Chapter Nineteen
Lily
The rest of the afternoon is boring.
I watch TV with Matteo, who is as fun to be around as a houseplant. If it wasn’t for the occasional grunt or a monosyllabic reply to my attempts at conversation, I would’ve sworn he was either deaf or just a human-shaped piece of furniture.
Bored out of my mind, I finally give up trying to engage with him and start wandering the penthouse, my footsteps echoing off the glossy floors as I explore.
The place is absolutely massive, not that I’m surprised.
In the night area, there are two spacious guest rooms along with the expansive master suite that serves as my cell.
On the opposite end of the unit, there is a separate guest suite that could host a small country.
A state-of-the-art gym stands adjacent to it, complete with sleek wooden sauna booths and an entire space for cold plunges in the Nordic-style bathtub.
There is also a locked door. Matteo says it is Damiano’s office when I ask him about it.
I make a mental note to try to pick the lock later. I don’t know how to pick a lock, I remind myself with a sigh. I am really the worst prisoner.
It’s all very…luxurious. Very Damiano. A place where money and power ooze from every corner.
Flowing seamlessly from the living room are the dining area and the modern, open-concept kitchen I’d already seen.
Floor-to-ceiling sliding doors open up to a sprawling terrace, complete with a private swimming pool and a stylish outdoor lounge, perfect for entertaining or soaking up the sun in total privacy.
I guess crime pays well.
I make my way to the kitchen, the rich scent of something delicious wafting through the air.
Rosa is busy at the counter, setting out ingredients with the kind of practiced ease that only comes from years of experience.
She nods at me when I step in, acknowledging my presence without missing a beat.
“Lasagna,” I murmur under my breath, my heart tightening as I recognize the familiar ingredients—parmesan, ricotta, mozzarella.
A flood of memories hits me like a wave.
I can almost hear my mom’s voice calling me into the kitchen when I was younger, her hands deftly working the dough, teaching me how to layer the pasta just right.
“Can I help?” The words escape before I even realize I’m asking, and there’s a pleading note that I can’t quite hide.
Rosa pauses for a moment, then glances at me, her eyes softening in sympathy.
She pushes a bowl of cheese mixture toward me with a gentle motion.
“Stir this, miss.” I try not to let the weight of the moment get to me, but it’s hard.
“Please call me Lily,” I say, almost as a plea for a sense of normalcy.
“All right, Lily,” she agrees, and for a moment there’s a pause, as though she’s considering me more deeply. “So you know how to cook Italian?”
I give a half-hearted shrug. “A few dishes. My mom taught me…” I trail off, the lump in my throat growing bigger.
“But when I went to live with my father, his wife…well, she forbade me to go near the kitchen or bother the cook.” I take a breath, forcing the words out.
“I’ve cooked for friends at vet school, but that’s about it. ”
Rosa seems to take in my words, and she doesn’t push, instead offering a kind smile. “Where is your mother?”
I can feel the sadness creeping back in, but I try to hold it together. “She passed away from cancer when I was nine.”
Her expression softens, and her voice drops, full of genuine sympathy. “I’m sorry, Lily.”
I force a small smile, shrugging to mask the tightness in my chest. “It’s okay.
I miss her, of course, but it’s been so long now.
” I look down at the bowl in my hands, stirring the mixture slowly, as if it might somehow keep the emotions at bay.
“It smells amazing in here, like when I was a little girl, helping Mom cook.”
Rosa’s smile widens, warm and comforting, and I feel a bit lighter.
We work in companionable silence until the lasagna dish is cooking in the oven, filling the air with its mouthwatering scent.
Rosa orders me to sit down on a kitchen stool and pours me a glass of sparkling water while she starts to thinly slice meat for the carpaccio intended for appetizers.
We are chatting while I sip my water when the front door opens and closes.
Then I hear deep voices from the living room.
Seconds later, Damiano comes into the kitchen.
