Chapter 37
Elowen
I open my door and step inside.
“What did he say that made you smile so much?” A low growl echoes through the room.
My back hits the door.
He’s sitting on my bed, his eyes fixed on me—dark with rage, with barely leashed violence. His hands are clasped tightly together, elbows resting on his knees. The muscles in his neck and shoulders are corded with tension. One glance tells me everything I need to know: he’s seething.
“Answer me, Princess.” His voice is as cold as a frozen ocean.
I lock the door behind me and move slowly toward him.
“He wants to marry me.”
His nostrils flare. His mouth twitches. His jaw tightens. The frown carves deeper into his face.
I reach him and step between his parted legs.
“I refused.”
I place my hands on his shoulders. He straightens and pulls me onto his lap. I lock my arms around his neck and settle against him.
I smile, teasing. “Are you jealous?”
The anger is still there, etched into every line of his face.
“Jealous isn’t the right word for what I’m feeling. Tell your parents to stop thinking about arranging any marriage for you. I won’t think twice before killing whoever the fuck they choose.”
“Alright. I’ll tell them there’s a man who’ll kill anyone they pick for me. And what do I tell them—who is that man?” I tease, but he’s clearly in no mood for jokes.
His grip tightens on my waist, fingers pressing hard.
“Il Macellaio di Napoli.” His voice drops lower. “And when it comes to you, I’ll gladly become Il Macellaio del Mondo.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, frowning.
A knock at my door makes me jump off his lap.
Another knock, harder this time. I grab Salvario’s hand, yank him up, and shove him toward the closet.
“Hide. Now.” I whisper-yell.
He disappears into the closet. I rush to the door, a third knock comes just as I reach it.
I wipe my sweaty palm on my dress, drag in a breath, and open it.
Mom and Dad stand there.
“Are you alright?” Mom asks, scanning me as she steps inside.
I nod. “Perfectly fine.”
I turn to Dad. “What happened out there?”
“Someone shot out the garden lights from a window that opens to the outside.”
I frown. “Who?”
“We haven’t caught the shooter. It was a clean job, the footage is gone, too.” He scans the room. “Keep your windows and balcony door locked.”
I nod again.
“Do you have your gun?” Mom asks.
I give another nod.
Dad holds my gaze for a long moment.
“There’s a chance it’s the same man who kidnapped you.”
“Why would he do that?” Mom asks.
“We’ll find out once we catch him.” Dad’s eyes never leave mine.
I race through possible responses in my head.
“Don’t hurt him if it really is him and you catch him.”
He nods slowly.
I look at Mom, who still looks wound tight as a wire.
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
She exhales slowly. “I’m just afraid something will happen to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
Dad pulls her into his side. “I’ll catch whoever did this, sole mio. Don’t worry.”
She hums in response. I kiss her cheek. “Good night.” I rise on my toes to kiss Dad’s cheek, too. “Good night.”
They pull me into a quick hug, then head out.
I close the door behind them, turn, and walk to my closet. He’s studying my dresses, that scowl still firmly in place.
I move closer. “What are you looking at?”
“Getting a look at what kind of things you like.”
“And? You don’t like them?”
His frown deepens. “Why wouldn’t I like the things you like?”
“Then why are you looking at them with that face?” I press my thumb between his brows, trying to smooth the furrow.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close.
I grin up at him. “I think it’s just your natural state. Grumpy old man.”
His brows lift. “I dare you to call me old man again.”
I shake my head, grinning. “Not old man. Grumpy old man.”
His hand slides from my waist to my ass. He squeezes, hard, pulling me closer, I feel his hardness against my belly. He gives me half a breath to register it, then hoists me over his shoulder.
I giggle, upside down. “Are you showing me you’re a strong grumpy old man?”
He pats my ass, humming.
He carries me into the bedroom, then lowers me from his shoulder, spinning me in his arms. I’m still giggling, brushing hair from my face with one hand while gripping him with the other.
That grumpy face of his looks a lot less grumpy now.
He lowers himself onto the bed and flips me over his lap. I gasp at the sudden movement, my body twisting with the momentum. Before I can find my balance—lower belly pressed against his thighs, elbows braced on the mattress—he tears my dress down from my waist.
I twist my head to look at him.
He trails his fingers over my now-bare ass. The thong does nothing to cover me.
“What are—” I yelp as his palm connects with my cheek.
The sting radiates instantly.
“Salvario!” I cry out as his palm lands again.
I’m doing my best to keep my voice down, but there’s a limit when you’re being spanked.
“You know my name now.” He drawls, parting my legs wider and delivering a sharp smack between them.
I cry out—a moan tangled up with the sharp jolt of pleasure.
“What’s my name, Princess?” Another spank, same spot.
I moan, the sound escaping louder this time.
“Salvario.”
He hums, then hits me again, lighter this time. My eyes roll closed. I moan, sinking my teeth into my lower lip.
“And what aren’t you supposed to call me?”
“Old man,” I breathe.
He hits me again, harder. I almost come.
My body trembles under the weight of a violent orgasm building. I lift my ass higher, silently begging for one more, but he doesn’t give it.
He caresses the area with featherlight touches.
“On your stomach. On the bed.”
I slide off his lap, legs shaking, and obey. He strips. I watch him over my shoulder. Our eyes lock—the hunger in his gaze makes me throb harder for the release.
Salvario
I climb onto the bed and tear away what’s left of her dress, baring her beautiful body. I loved this dress on her, it made her look like a red rose. The way she smells. The way she feels beneath my hands—like the softest petal of an untouched rose.
