Chapter Eighteen
Lily
A queen my ass! I am a prisoner—his whore, as he so elegantly put it.
I have to bide my time and escape as soon as I get an opportunity. I hoped that he would let me leave in the morning but no luck so far. If anything, he looks like he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight. I have to push harder.
Letting him kiss me was a mistake. I was dazed, too caught off guard to resist, but not anymore. I can’t afford to be weak.
Get a grip.
After brunch, Damiano brings me back to my cell…er, room and I go to the bathroom and snoop around, finding packed toothbrushes and toothpaste as well as my favorite brands of cosmetics.
I have to admit, this man is a grade-A stalker. It’s scary but still impressive. I can’t help but shudder at the thought. He knows me, knows my habits, my preferences. That’s not just control—it is downright obsession.
When I’ve finished brushing my teeth and step out of the bathroom, I find my bag sitting on the bed.
Eagerly, I pull out my burner phone and check the messages.
There are several from Erin from last night—one telling me she’s home safe, another asking for updates.
I quickly type a reply, reassuring her that I’m fine, all things considered, and hit send.
But the message doesn’t leave my outbox. I frown, my heart sinking.
Damiano must have found a way to block my outgoing texts. I try calling her instead, but there’s no signal. My stomach drops further.
Shit. I am locked in, and Damiano has thought of everything.
I step out into the hallway, my heart pounding with a mix of dread and defiance.
When I reach the dining room, I spot Damiano talking to the man who was threatening Erin.
The moment the guy sees me, he turns his cold gaze my way.
I don’t hold back, glaring at him, but it is hard to ignore the way they both look in their dark suits—dangerous, lethal and all-too comfortable in their power.
Damiano’s eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when he notices me.
Then he strides toward me with that arrogant, possessive look on his face, and before I can take a step back, his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into his side with an intimacy that makes my skin crawl.
Or maybe he’s simply trying to prevent me from running.
“Lily, this is Teo.” Damiano’s voice is smooth, like he’s introducing me to a friend.
I glance at the imposing figure beside him, the same one who had looked at Erin like she was his next meal.
So, this is Matteo, the third member of Damiano’s trifecta, the enforcer. His eyes are as cold as his reputation, and when he steps forward, extending his hand, I reluctantly shake it.
“Hello, Lily. Nice to meet you.” The tension thickens in the air. I don’t bother with pleasantries.
“I wish I could say the same. But if you threaten my friend again, I will castrate you.”
For the briefest of moments, his lips twitch in what could almost be a smile, and a spark of amusement flickers in his eyes. “Then I shall be careful,” he says, his voice dripping with a strange calm.
Damiano leans in then, brushing his lips against my temple with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter in my rib cage. “I have to go, little flower,” he murmurs, and I hate the way the pet name twists something in me. “Behave. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He gives Matteo a brief nod before he turns and walks out, leaving me standing there with the looming figure of his enforcer.
I wait a few heartbeats after he closes the front door before I rush there to try to yank it open, but it won’t budge. I can’t see any visible lock, but there’s some kind of screen.
“Don’t bother. The lock disengages with biometric recognition.” Matteo’s bored voice comes from behind me. I place my fingers one after the other on the pad and it lights up red every time. Not that I was expecting anything else.
When I finally give up and turn around, he is sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand and is flipping through the channels of the huge TV screen hanging on the wall.
I let out a frustrated groan, go over to join him and plop on the other end of the couch.
“Listen, I have some money. If you let me out it is yours.” He doesn’t even acknowledge me so I try something else. “Hey, can you lend me your phone? I need to…uh, look up something on the internet.”
He eyes me warily from the corner of his gaze. “You have your own phone. Just use it.”
I groan inwardly, but force myself to keep my cool. “First of all, it’s a basic phone with no internet, and secondly, it won’t work. My texts and calls aren’t going out.”
He raises an eyebrow, then looks at me with that infuriating calm.
“You sent out a text? Let me look.” He taps away on his phone, completely disinterested in my discomfort.
After a moment, he looks up. “Ah yeah, I missed that one.” He shrugs, typing again.
“There. Your text got sent out. You’re welcome. ”
My jaw drops. “Wait, are you screening my texts?” My voice rises in disbelief, and I can feel the blood rush to my face.
“Of course,” he says, completely unfazed by my outrage. “And also your calls. Do you think we’d let you communicate without supervision?”
I’m speechless for a moment, then shout, “I’m not a child. I don’t need supervision!” I want to stomp my feet.
At this point, I am looking for something heavy enough to bash his head in. Then I could cut off his thumb and use it on the fingerprint scanner like in the movies. The idea sounds more and more appealing.
But before I can set my plan into motion, the doorbell rings and Matteo jumps up to go to the door. Once he has checked the camera feed, he puts his hand on the scanner and the door opens.
Shit, I will need to cut off his whole hand and not only the thumb.
