13. Rork
13
RORK
I glance at my watch, noting that five minutes have gone by. I’ve given her enough time to get ready. Without knocking, I step into Bianca’s room from the adjoining door, my patience wearing thin. But the moment I lay eyes on her, any frustration I might have felt evaporates.
Because standing before me is not the stubborn, defiant girl I’ve been battling with for the past day, but a woman in every sense of the word. A woman whose beauty takes my breath away, even as it stirs a hunger deep inside me that I haven’t felt in years. She looks older than her young age.
The maid’s uniform clings to her like a second skin, the thin fabric hugging every curve and contour of her lithe, athletic body. The skirt is scandalously short, barely skimming the tops of her thighs and revealing a tantalizing expanse of smooth, toned leg. And the neckline plunges down to her navel, offering a glimpse of the creamy swell of her breasts that makes my mouth go dry.
But it’s not just the way the outfit showcases her physical assets that draws me in. It’s the way she carries herself, the proud tilt of her chin and the fire in her eyes that tells me she’s far from broken, far from defeated.
She may be dressed like a servant, like a plaything for my amusement, but there’s nothing subservient about the way she holds herself. No, this is a woman who knows her own worth, who refuses to be cowed or intimidated by the likes of me.
And damn if that doesn’t make her all the more alluring.
I’m not sure how I ever thought she looked like Anna. There’s nothing about Anna in the scowl that crosses her face.
I take a step toward her, my gaze raking over her form with undisguised appreciation. “Well, well,” I murmur, my voice low and rough with desire. “Who would have thought that Don Marino’s little girl could clean up so nicely?”
Bianca’s eyes flash with anger, her lips curling into a more severe scowl. “Don't you call me that,” she snaps, her voice trembling oh, so slightly. “I’m not a child, and I’m certainly not your toy.”
I chuckle, the sound dark and rich in the stillness of the room. “Oh, but you are , my dear,” I say, closing the distance between us until we’re standing toe-to-toe. “You’re mine now, to do with as I please. And believe me, I have plenty of ideas about how to put that delectable body of yours to good use.”
I reach out, trailing a finger along the delicate line of her collarbone, savoring the way she shivers at my touch. Her skin is soft and smooth, like the finest silk, and I can’t help but imagine how it would feel to explore every inch of her, to map the contours of her body with my hands and my mouth.
Suddenly, Bianca slaps my hand away, a scowl on her beautiful face.
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she seethes. “Keep your hands to yourself, or I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it.”
For a moment, I’m stunned by her audacity, by the sheer balls it takes for a woman in her position to defy me so openly. But then, as I look at her, taking in the fierce set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes, and her heaving breasts, I feel a sudden rush of heat coursing through my veins.
Because this is no dainty princess, no delicate flower wilting under the weight of my attentions. No, this is a fighter, a woman who looks like she could have held her own in the tournament put on in her honor.
And damn if that doesn’t turn me on like nothing else.
Suddenly, I’m starting to see Bianca in a whole new light. All this time, I’d assumed that the tournament was Nico’s idea, that he’d forced his daughter into this game of marriage and politics against her will.
But what if I was wrong? What if it was Bianca herself who came up with the idea, who decided to take her fate into her own hands and find a man who could handle her?
It’s a thought that sends a shiver of excitement down my spine, even as it fills me with a grudging sense of respect. If there’s one thing I can appreciate, it’s a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to fight for it.
And Bianca? She’s a fighter through and through.
I take a step back, my gaze raking appreciatively over her form once more. The maid’s uniform may be a symbol of my power over her, but it does nothing to diminish the strength and resilience that radiate from every inch of her body.
Bianca glares at me. “What are you looking at?” she snaps.
“Oh, just thinking about how I plan on taking off that maid outfit piece by piece,” I answer truthfully.
Instead of her panicking over my response, her scowl deepens and she crosses her arms over her ample chest. “I’ll never let you,” she hisses.
She’s a force to be reckoned with. And for a moment, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have her by my side, to face the world together as equals, as partners in every sense of the word.
But then I remember the reason I’m here, the revenge that has consumed my every waking thought for longer than I care to admit. Bianca may be a tempting distraction, but she’s just a means to an end, a tool to be used in my quest for vengeance against her father. And I’ve been planning this revenge since I first heard about the tournament, so I am going to follow through.
As much as I may admire her spirit and crave the fire that burns within her, I know that I’ll have to break her. I’ll have to shatter that fierce will, to reduce her to a shell of the woman she once was.
