Chapter 9
Kazimir
Rafaela.
Rage tore through me. Not because of what I was about to experience, but because her bastard of a father was requiring her to watch.
I’d felt the woman’s presence before catching sight of her.
She stood on the platform over me, being forced to witness the bloody punishment doled out by a man who didn’t appreciate my fondness for the master’s daughter.
I’d seen the look in Marco’s eyes, the longing that had likely been there for years. His hatred for me had been nurtured, fueled by her rebellion shown this morning.
She was still defiant, standing on the edge of the crudely made platform, peering down as the princess she was. Only her hands were fisted and in the brief glimpse I’d been offered, the rage in her eyes was clear to see, but there was more than just defiance in her expression.
There was hatred.
An emotion that would carry her forward. I knew the look. I understood the sentiment.
I admired her resolve. At such a young age, she understood when and how best to stand up to her father. Did I give a damn about the upcoming pain? Not a chance in hell.
Marco had laughed as he’d secured my wrists and ankles, leaning in close before he’d walked away. “Brutto porco russo. Vuoi un bavaglio? O preferisci che la principessa sia costretta a sentire i tuoi lamenti? Penso che sarebbe una punizione deliziosa per entrambi.”
You fucking Russian pig. Would you like a gag? Or would you prefer the princess be forced to hear your wails? I think that would be a delicious punishment for both of you.
Obviously, he didn’t believe I could understand what he was saying. I made a point of turning my head to stare into his eyes. He would be the first to face my dagger when I returned to wipe out the estate.
He didn’t wait long, the few people standing around remaining silent.
There was no call to punishment, no pretense that I was being sentenced for some awful deed. At least I’d gotten a good look at her father, a face I’d never forget, yet one I didn’t recognize.
Even before my father had agreed to do any business in Sicily, he’d had his people make a list of those who were considered players in the world of crime syndicates. This man’s face was not included.
Questions lingered.
Marco swaggered closer, cracking the bullwhip against the ground. He was grinning the entire time, grandstanding for not only his master but also the woman who would forever hate him.
If only I could protect her from being afflicted with any horror. But that was impossible.
For now.
At least I knew more about the stakes as well as the dangers.
When the first crack was made, I fisted my hands, slowly lifting my face to the beautiful afternoon sky.
Words from my father echoed in my mind.
“Pain is merely a way of reminding us that we are very much alive. Through suffering, we learn humility and fortitude, as well as appreciation of life. Face the agony as you would with anything else. With power and rage. For one day, you will return the favor.”
With my teeth gritted, I accepted the series of lashes, even as the force of the bastard’s strikes pitched my body forward.
Breathing steadily, I thought about exactly how I’d make them suffer in return.
The event would be glorious. Even as pain beat at me, I ignored the temptation to succumb to their wishes.
No man could ever break me.
I could see her face and her stunning eyes staring back at me. And for a few seconds, I was able to feel the light touch of her fingers brushing softly across my face and chest.
Blinking, the area in front of me became difficult to focus on as sweat dripped into my eyes. The burn jolted me awake, allowing me to embrace the anguish. The last thing I wanted was to lose consciousness.
By the time I’d lost count of the number of lashes, my malen’kiy tselitel’ had finally faltered. Even over the rush of blood in my ears and the loud crack of the thin leather strap, I heard her words.
They weren’t whimpered or done with words of begging. They were demanded in a way that couldn’t be ignored.
“That is enough, Father. You have made your point.”
The whooshing sound was Marco rearing back, preparing for another strike.
“Basta così,” her father hissed.
That’s enough.
Marco issued a series of guttural sounds, remaining in place.
The anguish was biting, but I’d been through much worse before. I was left hanging for a few minutes, her father making a statement that he was God on this property.
Once unshackled, I dropped to the ground, taking several deep breaths. By the time I had the energy to crawl and face the other direction, the beautiful woman had disappeared.
* * *
Misery was a direct yet complicated emotion that I’d grown to understand, although I’d never allowed myself to fall into a crater of despair. What was the point? Every event, every incident was a lesson about life, danger, love, hatred, everything that involved breathing.