A rose that’s mine now.
The anger surges inside me again, a roaring beast. She’s fucking mine, and her father thinks he can marry her off to someone else.
I drag in a breath and force down the hatred for the King of the Underworld. I can’t stay mad right now, even if I wanted to. Not when she’s lying before me in a single scrap of fabric—drenched exactly where it covers her.
I trail my knuckles down her smooth, unblemished back to her reddened ass. Each cheek only took one spank, but it’s enough to make her bloom red.
I shift back and bend down, pressing my lips to the redness. With my thumb, I push the fabric aside, revealing her glistening pussy. Every part of her is beautiful.
I lick the wetness spreading from her folds.
The taste is intoxicating. I lick and suck around her folds, leaving not a single trace of her sweetness behind.
Then I part her lips with my thumbs. The scent of her arousal fills my senses.
Wetness pools there, more gushing out. I push my tongue inside to drink from her.
She groans. I work my tongue in and out, lapping at her.
She tastes fucking divine.
I lick from her entrance to her clit. She moans louder, then claps a hand over her mouth. The muffled symphony still pours from her as I drag the flat of my tongue from her clit to her entrance, push inside again, pull out, and trace my way back to her clit.
Her body starts trembling beneath me, her thighs clamping together. I push them apart again and grip her hip, pulling her toward me. I spit on her small hole, then move up.
She protests in broken whispers—“no—don’t—stop”—her voice dissolving into whimpers.
I grip my cock and push inside her, driving the protest from her lips, replacing it with a muffled cry.
Her slippery cunt swallows me whole, her walls clamping tight around my cock. I pull out and slam into her again. She buries her face in the pillow, moaning my name. I’ve never loved my name more than in this moment.
I bend over her, pressing my chest to her back. The more skin meets skin, the better it gets. I kiss her neck softly as I move deeper, faster, inside her. She turns her face to the side. I capture her lips with mine.
The kiss deepens the hunger in both of us. She bites my lips, my tongue. I respond by fucking her harder.
Her mouth falls slack. Her back bows, taking me deeper. Then her walls clamp down so tight it’s almost painful—and so fucking euphoric. She milks me dry. Her body takes every drop I have to give.
I fill my burning lungs with air and slowly pull out. I’m still hard. I could come again. A third time, too. It still wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would ever quench this hunger for her.
I stretch out beside her and gather her into my arms.
She presses a kiss to my lips. “If I get pregnant, my father will kill you.”
“He won’t. It’ll be the opposite. He’ll ask me to take responsibility.”
She smiles. “Will you?”
I kiss her, breathing her in. “You shouldn’t doubt that, Princess. You have no idea how badly I want it.”
If there were no war inside my head—and none with her family—I would make love to her every day until she carried my child. I never wanted a family. But with her, I do. I want it with an intensity that makes me willing to burn everything else down to make it real.
I press a kiss to her head.
Let me let that go, I whisper to the boy.
Can’t he fucking see I’m happy? Why won’t he let me live?
I hold her tighter as the memory starts to claw its way back.
“Don’t,” I whisper to him. “Please.”
He doesn’t listen. He shoves me deeper. All eleven days of hell unspool, one by one. The hunger. The humiliation. The beating.
It slows on the eighth day—I’m on my hands and knees, naked, a collar cinched around my neck. Justin orders me to eat dog food off the floor. When I hesitate, he whips me. I crumple. The wound on my chest is still fresh.
I cry out and crawl forward again, forcing myself to eat. I don’t chew, just swallow.
I choke. Vomit splatters onto the floor.
He whips me again. Harder. I feel my skin split open.
I cry out, collapsing onto my side, whimpering and thrashing.
“Pulisci il pavimento.”
(Clean the floor.)
When I’m too slow to rise, he strikes again.
“Alzati.”
(Get up.)
My body trembling, I force myself up and start eating what I vomited. Tears blur my vision; the nausea rises again, burns my throat. I push through it. I have to do what he says, or he’ll hurt my mother.
The memory keeps playing, punishing me for daring to want a happy life. I descend deeper into the void.
In the distance, someone calls my name. A soft whisper.
But the boy isn’t done punishing me. He won’t let me leave.
The whisper fights against the screams that hold me captive.
Slowly, it silences them.
Finally, it pulls me from the dark.
My eyes snap open. Her crumpled face hovers over me.
The light that saves me from the monsters I could never defeat.
“What is this, Salvario?”
She’s crying now.
“What’s hurting you like this?”
“There’s a child here.” I slam my fist into my head.
She catches my fist. “Whose child?”
“Nine-year-old Salvario De Falco.”
I stare at the ceiling, eyes empty.
“He doesn’t want me to live.”
She cups my face, forcing me to meet her eyes.
“What does he want?”
He wants me to kill Alexander. And kill myself. But I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell her I’m still planning to kill her uncle—even when I don’t want to. But I have to.
“He wants me to die.” I give her half the truth.
She wets her lips, steadying herself. “Listen to me. He can’t do that. He can’t control you like this.”
“He shows me memories when I don’t obey.” I whisper, eyes closing. “I hate them.”
Tears slide down my temples.
“I want to live with you, Elowen.” My voice splinters. “But he won’t let me.”
She hugs my face tightly, her tears soaking into my hair.
“Please help me.” I beg her through sobs. “I want to live.”
I break, hugging her waist to my chest.