Chapter 3
THREE
Eliza
Every time the car turns sharply, I'm thrown to the side. With my hands bound, I can't stop myself hitting the door. Adriano unfastened the cuff from the chair when the plane landed then pulled my arms behind my back and shackled me again.
It's completely unnecessary and we both know it. I guess he takes perverse pleasure in reminding me I'm his prisoner. Or perhaps it's some kink he's exploring. Either way, I'd prefer to have my hands free. It's been thirty minutes since we left the airfield and my shoulders are protesting.
I shift on the seat, trying to make myself comfortable and Adriano glances at me. He, of course, is perfectly relaxed. At some point he removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up to reveal strong forearms. They'd make me weak at the knees if I allowed myself to think about him that way.
As the countryside slides past the window I try to find some joy in seeing my homeland again. I missed Italy. Remembering the beauty of the landscape bathed in the golden light of an early evening had been too painful so I made myself forget.
Being here is strange. It's both foreign and familiar. There was a new housing development on the outskirts of the city I'd never seen before. It threw me off balance, not that I was exactly on an even keel.
Adriano hasn't said a word since he shoved me into the back of this SUV and told me to behave. At least, he hasn't spoken to me. He has exchanged small talk with the driver, who I've deduced has just returned to work after recovering from a stab wound to the upper thigh.
They laughed about how close the knife had come to gelding him but I can't find the humor in it. It takes a certain type of person to joke about violence, I guess.
We pass through a small, quiet village, the sort of place that hasn't changed in a hundred years. There's a church, a bar with a few old men sitting out in the evening sun and a handful of houses with their shutters thrown open to let the cooler air in.
A woman leans out of a window and shouts to someone in the street. It's painfully ordinary.
When we reach the other side of the village, the road narrows. Another ten minutes pass before we arrive at large iron gates set into a stone wall. A man opens the gates as we approach. Obviously he was expecting us.
We drive through without slowing and speed along a driveway lined with cypress trees toward a large house. Gabriele's villa in the suburbs of Rome is luxurious but it has nothing on this place.
Magnificent is the only way to describe the house.
Clad in travertine, it rises over three stories and has an impressive glass frontage.
Wide steps lead to a heavy metal door. There's a massive bronze sculpture outside.
I'd love to ask what it is but I doubt after forty minutes of silence Adriano is in the mood to give me a guided tour.
The car stops and Adriano gets out. He comes around to my door and reaches over me to unfasten my seatbelt. I press my thighs together to control my response as I catch the distinctly masculine scent of cedarwood on his skin.
Without the use of my hands, it's awkward getting out of the car but Adriano catches me before I fall.
He isn't particularly gentle as he steadies me.
He keeps a firm hold of my arm as he guides me through the front door and into a hallway that might be bigger than the apartment I rented in Edinburgh.
Shit. I forgot about that. All my belongings, such as they are, have been left there.
I must make a sound of dismay because Adriano looks down at me. "What?"
"Nothing, I just..." it seems too trivial to mention.
"You just what?"
"I left all my stuff in Edinburgh."
He shakes his head. "No you didn't. I had it packed and put on the plane before I picked you up."
The audacity floors me. "If I'd gone home and found everything gone, I'd have thought I'd been robbed."
"For six pairs of granny pants and an Egon Schiele t-shirt?" Adriano scoffs. "Are Scottish thieves so desperate?"
I don't bother telling him that my mom bought the t-shirt for me when we visited the Leopold Museum in Vienna and I don't want to discuss the sorry state of my underwear with him.
Dressing sexily was the last thing on my mind as I moved from one place to the next, waiting for the clammy hand of death to land on my shoulder.
Of course, the hand isn't clammy, nor is it on my shoulder.
It's wrapped firmly around my upper arm and starting to make me think I'll be left with a bruise.
"What is this place?" I ask as we move toward a wide staircase.
"My home."
"Why am I here?"
He doesn't answer. He just takes me upstairs and marches me to the end of a long corridor. The house doesn't feel lived in. It's like a model home with carefully curated artwork on the walls. I doubt Adriano picked out any of it. I wonder if he even likes it.
From what I've seen of him so far he doesn't strike me as the sort of man who craves a sterile environment. Someone who chooses a cinnamon bun surely prefers more comfort. Who knows? Perhaps his private spaces are filled with soft furnishings and pictures of cute little animals. I doubt it, though.
The room he shows me into is large but sparsely furnished with just a metal-framed king-sized bed and a nightstand that looks like it was a filing cabinet in a past life.
The walls, floor and curtains are all white.
I'm guessing Adriano doesn't plan to kill me in here.
Blood would be impossible to wash out of this carpet.
He turns me so my back is to him and a moment later I'm freed from the harsh metal cuffs. I bring my arms forward slowly, ignoring the ache in my shoulders.
"If you try anything," Adriano warns. "I will chain you to the bed until you learn to behave."
A beat passes before I realize he's expecting a response. "Understood."
He looks at me for a moment as if trying to decide if I mean it. I do. The last thing I want is to incur punishment from this man. The gleam in his eye tells me he'd relish a challenge.
"You can go out onto the balcony, but the grounds are patrolled and any escape attempt will be detected before you can make it across the lawn."
"I won't try to escape," I say wearily. Why would I, at this stage? If I'd intended to run I'd have done it in Edinburgh where I had a fighting chance of getting away.
