40. Ana
40
ANA
Freshly showered, dressed in slacks and a blouse that had miraculously appeared in the bathroom while I washed, I bounced with excitement as I waited on my knees in front of Angelo and Valentin.
I’d woken up between them, their limbs sprawled over mine, holding me captive even in their sleep, and instead of fighting for my freedom, I’d nuzzled into Angelo’s chest and dragged Valentin’s thigh over my hip, luxuriating in their protective hold.
Part of me shuddered in horror at my childlike excitement that my two older male captors were going to take me out and buy me shit, like fucked up sugar daddies. I shoved the queasiness down into the dank pit of my soul beside my dismay at how easily I’d submitted the night before, and how contentedly I’d lain in their arms this morning.
No, I had to focus on my thrill at fresh air, fresh conversations, and a view that wasn’t the inside of their apartment—and without having to plan a complex escape to get it.
My captors—no, my owners —wore suits that emphasized their broad shoulders and thick muscles. When viewed uncritically, they were gorgeous. Valentin’s crisp white shirt contrasted with his deep ochre skin, and when a smile stretched over his sharp cheekbones, I could see why men and women fell to his feet. Tattoos covered every exposed bit of Angelo’s skin, including his hands and his neck, right up to the salt-and-pepper beard that haunted my dreams, the feel of the coarse hair scraping against the insides of my thighs.
I shifted, trying to relieve the ache in my center as I watched the two men. I wanted them. They wanted me. And I could use that against them. I had to.
If only I could keep my goddamned mouth under control.
“Up,” Valentin commanded, and I scrambled to my feet. He frowned. “We’ll have to teach you to move more gracefully.”
Annoyance shot through me. Fuck him.
I dropped to my knees again, and this time, held out my hand for his. Laughing softly, he gave it to me, and I rose to my feet, a perfect picture of grace and composure, my heart slowing with relief at the smile on Valentin’s face. He could have punished me, and he didn’t.
“Good girl,” he said quietly, and opened the door to the apartment.
“Wait, please,” I said, hastily adding, “ ma?tre , sir,” when I realized I’d forgotten. I couldn’t conceive of what our fucked-up relationship might look like out in public. What did it mean to be their toy when we were outside? “What are the rules?”
“When we’re in public?” Valentin asked. I nodded, my heart pounding. So many risks this morning, speaking out of turn, asking for things. I couldn’t bear for them to take away this taste of freedom because I didn’t know what I was and wasn’t allowed to do.
He tilted my chin up to his with one finger, then cupped my cheek. I nuzzled into the palm of his hand, and his hard eyes softened.
“What are the three rules?”
“Perfect obedience, speak only when spoken to, and my orgasms are yours, ma?tre .”
Embarrassment snaked through my veins at the thought of all of Yorkfield knowing I was a sexual toy, submissive and obedient, eager to suck the cocks of her masters, a whore in public and in private.
“You belong to Angelo and me,” Valentin said finally. “But the nature of our relationship is no one’s business but our own. You will avoid putting yourself in a situation where we must command you in public, and we won’t punish you for speaking when you must.”
A weight lifted from my shoulders. So full of gratitude for this basic, human decency, I lunged up on my toes so I could kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, ma?tre .”
His fond smile surprised me. “If you brat, you’ll regret it.”
“I won’t, ma?tre , I promise.”
Angelo wrapped an arm around my waist. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Any other questions, angel?”
I shook my head, ebullient with excitement and joy. Infantile , a voice screamed from the back of my brain. I shut it up and leaned my head against Angelo’s chest. “I’m ready, sir.”
Angelo kissed the top of my head, and the butterflies in my stomach returned with a vengeance.
A large SUV waited for us outside of the apartment building—we would travel in a convoy, like the fucking president.
“Where do you want to go, angel?” Angelo asked, once we were safely ensconced in the vehicle.
“Is Valentin not coming with us?” He’d hopped into another vehicle and driven off.
“Valentin is hunting for some of the names you gave us last night, angel.”
“The widows?”
He shook his head and hauled me up against him with an arm around my shoulders so I could snuggle into his warmth. Because he was comfortable, not because I needed affirmation that he still wanted me after last night, and definitely not because I was disappointed that Valentin wouldn’t be coming along today.
“Soldiers who should have reported for duty when your father was killed but didn’t.”
“May I—” I took a deep breath, and decided to ask my questions, hoping that today wouldn’t end in disaster. “How does this work? Doesn’t he have a business to run in France?”
“He’s wanted to establish an American branch for a long time. This is as good an excuse as any.”
“You know my first public excursion in Yorkfield since my father’s death is going to cause a stir.”
