10. Chapter Ten—Carlotta
Chapter Ten—Carlotta
My heart rams against my ribcage as I shut the door to room eleven behind me, leaving it unlocked, ready for him.
Rome.
Sir.
I dump my clutch on the sideboard, kicking my heels to the side haphazardly and make the quick decision to rid myself off my clothes so Sir can get his calloused hands on my body faster.
I push away the thought that reminds me I now know exactly how his hands are so rough-hewn; from holding knives and guns, probably even wielding the things, too.
I can’t imagine a man as powerful as Rome Folonari, with his title of Head of The Thirteen, can have secured his place at the top without spilling an ounce of blood or two.
Glancing down at my chest, I see the evidence of just that—the spill of blood. I scrape my middle finger through the crust of dried blood on my skin, feeling it flake and bury itself beneath my manicured nails.
Why did they bend their knees for me?
I’m nobody special. I’m just me; Carlotta Bellucci. The only thing remotely special about me is my second name and by God, I’ve wished more times than I can count that I wasn’t a Bellucci.
Especially after my father’s unexpected passing, leaving me stranded with nothing but a bank account of poison filled dollar bills, a vitriol spewing mother and an older brother hellbent on shutting me out.
It had been years since Cristiano had spoken more than a few sentences to me—the person who once knew him better than anyone else, his best friend—until our father’s funeral.
Strangely, it had been a sunshine filled day.
Pockets of golden sunlight streaming from the white clouds above, scorching the top of my bowed head.
Only then had Cristiano nudged me as the priest uttered our father’s last rites and revealed he knew of my plan to escape and, if I held my cards right, I could count of him to help me.
His last favor to me as my elder brother.
Those were the words he’d whispered into my ear, pretending to the outside world that we we’re having a loving brotherly and sisterly moment in the wake of our family’s sudden devastation.
I swallow back the sour taste on the back of my tongue that the memories leave behind, wishing I had another thimbleful of Rome’s whiskey to take away the taste.
It makes no sense to me as to why Rome and Cassiel bent their knees for me, a woman they’ve met only once before, nobody to them but Cristiano’s younger sister and I can’t imagine men as powerful as they, spent a lot of their time together bonding over their families. But I can’t say I’m complaining.
Not when they both looked so good looking up at me, both in a rather vulnerable position. Well, it would have been if I knew how to use the weapon they handed to me, but perhaps they counted on the possibility…
That I wouldn’t be able to disarm them or harm them.
A pounding picks up behind my temples; the result of lack of sleep, not enough food and too many endless, messy threads of half thought-out ideas, running through my mind.
“You’re thinking too much, Red.”
My breath hitches in the back of my throat, my body straightening up on high alert before the familiar tone of his voice settles into my being.
I didn’t even hear Sir come in, but I relax into the feel of his hard body behind mine, inhaling the expensive, heady scent of his aftershave.
“I wonder why…” I mumble, pressing my ass back into his groin and smiling at the hiss I elicit.
“Watch your tone, Red. You know as well as I do, that I don’t tolerate brats.”
“Mhm,” I hum, gooseflesh crawling across the tops of my arms and my thighs. It has nothing to do with the temperature in the room, Nameless is always perfectly warm inside their rooms. “I think I’ve heard you say something like that once or twice.”
Deft fingertips pluck the silk sash from my hands, placing it over my eyes and tying it in a bow at the back of my head with a gentleness I don’t expect.
“What is this?” Sir asks. I can hear him scrubbing the pad of thumb along the length, before he allows it to droop, tickling the sensitive nape of my neck.
“I don’t have my blindfold with me.” I lick at my dry lips, tasting the whiskey on my flesh. “So, I’ve made do with silk sash from my skirt.”
“That’s a good girl.” Sir’s large hands begin to roam, travelling south to squeeze my ass. “Always thinking two steps ahead.”
I huff out a short laugh that quickly turns into a whimper when two of Sir’s thick fingers slip through my dripping core, gathering the wetness there.
My own palms raise to cup my breasts, thumbs ghosting over my hard nipples.
A mixture of arousal, excitement and trepidation runs through me.
This… this feels right. It feels normal.
As if I’m going to get my brains fucked out, return to my apartment, crash from the high only Sir can give me, and then wake ready for another day of working my ass off without my dead father, brother and toxic mother, crossing my mind.
