say it?"
He's quiet for a moment, staring at the floor. "Because I need you to know that this isn't what I wanted."
"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you got exactly what you wanted. You got to own me, control me, train me. You got to have me without the complications of keeping me. And you get a shit ton of money on top of all that. You fell into a gold mine with me."
"That's not true."
"That's exactly what this is. You get to play with your toy before you sell it to someone else." I turn back to face him. "Tell me something. When they're examining me at the dinner party, what will you be thinking about?"
"Debts being paid."
"Will you? Or will you be thinking about how my skin felt under your hands? How I sounded when you made me lose control? How much you want to be the one touching me instead of them?"
His breathing has gone ragged again. "I'll be thinking about how much I wish things were different."
"But not enough to change them. Now get the fuck out of my sight. I need to prepare for my examination."
"How?"
"However, women prepare to be raped by strangers for money." I meet his eyes directly. "I'm sure you'll find the process fascinating to observe."
He leaves without another word, and I'm alone with the terrible knowledge of what the dinner party will bring.
But I've accomplished what I needed to.
I've forced him to face the reality of what he's doing. I've made him admit what he is, what this situation really means.
And most importantly, I've ensured he'll be there to witness every moment of what he's arranged.
Because maybe, just maybe, watching three men examine me will finally break whatever's left of his control.
Maybe seeing their hands on my body will make him remember what he's giving up.
Or maybe it will just make him hate himself enough to finally make a different choice.
Either way, there’s no going back now.