Chapter Four
“ I ’ll make you my little plaything, a bucchina. If you don’t watch yourself, you’ll find yourself bent over whatever surface is available, getting that tight little pussy fucked like the useless bucchina you are. I take what I want when I want. The only reason I haven’t taken you by now is because Father Dear has said you’re off limits until you’re eighteen,” Geovani said, raking his eyes down Vittoria’s body.
She let out a squeak. Her hands clawed at the one around her throat that held her against the wall. Her stepbrother’s eyes stared at her with lust and rage. “Fuck off and leave me alone, Geovani,” she spat.
He was three times her size and could do exactly what he’d said, yet they both knew he wouldn’t. If he crossed his father, there’d be hell to pay.
His eyes flickered with so much rage he looked close to breaking through the restraint Gino Masseria held on him. For a moment, Vittoria wondered if she’d pushed too far.
With a growl and a slight tightening of his hand, he shoved away from her. One, two steps backward, with his eyes locked on hers.
His laughter was cold. “Make no mistake, sorellina, if I choose to claim you, you’ll bend to my will and like it.”
A look down his frame showed a sizeable bulge at his crotch, showing he was excited. The thought of getting raped sent a shudder through her. His eyes narrowed, falling to her chest. No way in hell could her nipples be hard at the thought of the bastard, so she didn’t need to look down at herself.
“That will never happen, Geovani.” She wasn’t sure if she was saying she’d never bend or if they’d never find out. Either way, she prayed it never came to be.
Geovani laughed. The sound reminded her of something out of a horror movie just before the killer slashed the throat of one of the actors. The steps he’d taken away from her disappeared as he moved faster than she’d thought possible for a man his size. She tried to duck away from him. Instead, she found herself pinned, her front plastered to the wall with her ass to his front, feeling the extent of his hard-on pressed against her.
He ground himself against her. “ You know, you only have to be a virgin on your wedding night. I could fuck this ass, and nobody would be the wiser. Fuck, I could fuck your mouth as well. What do you think about that, sorellina?”
“Y...you can’t.” She’d die before allowing this monster to violate her.
Geovani humped against her ass and gripped both of her hands in one of his above her head. The cool wall beneath her cheek blurred from her tears. His other hand came between them, palming her breast, then pinching her nipple hard enough to make her cry out in pain. That same hand inched downward.
She kicked out, crying, begging.
“Mmm, I love the sound of your cries, Vittoria.” He licked the shell of her ear.
The sound of a door slamming stopped his wandering hand, freezing his movements. She dared not breathe.
“Geovani,” her stepfather yelled .
“A reprieve, sorellina,” he whispered.
“I will tell him what you did,” she vowed.
Geovani smirked. “Who do you think he will believe? Me, his son, or the bucchina that defies him at every turn?”
He let her turn around and smiled down into her tear-stained face. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll make it good for you. Besides, your future husband will enjoy a nice, broken-in ass. Fight me, and I’ll fuck you raw. You might bleed out.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. “Trust me, my father will believe me when I say I found you wherever I dump your body. We have enemies.”
“Tori, are you okay?” Cian asked.
It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t that young girl trapped with a monster.
“Yeah, I...I’m fine. Can you handle this?” she asked, waving toward the drinks. For the past four years, she’d buried memories of the past. In one night, with one name, her life gets turned on its axis.
“Go on. We got this. You can head home.” He lifted his chin toward the back.
She stared out at the group of men and locked eyes with the one named Jeter. If only things were different. His hands were large, scarred, and tattooed. They certainly looked like they could do some damage and probably had. Yet when their gazes met, she swore his softened in a way no monsters could. When it came to monsters, she was an expert.
The man next to Jeter said something, drawing his attention from her and freeing Tori from his penetrating stare. “Get a grip,” she mumbled as she quickened her pace. The door that led to the employee area opened with a slight push. She shuddered as soon as the door closed behind her.
Why she felt as if she’d gone through torture was a mystery. Stress and anxiety weren’t her friends.
Tori twisted her neck on her shoulders, hating the tightness creeping in. The pain she knew all too well had already started throbbing in each of her temples, creating a halo of thorns around her skull, ready to tighten like a vise. Within an hour, she’d be in a fetal position, wishing for death without her rescue meds. Fuck, Tori hated this shit.
Inside the office, she grabbed her bag and pulled the little striped tote that held her medicine inside, exhaling as she popped one of the migraine pills into her mouth. Fuck needing anything liquid to wash it down. She stood with her back to the door, tipping her head up, and hoped the little white pill would slide down her dry throat faster. Hell, it might hit all the blood vessels trying to burst faster, without water washing it away.
She dropped the bottle back into the bag. Hearing the familiar sound of the plastic rattling together comforted her.
“Are you an addict?”
Tori jumped at the male voice.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” she asked.
Jeter looked behind him, then back at her. “I came to check on you because you seemed upset. Obviously, you just needed a fix or bump.”
She looked at the striped bag in her hand before meeting his eyes. “I have a migraine, asshole.”
The visible veins on one side of her temple throbbed with each beat of her heart. “Shit, babe. You need me to get you something to drink?”
“No. I’m fine.” The lie rolled off her tongue, tasting bitter like the migraine pill she’d swallowed.
