15. Regression
Chapter fifteen
Regression
(Kiah)
I don’t know what else to do, so I straighten out my dress and head to the kitchen to resume the last task I had stored on the to-do list.
Coffee.
But my mind is anything but focused. It’s a tumultuous mess.
My hands shake as I measure out the coffee grounds. The vivid memory of Nico on his knees, of his surrender and subsequent rejection, burns through my thoughts.
For a moment–one perfect, crystalline moment–everything had aligned. I'd felt whole again. Powerful. Like the woman I used to be before the docks.
And then he'd shattered it all.
The worst part? I understand. God, do I understand. In our world, submission equals weakness. Vulnerability gets you killed. We're both products of violence, shaped by survival.
But he'd given himself to me so completely, if only for a moment. The trust in his eyes, the way he'd yielded…
Stop it, Kiah.
My post-orgasm body is still tingly with all the feel-good hormones, but my mind refuses to let him get to me.
The coffee spills over the counter as I overfill the filter. Black grounds scatter like ashes of what could have been.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as Nico opens the bedroom window.
What is he doing?
I turn to watch as the fucker grabs his dick and pisses onto the porch like the bathroom isn’t right there.
The dipshit is taunting me.
In an instant, all feelings of warmth dissipate, replaced by immediate fury.
“What the fuck, Nico?” I call, but he shows no signs of hearing me, just continues relieving himself out the window like some hooligan.
When he finishes, he turns to me, walking over without saying anything as he palms his dick defiantly, keeping eye contact.
It’s like watching a stranger. Like the man on his knees had been a mere mirage, a dream. In his place, the Nico from the storm was back, armed with that unsettling dead look in his gaze that made me jam a shard of porcelain into his shoulder all those weeks ago.
“Whatcha gonna do, bitch?” he asks, snarling at me as he masturbates unashamedly.
There is no correct answer to his taunt, so I try to focus on the coffee instead, pouring myself a cup as Nico jerks himself off onto the kitchen counter like it’s not unsanitary as shit.
I should’ve put him back in the chastity cage when I had the chance. Sure, he still has his dangerous collar, but he seems to have lost faith in my threats.
“Where’s mine?” he asks rudely as I bring my cup to my lips.
“You didn’t ask nicely,” I reply simply, taking a sip of coffee. Fuck this asshole if he thinks he can get under my skin. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
He reaches for my cup, trying to rip it from my hands like a naughty two-year-old, but I pull away, smacking him across the face loudly with my free hand.
“Stop acting like a brat, Nico. I thought we were past this.”
He laughs cruelly, touching his cheek. “You don’t know shit.”
“Why are you being like this?”
The future Don Ricci stretches his arms out like Davinci’s Vitruvian Man, his body naked, tattooed, and perfect. “This is who I am. Deal with it.”
I don’t say anything, just turn to leave.
If he’s going to be like this, I’m taking my coffee on the porch.
This is ridiculous.
If I had any doubts that I shouldn’t have fucked this guy, they’re all gone now.
Nico grabs my arm, halting me in my tracks. “Where do you think you’re going, bitch ?”
Before I can reign in my emotions, I throw my scalding coffee at his crotch, watching with a neutral face as he drops to the floor, screaming.
“You whore!” Nico howls, rolling around the floor in agony.
“Please refrain from calling me a whore.” My tone is cold now, devoid of any emotion. If he wants to regress to his caveman bullshit, then why should I be the bigger person?
“Make me,” he hisses, getting up from the floor, hand still protectively cupped over his junk.
“If you want a brat tamer, look somewhere else. I’m not applying for the position.”
I head for the door, but Nico moves quickly, throwing his body at me to send us both tumbling to the floor, the coffee cup shattering beside us.
Before he can overpower me, I reach for his balls and tug as hard as I can, completely incapacitating him.
“Asshole!”
He howls loudly, letting me go.
It seems we’re back to square one. Nico has made it clear that he can’t be trusted with this much freedom.
This time, I don’t bother getting him to the bed to tie him up. I duct tape his naked, defiant body to the wooden column in the kitchen, right there and then.
It takes an entire roll of tape, of which I luckily always keep plenty—because is there anything more useful than duct tape?
Nico tries to resist, but nothing like a kick to the balls to turn a grown man into a baby, and he’s no different.
Whining and cursing, he spits at my face.
“Stop that.” I wack him across the cheek again with my backhand. Usually, I have more restraint than that, but usually , I’m not this emotionally invested in the people I’m tying up.
“I should’ve known you’d be as fucked as the rest of your family,” I say, my breath panting from the struggle as I pour myself another cup of coffee.
Blind rage courses through my veins, and it takes every bit of self-control not to dump the entire plunger of coffee onto the naked brute on the floor.
“You don’t know shit,” Nico spits.
“Really? The Riccis aren’t the biggest assholes of all the crime families?” I raise my eyebrow for effect, staring him down.
The weight of my words hits him like a ton of bricks, and for a second, he drops his guard, letting the darkness cloud his face. “How long have you known?” His words are barely a whisper.
I shrug, my tone bitter, “Since the start.”
“And you didn’t rat me out?”
“Foolish, I know, right?”
It’s his one chance to repent, to beg, but he chooses the wrong path. “I always knew you were a stupid bitch,” Nico says as the meanest snarl contorts his face into something twisted.
I don’t bother justifying his remark with a verbal response. Instead, I cut off a strip of duct tape and shut him up, taping it over his lips.
Grabbing my phone and my coffee, I head out before Nico can push any more of my buttons.
The porch smells like piss, so I take my coffee to the beach, desperate for space, for air—I need to think .
Letting your guard down only gets you hurt—how many fucking times do I need to learn this lesson the hard way?
The fucker played me, and I was stupid enough to fall for his charm. I should’ve known he was up to something or another. This was never about a connection.
I sigh heavily.
This isn’t going to work.
I can’t have that delinquent running rampant when the guests come.
I should’ve done this a long time ago , I think, as I punch in J.’s number, my heart beating in my chest.
She answers after the second ring. “Kiah?”
“Hey, so that little Ricci cunt? I know where he is…”