“I know.”
Angelo smiled down at me, then kissed the top of my head and pulled me closer, until I laid my head on his chest.
“We need to draw the last of Gio’s men out of hiding, so we can bring them back into the fold or get rid of them. And we need to determine who’s really an ally.”
“I’m bait,” I realized, my heart sinking. Today was still about my pussy—my marriageability.
“And you can’t wrangle what’s left of your father’s empire naked,” Angelo teased, stroking his fingers over my hip. “Although I’d certainly enjoy watching it.”
“You’d murder anyone who looked at me,” I muttered.
“You’re mine, and I don’t share with anyone except Valentin.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing and allowed myself the pleasure of enjoying the physical security and comfort of snuggling up to him in the car.
Our first stop was an exclusive boutique I’d never shopped at before. My entire childhood was spent pretending we had money, holding up the illusion of power, while doing everything we could to live as inexpensively as possible.
Angelo hopped out first, and when I moved to do the same, his glare froze me in my tracks. He walked around to open the door for me and offered his hand so I could climb down from the tall vehicle with elegance.
“When you’re with me, you don’t fucking open doors for yourself.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist possessively, and we walked into the boutique. His bodyguard held and opened the door for us as I stiffened and held myself proudly.
A young woman greeted us, rubbing her palms on her skirt, as if to rid them of sweat. Poor thing. I searched my memory for her face. Fuck, she was part of the Russo empire, a minor cousin—Chloe Morelli.
“Angelo,” I murmured. “Did you intend to make such a loud announcement of my return?”
“Walk her to a dressing room, will you, doll?” he asked Chloe. I hated the pressure in my chest after he gave another woman a nickname.
“Her name is Chloe,” I said, hoping it would come off as snark and not jealousy.
Angelo glanced over his shoulder at me, then turned, his lips tilting up into a beautiful smile that told me he wasn’t fooled one bit.
Chloe touched my elbow, and I followed her through a second room with a couch, a set of mirrors around a tiny round stage.
“All of the mafia men bring their sluts here,” she sneered once we were out of Angelo’s hearing. “Even the daughters of dons, I guess.”
Because that’s what I was. Angelo’s slut. His well-trained plaything, used as bait to draw out the Russos and everyone else in town who wanted a piece of the Costa empire.
Angelo walked in behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling into my neck. His citrus and cedar scent overwhelmed me.
“All of the dons bring their mistresses here?” he asked, and ran one hand down to my hip, where he traced his fingers in idle circles. I kept my face calm, as if I weren’t utterly humiliated being discussed this way.
“But not their wives,” Chloe sniffed.
Angelo didn’t say a word, just stroked my hip in silence. “Angel, get on your knees.”
My eyes flicked to Chloe as my heart shattered. Despite Valentin’s pretty words earlier this morning, Angelo wanted to play his games in public. I turned to face my lord and master, then gracefully sank to my knees on the hard tile of the boutique.
“Close your eyes, sweetheart.”
What?
“Don’t make me tell you twice.”
I closed my eyes.
“Lean forward, angel. I love the feel of your cheek against my thighs.”
My breath shuddering, terror and humiliation streaking through me, I nuzzled Angelo’s thigh.
“Good girl.”
He cocked a gun. “Don’t fucking move, Morelli,” he snarled.
“What the fuck?” Chloe shrieked, her heels clattering on the floor as she backed away.
Angelo fired a shot, and ceramic exploded somewhere to my left.
“I said, don’t fucking move!” Fingers stroked over my hair. “Keep your eyes closed, angel,” he said much more softly.
His phone rang—no, he was calling someone, and their phone was ringing on the speaker.
“What do you want, Costa?”
Luca. My heart lurched out of my chest.
“Chloe Morelli called Ana Costa a slut because I’m in her mother’s shop replacing Ana’s entire wardrobe after she escaped from that scumbag Tchérnov.”
“Why are you calling me, Costa?” Luca answered, his voice irate.
“Because she’s a cousin of yours—a Russo. And the only reason she’s still alive is that you’ve been murdering Tchérnov’s bastards while I’ve been away.”
“She called Ana a slut?” Luca murmured.
“Sir,” I whispered, tugging on my master’s pants, hoping I’d spoken so quietly Luca couldn’t hear me. “She’s practically a child—young and foolish and doesn’t know any better.”
“You never got the luxury of being a child in the Costa household, did you, baby?” Luca’s voice softened. Fuck, he’d heard me. “Shoot her, Costa. I’ll clean up afterward.”
“No!” I shot to my feet. “Don’t fucking shoot her.”