But after not seeing her for thirty-six hours, I was forced to face the kind of loneliness that I’d never experienced before. While protecting my back, I leaned my head against the cinderblocks, thankful for the cool air coming in because of a storm. I’d heard the rumble of thunder in the distance.
I’d come to the conclusion that I needed to escape.
There was no good reason for them keeping me here other than that they were worried killing me would cause an international incident and that blood would rain on the streets of Sicily.
It was entirely possible the man considered the master of the estate was doing nothing more than a favor for someone, keeping me hidden until my family ceased looking for me.
Only then would they move me to whatever location would be my final resting grounds.
The question wasn’t just where but why? The way I was being handled had all the earmarks of being a revenge situation, one that was very personal.
From my past? From my family’s?
It could take months to determine, but apparently, I had all the time in the world. I closed my eyes, dark and very sadistic thoughts carving off bits and pieces of mind just in the way I would physically do to those who’d thrown me into this hellhole.
One would think my mother, God rest her soul, would caution me that my evil thoughts would ultimately result in the damnation of my eternal soul. Few knew my mother’s idea of nurturing was allowing her sons the wide berth to delve into the reality that our souls had almost been damned.
In other words, she would applaud my ideas on retaliation.
How many times as a kid had I wished pain would radiate through my sensitive heart, even allowing me to cry?
I’d given up at eight years old when the baby bird I’d found and kept had died.
Yes, I’d loved the baby bird as much as I understood how to, but my mother had reminded me that all living things die.
Right then and there I’d realized I hadn’t been born with a beating heart, only cold dead flesh that would eventually suffocate me.
When I laughed, it hurt, but the discomfort was worth the images floating through my mind.
A sound drew my attention and I didn’t have the energy to move. While I’d been locked inside the prison since the beating with no water or food, that had allowed my mind and body to rest. Now my mind was active, perhaps even hallucinating.
The flashlight beam was centered on me, hiding the person who’d arrived, but the moment the door was opened, I gathered her intoxicating scent.
“Kazimir.” Unlike the day before, her voice held pain, the utter horrible agony that they’d wanted me to feel. Only her anguish was because of what I’d been put through.
And my little healer didn’t know who I was.
After ushering Golden Angel in, she closed the door and I could smell her fear. Not of me, but of what the patriarch of her family would do should he discover she’d defied him once again.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I told her.
“Bullshit. Has anyone cared for your wounds?”
I noticed she’d hesitated before she fell to the earth in front of me, keeping her entire face from being seen.
“Be a good girl and sit, Golden, but be careful. He’s hurt.”
The dog woofed as if understanding exactly what she’d said, settling right next to me. I’d never had a dog, but being able to stroke her fur had a calming effect. I was surprised how much so.
The more she tried to avoid eye contract, the angrier I became.
“Look at me, Rafaela.”
“Let me get out what I need.”
She should have learned by now I wasn’t a man who accepted no under any circumstances. I cupped her jaw, trying to be as gentle as possible since she was fighting me while I pulled her face toward mine.
The flash of rage was instant. Her lip was split, enough that whatever lip gloss she’d used to cover up the evidence was only highlighting the area. Her cheek was swollen, not enough for most to take notice, but I wasn’t most people. I knew when someone had been hit.
“Who did this to you?” My entire body was tense.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked you. Who did this to you?”
The single tear didn’t illuminate her vulnerability but her strength instead. I’d never had anyone other than my parents desire to protect me over themselves.
Her lovely eyes were once again filled with sadness.
“My father.”
“Because of me.”
“No!” She cringed upon yelling. “No. Because I didn’t fall to my knees begging him for forgiveness in taking up for you.
I hate him. I hate everything about him and my life.
I cannot wait to get away from here. I will never return.
Never! And don’t argue with me,” she snapped, jerking her head away.
“I’m going to do what I can to make you feel better whether you like it or not. Do you hear me?”
I laughed once again, loathing the weakness the lack of nourishment had caused. “I hear you and you’re right. The bastards couldn’t care less if I die.”