It’s a pity, really. Because in another life, I could see us getting along quite well. She reminds me so much of her mother, of the woman Anna used to be.
But ah, well. That’s not the hand I’ve been dealt. And I can’t let sentiment stand in the way of my ultimate goal. I can’t let myself be swayed by a pretty face and a fighter’s heart.
Speaking of revenge…
I grab Bianca by the arm, my fingers closing around her elbow in a grip that’s just shy of painful. She tries to pull away, but I hold fast, dragging her out of the room and down the hallway toward the heart of the mansion.
Naturally, Bianca fights me every step of the way. “Let me go! Where are you taking me?”
But I don’t answer her until we reach the library. I pause for a moment, letting Bianca take in the grandeur of the space. It’s one of my favorite rooms in the house, a testament to my love of knowledge.
The ceilings are high and vaulted, with intricate moldings and gleaming chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow over the room. The walls are lined with bookshelves that stretch from floor to ceiling, each one filled to bursting with rare and precious books.
There are volumes here that date back centuries, manuscripts that have been carefully preserved and handed down through generations of collectors. I’ve spent years building this collection, scouring the world for the most unique and valuable books money can buy.
And you would be surprised at how easy it is to get so-called “off limit” books for the right price. Money can truly open any doors.
But as much as I love this room, I know that it’s just another tool in my arsenal. Another way to assert my power over Bianca, to remind her of just how much she’s at my mercy.
I shove a feather duster into her hand, my lips curling into a smirk as I watch her eyes widen with indignation.
“Get to work,” I say, my voice cold and commanding. “I want every inch of this room spotless, from top to bottom. And don’t even think about slacking off or trying to half-ass it. I’ll be watching.”
For a moment, Bianca looks like she might argue, her jaw clenching with barely-contained fury. But then she seems to think better of it, her shoulders slumping as she turns to face the nearest bookshelf.
I watch as she starts to dust, her movements stiff and jerky with resentment. Oh, God, she’s awful at this. I don’t think anyone has taught Princess Bianca how to clean. My lips quirk up in a smirk.
But even in her anger and humiliation, I can’t help but admire the way she looks in that maid’s uniform.
The way her skirt rides up her thighs as she reaches for the higher shelves, the way the neckline dips and sways with every movement, offering tantalizing glimpses of the soft, creamy skin beneath.
It’s a sight that sends a rush of heat through my veins, even as it fills me with a sense of satisfaction. Because this is just the beginning, just the first step in my plan to bring Nico Marino to his knees.
Bringing my cell phone out, I snap a photo of Bianca slightly bent over, her skirt just barely covering her ass.
Click .
Bianca whirls around, her eyes flashing with anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands, her voice sharp with outrage.
I smirk, holding up my phone with a mocking flourish. “Just documenting your progress for your father, Princess. We wouldn’t want your dear Papa to see what a terrible job you’re doing, right?”
Bianca’s face flushes with fury, her fists clenching at her sides, but I can tell I’ve rattled her from the way her hands shake and her eyes grow bright with unshed tears.
“You have no right to take pictures of me without my consent,” she hisses, her voice trembling with barely-contained rage. “And you have no right to send them to my father. I forbid it.”
I laugh, a cold, cruel sound that echoes off the high ceilings. “First off, I have every right, Princess. You’re mine now, remember? And I can do whatever I want with you. Second.” I take a step closer. “I can send any photo I like to your father. In fact, I think I’ll send one right now.”
I pull up Nico’s phone number—Liam was able to procure it for me—and make a show of uploading the photo and sending it. Bianca’s eyes widen before she lets out a scream of outrage and horror. “No!” she breathes, lunging for my phone, but I easily hold her back. “You fucking bastard! That’s sick what you just did!”
“And I don’t care,” I say coldly. “Now, get back to work.” I shove her away from me, wanting to get her half naked body as far from me as possible before I do something I regret.
She glares at me but she actually listens, returning to her tasks. But this time, her movements are even more careless and sloppy than before. She knocks over books left and right, stepping over them with a deliberate, insolent air.
I can feel my anger rising, my patience wearing thin with her blatant disrespect, but I force myself to stay calm, to keep my composure because I have a job to do.
My phone’s click of the camera fills the room as I continue snapping pictures as she works, capturing every defiant glare, every hint of flesh, every compromising position. These images will be worth their weight in gold, the perfect weapon to use against Nico Marino.
It’ll rip Nico Marino’s heart out to see his little girl be used in such a way. Because what could be more devastating to a father than seeing his precious daughter reduced to a mere servant, forced to labor at the whim of his greatest enemy?