I stood between the barrel of his gun and Chloe, my heart pounding out of my chest with the realization that Angelo had defended me without giving a thought to the consequences. Because he didn’t care. I was his priority. Always.
“Angel,” he growled, his grey eyes furious.
I stepped forward, pushing the gun down so I could press up against him with fucking hearts in my eyes. “Please, sir, for me.”
Angelo’s glare promised retribution, but he lowered his gun.
“Chloe, get the fuck out of here,” I snapped.
“My angel needs everything,” he said to the quickly retreating woman. “So bring everything for her to try on.”
“Wait.” Luca’s voice cracked out over the phone. “You said you were buying clothes for Ana?”
Angelo’s smile was cruel. “Starting with the most important bits.”
Luca scoffed. “I’m sure.”
Moments later, Chloe returned with armfuls of lingerie and shoved them into my arms, before disappearing out the door again.
Angelo defended me.
He defended me to someone who worked for the Russos. He threatened to kill her and spark a war between our families. Again. Because he didn’t like that silly child calling me a slut.
And so did Luca.
The wound in my chest cracked right open and let the light of their affection for me in.
I stood in the middle of the dressing room, Angelo sprawled out on the couch, my arms full of lace and silk confections, unable to breathe with the realization that nobody had ever fucking done that for me before.
Certainly not my father.
My brain ran in circles as I tried on sets of panties and bras, unable to stop myself from wondering if Angelo would like what he saw. Would Luca, if he saw me now, wearing underpinnings designed to catch and hold the attention of men?
And yet, Angelo didn’t barge in on me when I disappeared behind a door to change. He didn’t leer at me as I walked back and forth to show off the lingerie. He didn’t even assert his authority and make sure I bought exactly what he wanted me to wear.
What was wrong? I’d given him everything last night. Fucking everything . And he’d defended me. He threatened to kill someone for me. And now he was ignoring me so he could dick around on his phone.
Didn’t he want me? Wasn’t my fuckability what all of this was about? His stupid obsession and his stupid need to keep me obedient and under his stupid thumb?
Hurt streaked through me, insidious and cruel, and I didn’t stop to think about why it was so painful to think about him turning his attention elsewhere.
How dare he use me, defend me, and then discard me because his phone was more interesting than me?
I narrowed my eyes, then stalked out past him to the shop. A small part of me recognized that I was acting out because I was insecure and unhappy. The larger part of me said fuck it. He knew what he was getting when he kidnapped me, and if he thought I was changing for him, he could fuck right off with that.
I grabbed a couple of sets of outrageously revealing lingerie—the kind meant to be seen, not worn under clothes, then walked back into the changing room.
Black. I’d wear black to suit my darkening mood. When I’d finished dressing, I looked in the mirror. Fuck, I looked good. Long legs in sheer black stockings, garters that dug into my barely covered ass when I bent over. I winced at the curly hair that continued to grow between my legs. I’d have to get waxed.
Humiliation shot through me, followed by anger. I’d have to ask my owners to allow me to take care of my personal grooming, while I was enjoying my new freedoms.
The bra lifted my breasts, displaying them like dessert. And the leather harness I slipped on over the delicate lingerie? Fucking chef’s kiss. I looked like a badass.
“Angelo,” I said, hating myself and my self-destructive instincts, but unable to stop. He didn’t answer.
I poked my head out of the changing room, only to find him still buried in his phone.
A miasma of confusion swirled in my gut. I shoved his defense of me aside to deal with later. Right now, I wanted his attention, and I wasn’t getting it.
When I dropped to my knees in front of him, he set aside his phone, his face completely blank.
I kissed his ankle, then worked my way up his left leg.
“Angel,” he rasped. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I stopped, hurt rattling around in my chest. Did he not want me?
I slid my hands up his powerful thighs, admiring the hard muscles beneath my hands, before continuing to his belt. In moments, I’d freed his cock where it bobbed in front of me, angry and hard and already leaking precum.
“Pet,” Angelo snapped. I looked at him with wide eyes, praying I wasn’t overstepping, that this was the key to his attention, that he wanted this.
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, swearing softly in Italian. “Fucking Valentin would know what to do,” he muttered so quietly I was sure I wasn’t supposed to hear it.
He cupped my face, and I pressed my cheek into the palm of his hand, embarrassingly desperate for his approval.
“What are you doing, angel?”
Did he not see? Did he not know?
“Thank you,” I said, simply, then took the crown of his cock into my mouth and sucked hard.
He groaned and tangled his fingers in my hair, holding me gently. “You are a slut, Ana Costa.”
I took him deep into my throat.
“My slut. Valentin’s slut. And nobody fucking disrespects what’s ours.”