Chapter 8
EIGHT
Violetta
As I slowly wake from a fitful sleep, the first thing I'm aware of is an unfamiliar feeling between my thighs. The discomfort is a reminder of what happened last night, how ruthlessly Damiano claimed my body.
I sit up and wince as the pressure on my backside brings back memories of that spanking. Though the experience was humiliating and painful, I can't honestly say I didn't get some enjoyment out of it.
I wouldn't want such punishments to be a daily occurrence, but it might spice things up once in a while.
I only wish Damiano had spoken to me afterward.
The man is totally unreadable so I have no idea what he was thinking. When he raised the topic of marriage, he framed it as a means to an end. His brother would get the land he wants, he would get a wife and one day an heir. It was purely a matter of convenience.
Then he fucked me as if he wanted to mark me as his, and that makes me wonder if there's more to the idea of him marrying me than he let on. The possibility unnerves me.
Pondering the inner workings of Damiano Volante's mind is not for the faint-hearted and I, for one, can't do it on an empty stomach. I get out of bed and have a lightning-quick shower, making sure not to get my hair wet since it takes so long to dry.
If I was at home, I'd throw on yoga pants and a t-shirt, but Damiano always dresses immaculately and I don't want to feel like a slob next to him. There's enough of an imbalance between us as it is.
After some internal debate, I opt for cream pants and a pale pink chiffon blouse. I look in the drawer of the dressing table and find my makeup is all there. I don't bother with it, but I do run my brush through my hair.
When I'm finished, I check myself out in the mirror. Considering the tumultuous emotions raging inside me, I appear composed.
I step out into the corridor, half expecting someone to tell me to go back to my room, but there's nobody around. I head downstairs, noting that there's no guard at the front door today.
Leaving still seems risky, so I walk along the corridor until I run into a tall, pale man in a black suit, He has a funereal air about him.
"Good morning."
He nods stiffly. "Good morning, Signorina Caruso."
It's disconcerting that he knows my name, but I suppose Damiano has briefed his staff on my presence.
"Do you know where Signore Volante is?"
"The dining room. If you follow me, I will take you to him."
"Thank you, uh…."
"My name is Gianni." His clipped tone suggests he's not much of a conversationalist and indeed he says nothing more as he leads me along a corridor and around a corner before finally walking through an open doorway.
Damiano is already seated at the head of a long wooden table in the most magnificent dining room I've ever seen. It's ornately decorated with painted ceilings and opulent velvet drapes at the windows.
As usual, Damiano is wearing a dress shirt and tie. The only concession he's made to being in his own home is that he hasn't got a jacket on. It is, however, draped over the back of his chair. He's so intent on whatever's on his iPad that he doesn't notice our arrival.
"Signorina Caruso," Gianni announces as he crosses the room to pull out a chair for me.
I'm glad I made some effort with my appearance since there's an air of formality. Damiano rises and waits until I'm seated comfortably before sitting down again. There's no faulting his manners.
As Gianni leaves the room, I scan the array of pastries on the table. My stomach rumbles loudly as I consider what I'd like to eat.
"Help yourself," Damiano encourages me. "Lina will bring coffee in a moment."
Nodding, I reach across to take an almond pastry. Only a minute passes before Lina comes in with an espresso for me. Things run efficiently around here. I wonder what the secret is. I smile as she sets the cup down in front of me.
"Thank you, Lina."
"My pleasure, Signorina Caruso. Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you."
As she leaves, I feel Damiano's eyes on me. "You don't drink cappuccino?"
I shake my head. "I don't like milky drinks."
"Nor do I." He offers me one small thing we have in common. I file that away for later. "Did you sleep well?"
"The bed was comfortable."
Damiano studies me for a moment. "That's not what I asked."
"It wasn't the best night's sleep I've had." Needing something to bolster me for the rest of the conversation, I sip my coffee. "How is your brother?"
"Alive." There's an undercurrent of no thanks to you in his tone. It's hard not to flinch.
I knock back the rest of my coffee and set the cup down.
"When can I return to work?" I need something normal.
I expect him to tell me I can't, but he surprises me. "I will allow it in a day or two, when I've made arrangements."