The door swings open, and in walks a tall, graceful woman, her presence commanding, like a whirlwind.
She gives Matteo a playful pat on the chest, a signal of familiarity, before her eyes lock onto me.
A brilliant smile spreads across her face, and she moves toward me with an enthusiasm I almost envy.
“Hello, hello! You must be Lily! It’s such a pleasure to meet you!
” She’s practically bouncing with energy, her hands already reaching for me before I can react.
“I’m Aurora, but you can call me Rory. I’m going to make you look absolutely fabulous, darling!
” Before I can even offer a greeting, she wraps me in a hug that’s a little too enthusiastic for comfort.
I awkwardly pat her back, unsure how to handle her over-the-top warmth. “Hello, nice to meet you, too…”
Rory pulls away, scanning me from head to toe with the kind of scrutiny that makes me feel like a mannequin in a store window.
“Let’s see what we have here… Hmm, hmm, yes!
You’ve got the perfect frame for my selections.
Absolutely perfect!” She turns to Matteo, who’s standing by the door, eyes amused, but not speaking.
At a quick nod from her, the door opens again, and a parade of people marches in, each one carrying garment bags, rolling racks of clothes or holding boxes stacked high with shoes.
Within moments, the room is swamped. Clothes spill across every surface—the couch, the chairs, the table, hell, even the floor is littered with fabrics in every shade, texture and pattern imaginable.
“Don’t worry, darling, we’ll make this quick,” Rory reassures me, though I can already tell from the gleam in her eyes that “quick” means something completely different to her than it does to me.
The room now feels suffocating, like I am surrounded by a chaos of luxury and fabric, and it is only about to get worse. Matteo quietly steps out of the condo, leaving us alone in this storm of dresses, skirts, blouses, coats, shoes and everything in between.
Then the real chaos begins.
For the next two hours I am pulled and prodded, shoved into one outfit after another.
Rory doesn’t give me a chance to breathe as she zips me into this dress or that jacket, slides shoes onto my feet and tugs my hair into complicated styles that make me feel like I’m on display.
The mirror shows me a new stranger every time I glance at it, each look more polished, more glamorous, but none of them feel like me.
I want to scream. I want to tear everything off and run.
But instead I stand there, miserable and silent, as the endless parade of clothes continues.
And as I do, the weight of shame creeps over me.
The bruises from last night are dark against my skin, the hickeys on my neck and collarbone undeniable marks of Damiano’s claim.
My face heats in embarrassment, but they don’t even glace at the marks.
I catch Rory’s eyes for a moment, her smile wide as she twirls around, holding up yet another dress for me to try on.
Her enthusiasm is infectious, but it feels hollow.
I wonder if she knows what is really happening here.
But then again, does it matter? For all I know, they’ve all been bought to turn a blind eye.
So I swallow my frustration, push down the bile rising in my throat and let Rory have her way because I have no other choice.
Rory glides around the room with a sense of purpose, holding up a delicate lace set of lingerie that has me immediately bristling.
She waves it in front of me with a mischievous grin, clearly excited about the prospect of me wearing it.
This is where I draw the line. I force a tight smile.
“I’ll try that on privately, thank you.” Her smile falters for a second, but she quickly recovers.
“Of course, darling, whatever you like!” Without missing a beat, she hands the delicate pieces off to one of her assistants, instructing her to tuck everything away in the master bedroom closet.
It’s strange how little say I have in all of this, as though Damiano has already laid out each detail with meticulous precision.
Not once did Rory ask me what I want or how I feel about it.
His control stretches far beyond the confines of the bedroom, infiltrating even the clothes that now crowd every inch of the place.
I can feel the weight of it all, the way everything has been chosen for me, mapped out, every decision made by someone else, from the shoes to the dresses to the ridiculous lingerie I wasn’t even given a say in. Not a single moment has been mine.
The team finishes their work, and the last remnants of their presence, discarded clothes and racks, are carted off as they leave.
The room is still, and I stand there, surrounded by the chaos of my thoughts, like I’ve barely survived a hurricane.
Rory, on the other hand, seems as cheerful as ever.
Not a single hint of exhaustion or frustration.
Her eyes shine with excitement as she gestures toward the hallway leading to the master bedroom.
“You will look absolutely breathtaking in the dresses, darling. Damiano won’t know what hit him!
” she says with a wink, clearly convinced that I should be thrilled by this.
I almost choke on the words I want to say but don’t.
“And remember, these are only the first pieces, darling. You might need more later, different looks, you know? Just give me a call if you need anything. The boys have my number,” she continues, her voice a sweet melody of professional enthusiasm.
I force a smile, my stomach sinking as she wraps her arms around me in a quick, overly tight hug.
Before I can even process what’s happening, she’s already gone.
I exhale sharply as Matteo, who has come back in, clicks the door shut behind her.
There will be more? I groan.