3. Adriana #2
The air leaves my lungs. I know exactly what kind he means.
It's not the first time he's threatened to show me off to his men, or worse, but this is the first time he's followed through on it.
And it can only get worse from here. I know this is the beginning of a slippery slope, one that will end with me suffering in reality what the man I loved once claimed to have done to me in order to save me.
"And Adriana?" His voice stops me as I reach for the phone with shaking hands. "Next time, maybe I'll send you to him in person. Let him have his reward face-to-face. Would you prefer that?"
I can't speak. The fact that he's pushing this so hard is terrifying, making me feel as if I won't be able to even stand up without collapsing from fear.
For years, Gio's threats have been about taking Matteo away—sending him to boarding school, putting him in foster care.
Finding ways to remove him from my life and punish me by taking away the only thing I have left to love.
Over the years, my father and then Gio have punished me in any number of creative ways—making me do chores around the house like one of the staff, forcing me to serve dinner to their powerful guests, showing how far the Santoro daughter fell from grace.
Things to humiliate me, or make me afraid of losing my son.
But now, that doesn't seem to be enough for him any longer. And the threat is clear: if I don't comply, he'll make good on his promise about Matteo. He'll take my son to that warehouse and destroy whatever innocence he has left.
"Well?" Gio's voice is patient. "What's it going to be?"
I pick up the phone. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop it.
"Good girl." The words make my skin crawl. "I want them within the hour. And make them good. My man deserves the best. You don't have to show pussy," he adds with a crawling smile. "Maybe a little nipple, though. We'll save the truly explicit stuff for the next time you fuck up, sister."
Nausea floods me, but I force myself to stand on legs that barely hold me, clutching the phone.
Gio looks bored, now that I've acquiesced. "You're dismissed."
I walk out of the office in a daze. The hallway stretches out in front of me, long and empty. My footsteps echo on the hardwood floor. Somewhere in the house, I hear voices—Gio's men, probably, laughing about something. The sound makes me want to vomit.
I make it to my room before my legs give out. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I lean against it, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor with my knees pulled up to my chest. The phone is still in my hand, and I can see my face in it—pale, terrified, and completely trapped.
What am I going to do? I could refuse and tell Gio to go to hell, that I won't degrade myself like this.
But then he'll take Matteo. He'll make good on his threat.
And my son—my beautiful, innocent son—will be forced to witness or participate in murder.
It'll be the first path on making him be broken and twisted into something dark, something like the men who work for my brother.
I can't let that happen. So I'll take the photos. I'll do what Gio wants. I'll degrade myself and hate every second of it, but I'll do it. Because the alternative is unthinkable.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. Crying won't help or change anything. It won't make this nightmare end.
Ten years ago, I had the last happy moment of my life. And then it all fell apart, and I watched the man I love take the blame for something he'd never have done. I watched my father's men drag him away, beaten and bloody.
And then I freed him and let him go, choosing his survival over everything else.
I'll come back for you, he'd said. Someday. When it's safe, when I'm strong enough to protect you. I believed him then.
I don't anymore.
Someday never came. He never came back. And I've been here, trapped in this house, raising our son alone while my brother slowly tightens his grip around my throat.
I let out a slow breath, blinking back the tears.
I shouldn't think about Lachlan. I shouldn't let myself remember the way he looked at me and touched me, or how he promised me a future we never got to have.
It hurts too much. Thinking about him is like pressing on a bruise that never heals.
It's torture. It's pointless, a fantasy of a life I'll never have with a man who's probably moved on and forgotten all about the girl he left behind.
I push the thoughts away, shoving them down deep where they can't hurt me. I don't have the luxury of dwelling on the past. I have to focus on surviving the present and protecting my son, doing whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it means destroying myself in the process.
I stand up slowly, my legs still unsteady. I go to the bed and turn the phone on, taking a deep breath as I sit in the middle and start taking photos.
One with my shirt lifted up halfway, showing my taut, smooth belly and the hint of the bra underneath it.
Another that's like that but with the button and zipper of my jeans open.
Then the jeans off, showing my panties, then my legs spread, panties still on.
Shirt off, so it's just my underwear. Then, my stomach churning, I tug the lace of one cup to the side, showing the smooth circle of my nipple.
I pluck at it once or twice to stiffen it, try to toss my hair over my shoulder and look seductive, and pray it's enough.
I feel like it's obvious in every photo that I don't want to be doing this, and that there's nothing sexy about any of it…
but the truth is that whoever Gio is giving the photos to will probably get off on that more than if I'd looked like I wanted to be here.
That makes me feel sick, too, but I just take a couple more photos in varying poses, and then toss the phone to the bed, breathing slowly to try to tame the nausea.
It's done. The worst for now is over. I just have to give the phone back and try not to think about what one of Gio's soldiers will be doing with it later.
I've bought my son another day of innocence. Another day of being a child instead of a killer. The price was just a few photos.