He has removed his suit jacket and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, showing his muscled forearms, and I have to gulp.
His tanned forearms are covered in ink, the swirls and his bulging veins disappearing under his shirtsleeves.
I look up into his face. His eyes are burning into mine.
Dark and Dangerous. That is exactly what he is.
He closes the distance in three strides, clasps my neck with a firm hand and crushes his lips on mine.
I stiffen at first, but when his tongue darts out to trace my lips, my mouth opens on its own accord and I melt into his kiss.
Soon his embrace becomes forceful and his arm pulls me into his chest. He inserts himself between my thighs and grinds himself on my core.
I can feel him hard against my pussy and I hear a moan.
Shit, was that me, shamelessly moaning?
I pull back, flustered. “Dark… You can’t… We can’t. There are people.”
His predatory smile is a promise of sin. “No one is here, little flower.”
I look around and sure enough, Rosa is gone.
Damiano grips my ass and lifts me from the stool to carry me to the empty living room.
He sits on the couch with me straddling him and eases my hair over my shoulder to bury his face in the crook of my neck.
The gesture feels intimate, raw even, like he needs to breathe me in to…
to what exactly? I can’t make sense of the different sides I see of him. It confuses and frightens me.
He nuzzles my neck, his lips trailing featherlight kisses along my throat. My breath catches and he leans back to study my face.
“Did you miss me, little flower?”
I huff. “Of course not. Why would I miss my abductor?” His gaze darkens and I have the sudden urge to run from him.
As if reading my mind, he grabs my wrists in his hand and pulls me into his chest with a growl.
“Wait, Damiano, there is something we need to discuss.”
“Mmh, what?” he asks distractedly, too absorbed in nuzzling the spot behind my ear. I feel my thoughts begin to scatter.
I push against his chest and lean back. He releases one of my wrists and cups my face with his free hand.
“You… We didn’t use protection yesterday.”
“And?” His eyes are on my mouth, his thumb tracing my lower lip.
“Obviously we need to use protection,” I snap.
“You have an implant, don’t you?”
How…? I gape at him and nod dumbly.
“Then what is there to fret about?”
“I still need to get tested. I do have birth control, but I’ve never… You know…” I trail off, face heating.
“Relax, little flower. I am clean, too, and I’ve never gone without a condom.”
I gawk at him again. “Never? I mean, with your track record of dating so many… I thought… It’s hard to believe…”
“You shouldn’t listen to what people say.” He jokingly throws my words back at me. I huff.
He then becomes serious. “No, never, little flower. And my last blood check came out clean. I will have my doc mail it to you.”
“It’s okay. I believe you. I think we should use protection all the same, since this…arrangement is temporary and—”
He crashes his lips onto mine with a grunt. I struggle to get free, his intensity drowning me. His grip has become forceful when my stomach suddenly loudly growls.
That stops him dead and he leans his forehead against mine, chuckling softly.
“Come.”
He grabs my elbow and hauls me to the dining room where the table is set and the food is already waiting.
Holy shit, Rosa sure is efficient.
He pulls out a chair and sits down, dragging me down on top of him until I am sitting sideways on his lap. I yelp and try to get up but his arm snakes around my waist to immobilize me. “Shhh, sweetheart. Let’s eat.”
“I’d rather sit on my own chair, thank you very much.” I push back against his chest. But he doesn’t seem to notice nor is he relenting.
He pulls a grape from the fruit basket on the table and holds it to my lips.
I glare at him and turn my head away, refusing the offering.
With a calculating look, he pops the grape into his mouth and, without warning, he grabs my head and slams his mouth on mine.
Taking advantage of my shock, he parts my lips and pushes the grape into my mouth, mingling the sweet flesh of the fruit with his tongue on mine.
Juice is running down my chin and he licks it up with a raspy growl.
I gulp down the squashed grape and stare at him in shock.