“You don’t look all that fine.” He held up his hands. “Don’t give me that look. You look like you’re in pain, even if you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
“Thanks. Um, you should probably get back to your duties.” Jesus, fuck. Why not just tell him to run along and be his criminal self?
His chin lifted, and his green eyes flashed. “There are no duties for me to run along to, Cara. Sorry if that disappoints you.”
She cocked her head to the side as he tipped his down, giving her a perfect view of his beautiful features in the low light of the office. Her hand itched to trace the arches of his brows. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. This man was not soft like the men she’d dated before.
“Listen, I’m not feeling up to par and am on my way out. You can ask Cian or one of the others if you need anything. Right now, I just want to go home and lie down.”
Dammit, this man drew her like a moth to the flame, even when her mind was screaming in agony. Fractured, shattered, broken into a million little pieces, like the little girl who’d lost everything. Vittoria Hardigan Masseria, the daughter of Cassandra and Paulo Hardigan, who, for all intents and purposes, was an orphan except for the stepfamily who saw her as a commodity to be bargained and sold. She needed to remember that men, like the one in front of her, were all cut from the same cloth. He would most likely jump at the first chance to alert the Masseria Family of her whereabouts if he were to find out her true identity.
“You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. One minute, they’re like deep pools that I want to sink into, and the next, they reflect back at me as if hiding secrets. I only just met you, yet I want to unearth everything about you. My nonna would tell me some old wives' tale if she were here,” Jeter said. His voice was deep as he brushed his thumb over her temple and down along her jaw.
She needed to put some space between them. Her throat worked to swallow around the parched feel. The harsh feeling reminded her she hadn’t drunk anything with the migraine med she’d taken. His green eyes watched her like a hawk would its prey.
“You have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m literally an open book,” she lied. Nobody in her circle of friends or acquaintances knew about her past. They were aware she’d lost both her parents, but not the details. How the fuck do you tell people your mother married a mob boss and then she was killed? No, she refused to allow the memory to resurface.
“Forgive me and my intrusiveness. Most of my friends and brothers would tell you it’s out of character for me. Come on, let me walk you out to your vehicle at least.” Jeter took a step back, waving toward the doorway.
Her mind reeled with a thousand scenarios in her head. She desperately wanted to get away, but the overwhelming urge to be in his presence tugged at her. If he thought it was an old wives’ tale, telling him shit, then those same tales were whispering crap to her as well. Only she didn’t listen to their words since they were nonsense.
“You don’t have to do that. Honestly, I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Walking to my car is a piece of cake.” It was getting harder to keep from wincing from the overhead light in the office, though. If she didn’t get her ass out of there and in her car quickly, she’d need to call a cab to get her home. While she could typically function with a migraine, lights made it hard for her to see properly once the pain hit the terrible point.
JETER WANTED TO TELL her he wasn’t a fool, but the stubborn tilt of her cute chin reassured him she was ready to battle.
The moment Jeter followed the sexy bartender as she’d slipped away from the bar area, he knew something about her drew him. He’d noticed her distress and felt an overwhelming need to comfort her. Hell, that alone reminded him why being part of his brother’s lifestyle, his family's legacy, wasn’t his calling. Sure, he had done some shady shit that bordered on the gray side with the MC. They’d certainly killed, stolen shit, and done things that many would consider illegal or immoral.
In most people’s lives, there were black and gray, but in their world, there were different shades of gray. They had a code of honor, and they did things for a good damn reason. Sort of like modern-day Robin Hoods, only they didn’t wear tights and shit. An image of King or one of his MC brothers, wearing leotards and elf shoes brought a grin to his lips. No, they wore leather cuts, denim jeans, and shit-kickers. Some variations of the above, and sometimes, they dressed in button-down shirts with slacks for the ole’ ladies or special occasions. Unlike his biological brother Kendrick, who only dressed down on special occasions.
Waiting for her to turn and face him allowed him to study their surroundings. The office was large and neat, with bright lights overhead. A comfortable-looking leather sectional sat in one corner with a flatscreen television mounted on the wall. Across the room, he admired a large table that could easily seat twelve people.
The moment she’d pulled out the pill container, he wondered what drugs she was into. There was nothing more challenging than breaking a drug habit, especially when you had to be the one looking at yourself in the mirror every day. He saw plenty of junkies who could never kick the habit, even with the help and support of family and friends. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait too long before she spun, anger sparking in her gorgeous dark eyes. They shot pools of fire at him. Of course, he didn’t enjoy hearing the despair in her voice or seeing her in pain. Once he listened to her reason for taking the medication, his first thought was to offer help. Beautiful, stubborn woman. He could tell she had a guard up before he’d spoken.
“There’s no doubt that you’ve been taking care of yourself. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that,” he rumbled. Fuck. He coughed, hoping she thought that was the reason his voice came out sounding like an asshole. “Humor me?” he asked.
Jeter stayed by the door where he’d moved; one arm extended toward her with the other reaching for the handle. He was a big man, so there was no way he could make himself less intimidating other than leaving the room and doing as she asked. Yet every instinct within him screamed for him to stay. He was not a suspicious man, unlike his brother who would’ve made the sign of the cross and tossed Tori over his shoulder before bundling her into his vehicle like it was an omen or some shit. No, he was a...a gentleman. Keep telling yourself that, Cowboy.