"What arrangements?"
"Security."
I furrow my brow in confusion. "There's plenty of security at the club."
"Security for you."
That could mean he plans to assign me a bodyguard or a jailer. I don't think I want to know which. He stares at me for a moment, looking for a reaction, but I try to keep my expression neutral.
"Okay."
Damiano returns his attention to his iPad and I focus on the almond pastry, which is delicious. The silence is awkward but I don't know how to fill it without asking questions I probably won't like the answers to.
The crease at the bridge of Damiano's nose as he concentrates on the spreadsheet in front of him makes him look younger, like a kid poring over his homework.
As I finish my pastry and try to decide if it's okay to excuse myself or if I have to wait to be dismissed, footsteps echo in the hallway. A subtle tension creeps into Damiano's posture and then dissipates as a tall, blond man comes into the room.
In his late twenties, he's wearing a dress shirt and pants but no tie.
His top button is open, revealing a gold cross which marks him as either a blind optimist or a hypocrite, considering he's giving off strong mafia vibes.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
He has nice forearms, but Damiano's are better. I shouldn't be comparing them.
"Violetta." There's a touch of something I can't identify in Damiano's voice. Did he not like me staring at the newcomer? "This is Elio, my consigliere. Elio, this is Violetta Caruso."
Elio casts an appraising look over me.
"My future wife," Damiano adds.
"Ah, yes." Elio moves around the table and sits opposite me. Less than a minute later, Lina appears with a cappuccino for him. Things run so smoothly around here I'm starting to wonder if the staff are psychic. "Thank you, Lina."
She pinches his cheek and he grins at her, a surprisingly familiar interaction. They must have known each other for a long time.
"You have news?" Damiano asks.
Elio glances at me. Assuming whatever they have to talk about is sensitive, I start to rise from my chair. Damiano gestures with a single finger for me to sit back down. I grit my teeth and obey the silent command.
His consigliere frowns, uncertain for a moment, and then turns to Damiano. "I spoke with Lenkov."
"Daniil?"
"No, Timofey. He secured the routes from Theo Pappas." "We can start moving merchandise through Athens within the week."
"That was faster than expected."
"Timofey can be very persuasive."
Damiano nods. "And the Makris family?"
"Still causing problems. They're too small to challenge us alone. Their boldness suggests they have backing. Lenkov is looking into it."
I'm amazed they're discussing all this in front of me. Surely they're not usually so open. It takes a minute for me to realize what's happening.
This is Damiano tightening the noose.
The more I learn about his organization, the more of a threat I pose. His argument for keeping me close and under his control only grows stronger.
My throat constricts as I realize I've stepped into a dangerous world. There's no safe exit from it.
"We need to get to the office," Damiano says, getting to his feet and putting on his jacket.
Elio rises with him. "I'll wait for you in the car." He smiles tightly at me. "Violetta."
"It was nice to meet you, Elio."
As his consigliere leaves, Damiano puts a hand beneath my chin and tilts my face toward him.
"You will remain here today."
"Why?"
"It's not safe for you to leave without a guard and I haven't decided who to assign to you yet."
There's no reason I can see why I'd be unsafe. Nobody knows Damiano plans to marry me. The urge to push back against this curtailment of my freedom is silenced by the voice of common sense. With a man like Damiano there will be greater battles to fight. I can allow him this. For now.
"Okay."
"Good girl." My pulse skitters. That should be condescending but it's not. It's incredibly sexy. "I will ask my cousin to arrange for some of the boutiques to bring clothes for you to choose from."
That pours cold water on the arousal his praise sparked. My forehead creases into a frown. Is he giving me new clothes to reward my obedience? That doesn't sit well with me.
Damiano doesn't kiss me. As he walks away I realize he hasn't acknowledged what happened between us last night. He did, however, tell Elio I was his future wife as though it were already decided.
Is this what I have to look forward to, him claiming me without showing any consideration for my feelings? I'm not sure I can live like that, but right now I don't see what the alternative is.
Do I want him to love me?
Could that ever happen?
Sighing, I push to my feet, grab another pastry and head back to my room.