He reaches out to pluck another grape and offers it to me. I look at it like it will bite me but this time I wrap my lips around it and take it obediently in my mouth, chew and swallow.
“Good girl.” His deep rumble zaps straight to my pussy and I clench my thighs together.
Shit, I am in big trouble.
He proceeds to offer me a forkful of food that I compliantly take. Then he takes a bite himself from the same fork, his eyes never leaving mine.
My face is heating from embarrassment. Never has anyone made me feel so helpless and weak. I hate it. At least my mind hates it, because my body is more than on board.
The rest of the meal goes the same way—he feeds me food from his plate, wine from his glass, and I want to choke his smug expression out of him. As if he senses my indignation, he smirks—smirks!—up at me. I glare at him.
At last, I am full and shake my head at the offered food. His expression flickers briefly with what I can only describe as triumph and he puts the fork down, dropping a kiss on my neck that sends an involuntary shiver through me. I hate how much his touch affects me even when I’m furious.
Out of nowhere, Rosa appears, making me jump. I struggle again, my face crimson, but Damiano merely tightens his grip to prevent me from escaping.
Rosa doesn’t even flinch at our position. She clears the plates with practiced efficiency, as though she’s seen it all before, but my cheeks burn with humiliation. She’s not even fazed by the fact that I’m sitting on this man’s lap, his hand resting possessively on my waist.
Then she returns, carrying a single plate, setting it down in front of us with a neutral expression, then leaving again. My breath catches when I see what’s on it…two chocolate fondants, perfectly plated with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of each, and it’s all placed on one dish.
Two desserts. One plate.
Oh God, I want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
It’s as if they think I’m some child, or worse, some pet. The thought churns in my stomach. The shame rises like bile in my throat, a mix of anger and helplessness. What the hell is wrong with these people? How can they be so casual about treating people like prisoners?
Before my brain can filter my thoughts, the question blurts out of my mouth, “How many hostages have been here before me?”
Damiano stares at me, his eyes darkening with amusement. Then his lips curl into a smile, like he finds this whole situation entertaining. “None,” he replies, his voice almost too calm. “You’re the first.”
I don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified by his answer. “And how about at the mansion? Is that the place you keep all the others?”
“There is only you, little flower.” I feel his deep rumble against my side. “Feeling jealous?” Then the bastard has the audacity to wink at me.
I angrily eye the dessert fork, gauging if I can be fast enough to stab him in the throat with the tiny utensil. Not worth the try. I huff.
I look up, suddenly curious. “Why are you not staying at your family mansion? It seems a bit excessive to have two places to stay in the same city.”
He shrugs. “The estate is my family’s place.
My mother still lives there when she comes to visit.
I prefer to stay in the condo.” He grabs my jaw to turn my face to his and looks me in the eyes.
His gaze is dark, intense, the usual smirk gone.
Instead there is a seriousness that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Do you want a villa of our own?” he asks, his voice low.
“I can buy one and move us there. We’ll need more space anyway when we have kids. ”
When we…what now?
My jaw drops to the floor.
“There is no us,” I shriek. “And there won’t be any kids, you sick monster!”
He shrugs again, like he’s having the most casual conversation. “You’ll need more time to get used to the idea.” His eyes glint with something darker, possessive. “But don’t be mistaken. You are mine.”
“You are delusional!” Desperate, I swipe my arm over the table, shoving the plate with the desserts toward the edge.
Damiano’s hand moves out on reflex and he catches it a fraction of a second before it goes crashing to the floor.
His other arm loosens from around my waist, just enough to allow me to break free and bolt.
Clearly, I haven’t thought this through, because now I blindly run toward the sleeping area with no plan in mind.
I only know I have to escape him. There are two doors leading to guest rooms, one on each side of the hallway, and the third one across which leads to the master suite.
I yank open the door to the right and slip in, quietly closing the door and looking for a hiding place or a weapon.
But before I can decide what to do, the door opens so violently it crashes against the wall and I scream.