Chapter 20 Imogen
Imogen
I’ve either entered the twilight zone or an alternate reality.
I can’t even believe I’m about to admit this but living with Rico for the past few weeks has been. . .harmonious.
Or maybe I’m in the very early stages of developing Stockholm Syndrome.
The truth of the matter is I expected a harsher environment. And while yes, my first three days after being kidnapped were a far cry to how I am being held now it was still nowhere near the nightmares I had conjured up in my mind.
Living with the enemy doesn’t feel like living with the enemy at all. It’s actually terrifying how the line continues to blur.
Every night I tell myself this is it. This will be the night I kill him and make my escape.
Yet every night ends the same. With him disarming the knife at his throat and leaving a spot for me on his bed.
And. I. Take. It.
Every single night I fall asleep by his side.
Every morning I wake to him already gone but the scent of him lingers.
Madness must be the only explanation.
“I’m taking you shopping,” Rico says to me after sitting in prolonged silence. He often prefers it. Over the past few weeks I’ve come to know quite a bit about him. And I’m starting to piece together the mystery that is Rico Maroni.
Watching the same tv shows and movies. Eating breakfast at exactly eight o’clock in the morning and not a minute later. The same rule follows with lunch and dinner. If it’s not on the hour then he personally skips it while still serving food to me.
There’s these little quirks one could say that are religiously followed. And if they’re not he’ll excuse himself to be left alone for sometimes hours at a time.
It’s the only time I feel my loneliest. I find myself missing him when he isolates. Insanity on my part I’m sure.
I raise a brow. “Shopping?”
He nods his head. “You need clothes. I had thought your stay wouldn’t have been this long but I was mistaken on how your father would react.”
The other thing I noticed? His complete lack of emotional empathy. His bluntness comes off as harsh. And while I believe he has no intentions on hurting my feelings his factual mindset hurts nonetheless.
And that comment fucking stings. “You don’t have to be fucking insensitive.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he says, softening his tone. I believe him.
“So,” I say, mentally shaking off the feeling of being unloved by my pa, “I’m allowed out of this penthouse?”
“Under the condition that you don’t try anything.”
I bat my lashes innocently. “Who me? I would never dream of doing something so daring.”
His lip twitches. “Sarcastic remarks or not if you don’t behave I’ll be left to do the only thing necessary to ensure your cooperation.”
“And that is?”
“Bound your hands by rope.”
My mouth gapes open like a fish. “In public? You’re actually kidding me.”
“There’s no joke to be made here, Imogen.” God, he’s fucking serious. “You’re in my city. No one will question why I have you bound.”
“Not even the cops?” I hedge.
“On our payroll.” Again, not a boast, just factual.
“How about bystanders? Don’t you think they’ll want to help me?”
He inches closer on the couch and my heart begins to race.
The intensity of his eyes never fails to make me falter.
“Everyone knows who we are here, gazzella. Where we aren’t respected we are most certainly feared.
There is no one who would dare raise their tongue against us.
Let alone intervene in our affairs to help.
Not to mention, it’s New York City. They’ve seen far more obscure things than a man bounding his woman. ”
His lips are dangerously close to mine. There’s this impulsive nagging thought to know what they taste like. “I’m not your woman.” I end up saying in a husky tone.
There’s that damn ghost of a smile again. It liquifies me. “We’ve gone over this, gazzella. As long as you’re my captive you’re mine.”
I don’t know how to explain it but something magnetizes in the air between us. Particles drawing us closer and closer. A charge neither of us can deny no matter how much we refuse to admit it.
“Well then, I guess I’ll be on my best behavior.”
His eyes flick down to my lips. When they meet my eyes once more they shimmer with amusement. “Why do I doubt that?”
I’ve decided one thing on this little shopping trip; I’m going to spend all of Rico’s Maroni’s money and not give a single damn.
He takes me to Hudson Yards. A beautiful upscale high end shopping mall with the most jaw dropping views of the city. It’s a photographer’s and a shopaholic’s wet dream.
No one dares to bat an eye at us. Specifically me.
Rico holds his hand in mine, keeping me tight by his side as we walk through the mall.
It’s almost as if he’s itching to have me bound.
But even I can’t deny how right his hand feels in mine.
It swallows mine whole as he keeps a possessive yet tender hold.
As we enter Dior, where the bustle of people are gone and it’s much quieter I visibly see Rico relax. It’s the finer details. How his shoulders slightly loosen. The muscle in his jaw isn’t locked. And the most important detail, he takes out his earbuds.
A woman who is downright stunning comes to greet us. Her smile is bright and wide but apprehension is clear in her eyes. “Mr. Maroni, how can I assist you today?”
With a gentle little nudge he places me in front of him. The woman finally looks at me. Her gorgeous siren sage eyes appraise me. And I know what she’s wondering. What’s the Made Man doing with this poor soul?
I confidently match her gaze. Even in Rico’s clothes that engulf my frame.
“I would like a wardrobe for Ms. Murphy.”
She flashes a saccharine grin. “Of course. We can start with apparel similar to Carina Donati and—”
“No,” he interjects briskly. Her mouth snaps shut as she pulls her lips inward. He places his hand on my hip and I feel the burn of it. “Imogen will tell you what she likes. She has her own style.”
She nods her head nervously. Stammering, she says, “Of course, Mr. Maroni. Is there a limit?”
“No limit,” I answer for him.
A beat of pause before she glosses over me and asks him once more, “A limit, Mr. Maroni?”
His fingers bite into my flesh but I secretly relish the pain.
He cocks his head unnervingly to the side as he stares at her frigidly. “You heard her correctly, Carolyn.” Pulling out his wallet he then takes out his black Amex card and hands it over to her. “I trust you’ll listen to Ms. Murphy and not question her.”
She swallows. The card trembles in her hand before she steadies herself. Her bright and wide smile returns except this time it’s directed towards me. “If you would please follow me, Ms. Murphy.”
Before I can follow her Rico holds me in his grasp by my hips. My pulse kicks as my stomach flutters. His breath is warm by my ear as he reminds me lowly, “If you try to run I will catch you.”
I turn my head to the side and our lips become achingly close. “Should we test that theory?”
“I caught you once, gazzella, I’ll catch you again.”
“So confident,” I muse. I wiggle my ass against him and he stiffens. “What makes you think you’ll catch me again?”
His fingers bury themselves so deep in my hips that they feel embedded there. “I’ll always catch you. Remember that.”
When he releases me I feel the cold absence of his touch. Part of me wants to feel the warmth of him once more. I purge the thought and immediately feel the shame of even thinking it.
But there’s a hum running through my veins as Carolyn assists me through picking out my wardrobe. A damn spark within me that cannot be denied. And it charges as I every so often catch his eyes on me.
There’s something between us, something tethering us. And I fear it will be both of our ruins.