Or The Thirteen…
I should be angry; I should hate him, this man behind me. The same man whose ultimatum will either have me killed or joining his ranks beneath him. And maybe I will, once my high has worn off and my body and mind are sated. But until then…
Until then, I’m going to allow the attractive man behind me to play with my body until I pass out.
“You’re still thinking too loud, Red,” he utters, voice smooth and low beside the shell of my ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
The words fall easily from my lips. “I should hate you.”
“That you should. Do you?”
I swallow dryly. It’s easier to reveal my truth when I can’t see Sir. “I’m not sure. I don’t like that you’re taking my choice away.”
“What choice?”
“My choice to join your silly little Mafia group.”
Sir’s hands glide up my body, pushing my own palms out of the way so he can knead my breasts.
He plucks at my nipples, pinching them until my stomach concaves with the sharp bolt of pain rushing through me.
“I didn’t take that away from you, Red. It was taken away from you the minute you we’re born as a Bellucci. ”
I press my lips together to avoid answering him.
Since I was old enough to learn, I’ve known the power my name carries. All along I’ve known that if I wasn’t who I was I wouldn’t be in this mess. Cristiano wouldn’t have been in a gang, getting himself brutally murdered and I wouldn’t have to be stepping up and take his place.
Perhaps, we’d have gotten to live a normal life, like the children I recall playing at the end of our street—their careless laughter drifting to my ears as they rode in circles on their bikes.
I would watch them for hours, listening to their endless chatter of school subjects, teachers, reports and what their mom was making for dinner that night.
But our nanny would rip me away from the window before I got the chance to pluck up the courage and shout, pulling me away, out of sight, leaving nothing behind but the twitch of the tulle drapes.
“Red?”
I screw my eyes shut tight beneath my silk sash. “Yes?”
“I asked if you’re sure you want this… knowing who I am now?”
I pop my shoulders. “I still don’t know who you are.”
“Red.” Sir’s tone shakes with a warning.
I step my left foot back until my heel reaches the toe of his patent shoe, pressing down until I make contact. “You’re no fun. Yes, I want this. I trust you. I don’t know why I do, but I do… with my body, at least.”
Sir’s hands tighten around my waist, fingers creating hollow divots I’m sure will turn into purple tinged bruises. “I’ll fucking show you fun, Red. Get on your knees for me.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
I sink to the floor with the help of the slight pressure of Sir’s palms on my hips, wincing slightly when my bony knees make contact with the hardwood floorboards.
Shivering at the deliciously cool air kissing my sodden, exposed core, I flatten my palms to the floor, straining my ears to listen for the click of Sir’s shoes as he moves.
Click. Click. Click.
My blood whooshes loudly in my ears; so loudly, I almost miss his quiet murmur.
“Crawl across the floor to me, Red.”
Swallowing thickly, I move forward an inch and then another.
It’s disorientating to say the least to be crawling without being able to see, my upper thigh grazes the corner of the furniture once or twice, but Sir directs me with the sound of his smooth voice keeping me company.
“A little to the left, sweet Red. Now forward. Careful of the dresser.”
Room eleven feels much more imposing with the blindfold stealing my sight and I’m unsure how I’m ever going to find him, until…
“You found me. Thatta girl.”
A large hand gently pats the top of my head, while I blindly reach out, feeling Sir’s calves, his knees, his upper thighs, a hand curled around the arm rests.
It doesn’t take a genius to work out that he’s sitting in the velvet armchair beside the freestanding floor to ceiling mirror he’s fucked me in front of more times than I can count.
“Girls who find their Sir deserve a reward, don’t they?” He chucks me beneath the chin, forcing me to nod.
“I want to hear you say it, Red.”
I stick the tip of my tongue out, wetting my lower lip. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s right.”
A hand travels down to my neck, collaring me, squeezing with just enough pressure to have my eyes rolling in the back of my head.
My core pulses, a fresh surge of slick coating my inner thighs, smearing across the sensitive flesh when I press my legs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure.
“What’s wrong?” Sir practically coos, faux sympathy dripping from his tone. I feel his patented leather shoe nudge my thighs apart, pressing up against my soaked core until my hips buck, a strangled gasp escaping my lips. “Is your greedy cunt asking to be filled?”
It’s all I can do but nod, drawing my plush lower lip into my mouth, sinking my top teeth into the flesh as I helpless writhe against Sir’s shoe. The steady balloon of pressure growing in my core and the base of my spine is too good to ignore, no matter how much my face flames warm.
I’m humping his shoe for crying out loud.