As silence stretches between us, my stomach chooses the moment to growl loudly. I haven't eaten since breakfast and that was just a banana and a slice of toast. Adriano studies my face for a moment, then turns and leaves without another word.
A strange whirring sound tells me an electronic lock engaged when he closed the door. It seems my prison cell is spacious and high tech.
Now that he's gone, I take the opportunity to look around.
There's a door on the other side of the room that leads into a closet. Beyond that is another door, through which I find a marble-floored bathroom with an egg-shaped tub. It’s very fancy.
I wonder if I'll get the chance to use it.
Are prisoners given bathing privileges at Casa Adriano?
In the far corner, there's a shower area with a rainfall attachment overhead. I turn and stare at the empty shelves and rails in the closet and imagine them filled with clothes. It would take more money than I'll make in a lifetime.
When I'm done fantasizing about silk gowns and designer shoes, I head back out into the bedroom.
There's a black object on the ceiling above the bed and it takes me a moment to realize it's a projector for watching television.
I look in the drawers of the nightstand but don't find a controller for it.
There is, however, a bottle of lube, some handcuffs of a more playful variety than the ones I had on in the car, and enough condoms to protect everyone at a Roman emperor's orgy.
Closing down thoughts about why those items are in the room I've been placed in, I shut the drawer and go to the door leading onto the terrace. It slides open easily and I step outside. The evening air is cool and there's a delicate milky scent in the air that tells me there are fig trees nearby.
I lean on the railing and look down. It's quite a drop, with nothing to break my fall. Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to the right and I see a man who's openly carrying a gun that looks like it belongs on the frontlines of a war, not at a country house.
Suddenly being out here isn't so attractive. I back away into the bedroom and close the door. I go to sit on the bed. A few minutes pass before the whirring sound alerts me to the door opening.
Adriano comes in. He has a black garbage bag in one hand and a plate with some food on it in the other. There's a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He walks over and drops the bag at my feet.
"Your things. Put them away. I don't like clutter."
"Okay."
He thrusts the plate at me and I take it. There's a chunk of bread, thinly sliced salami and some pieces of mozzarella on it.
"My housekeeper's taking a couple of days off. This is the best I could do."
He sounds angry. Does he think I'm turning my nose up at the food?
"No, this is great. It's been a long time since I had good salami."
I expect him to leave when he heads for the door but instead he leans against the wall next to it. He watches as I try the salami. It has a nice spice to it.
"Oh, my god, that's so good."
"It's from a butcher in the village. He..." Adriano stops dead as if he didn't mean to share that information with me.
I devour the food with unseemly haste. It's all so good, the flavors pulling me back to my childhood when my mother would make simple platters of food for my brother and I to share as we sat in the garden.
When I finish, I set the plate on top of the nightstand and open the bottle of water.
I take a few sips and put it down next to the plate.
Adriano's still staring intently at me. It's unsettling in ways I don't want to examine too closely right now.
"You know, most women in your situation would have tried to seduce their way out of this," he says. "Why haven't you?"
His question takes me by surprise. It honestly never crossed my mind to play that card.
"Would it work?"
He tilts his head slightly. The corners of his mouth lift but it's not quite a smile.
I have no idea what he's thinking. If he's amused there's something grim underlying it.
A part of me hopes he'll shut this down, that he'll tell me he wouldn't be so easily manipulated.
Another wants a hint that he returns the attraction I wish I didn't feel for him.
"Give it a try."
The air in the room changes. I know I should ignore whatever game he's playing.
I don't do well unless I know the rules.
But, for some reason, I find myself pushing to my feet and walking across the room toward him.
I watch his face the entire time, looking for some clue about what he hopes to achieve.
He doesn't move. Unnervingly still, he does nothing as I approach. When I stop in front of him I see for the first time the truly incredible blue of his eyes. There's tension in his jaw that tells me he's not as unmoved by my closeness as he pretends.
For a moment I stand there, unsure what my next move should be. I could drop to my knees and unfasten his pants but I'm not that brazen.
While I'm still trying to decide what to do, Adriano reaches out and grabs my shoulders. He spins me around and pulls me back against him. My clit throbs as he bands an arm around my chest. His hand slides down my front to pop open the button on my pants. I don't breathe. I can't.
He cups my mound and caresses me over the plain white cotton of my underwear. An involuntary moan escapes me as he drags them to the side.
"Bare," he murmurs. "Who's that for, cara?"
"No-one." I exhale sharply as he slides a finger through my wetness. "It's habit."
When I dated Gabriele I kept myself bare in case that was what he preferred. I never found out because we didn't have sex. Not once. He told me it was because he intended to marry me one day. In some respects he was old-fashioned. I never quite believed him.
"You're drenched." Adriano's breath is warm against my ear. "Is that for no-one too?"
"No." I moan as he pushes a finger inside me. "That's just for you."
"Hmm." Adriano withdraws his hand. He spins me around and leans closer. I think he's going to kiss me. I part my lips in anticipation as he curves a hand around my cheek. He stares into my eyes for a moment, then straightens. "Oh, cara, you'll have to do better than that."
He turns, walks out of the room and closes the door.
Once more he locks it behind him. I stare at it for the longest time.
No man has touched me that intimately for years.
I wish I could say I hated it, but I didn't. Despite the humiliation, I find myself wanting more.
I don't consider what that says about me.