Chapter 7 #2
“So, I should talk to your husband about the night I violated his beautiful bride?” he replies, his voice a lethal calm.
My heart stops. My throat turns bone-dry. No matter how hard I breathe, my lungs won’t fill. The terror is evident on my face, and he doesn’t miss it. A smirk stretches across his lips.
“I see I’ve caught you off guard. Did you really think I didn’t know your secret? Or should I say our secret?”
I swallow hard, tearing my gaze away from him. Without a second thought, I dart past him and head straight for the door. I need to get out of this cursed room. My fingers wrap around the handle, twisting it desperately, but it doesn’t budge. Locked. And the key…
I spin on my heel, glaring at him. Damn it. The key is in his hand. He holds it up with a smug look before slipping it into his jacket pocket, taunting me with his control.
As I go over my options, I realize I have nothing to fight with, nothing but a threat.
I know it probably won’t work, but I have no choice but to try.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but you should know my grandmother is downstairs.
And there are guards right outside on the street.
One scream from me, and they’ll all come rushing in. ”
He laughs, a loud, bitter laugh that’s far from amused. Once it subsides, he paces the room, slow and purposeful, his voice calm yet dripping with menace.
“You won’t do that, Princess.” He stops by the desk, fixing me with his piercing gaze as he delivers the reason.
“If you stayed silent about the night I ruined you, if you’ve kept that secret locked up all this time, the chances are slim that you’d make a scene now while I’m standing here fully dressed and just having a conversation. ”
I can almost hear the wall I spent a year building around myself crack. He remembers everything. His smirk stretches wider as his gaze drifts over the room.
“But since I’m not the kind of man who leaves things to chance,” he adds, “I made sure that even if you tried something stupid, no one would hear you.”
I can no longer mask my fear; it slips into my voice. “What do you mean?”
He meets my eyes again. His voice, face, and posture are all ice-cold. “I mean, I set your grandmother’s apartment on fire and ensured my men, the ones I trust, handled the repairs. I made certain that even if a car crashed through this room, no one outside would hear a thing.”
He pauses briefly to see the influence of his words on my face. “Oh, and I did one other little thing. I built myself a hidden passage into this room.”
As my stomach twists so hard I think I’d throw up, he goes on with a trace of amusement, “That one was a bit tricky. The owners of the apartment next door weren’t willing to sell, so we had to persuade them, without letting Carlo’s dogs sniff us out and catch on.”
He stops and chuckles. “Although, I don’t think your delicate nature can handle the details.”
Oh my God. He’s killed them. I’m sure of it.
The chuckle vanishes the moment he finishes his sentence. This time, he strides toward me with purpose, his tone commanding. “Enough of this nonsense. Take off your clothes.”
My hand flies to my chest as he closes the distance. I scramble to the other side of the room, desperate to get away. But it’s no use. Just like that damned night, he grabs me from behind and lifts me effortlessly off the ground.
One arm snakes around my waist while the other glides across my chest. My legs dangle uselessly in the air, and I don’t even bother kicking. I know it won’t make a difference.
His warm breath brushes against my neck, making my skin breaks out in goosebumps.
I turn my head to meet his gaze, my breaths coming in short, jagged gasps.
“What the hell are you doing? Put me down and leave, right now, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
I know I sound like a fool. I know I’m grasping at straws, but words are all I have.
His arm tightens around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “Forget this happened?” he growls, his voice dangerously low. “The same way you thought I forgot about that night?”
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened between us. You were so drunk, you must’ve imagined it all.”
He leans in closer, burying his face in the curve of my neck, and inhales deeply, his breath searing against my skin. “Don’t lie to me. Never lie to me. I hate liars. I’ll unleash hell on liars.”
My hands clutch at the iron grip of his arm wrapped around me. It’s like trying to bend steel; no amount of pushing or pulling makes a difference.
“I’m not lying,” I plead, desperation seeping into my voice. “You’re imagining things.”
Apparently, I’ve hit a nerve. He reaches the bed in two strides and tosses me onto it like a ragdoll. I land face down, and turn over quickly to see what he’s going to do.
He loosens his tie slowly. “Take off your clothes.”
My eyes dart around the room like a cornered animal, searching for a way out. Trapped, yes, but just like a cat calculating its next leap, even if it’s within the confines of four walls.
When he pulls the tie off his neck, I bolt from the bed, but he’s quicker. He grips my ankles and yanks me back toward him. I thrash, swinging my fists, but he catches them effortlessly. His weight presses me into the mattress, pinning me in place.
Before I can process what’s happening, he binds my wrists together with his tie, securing them to one of the slats of the headboard. Damn him, he thought of everything.
A moment later, his hand shoots out, grabbing the collar of my blouse and tearing it straight down the middle. The sound of ripping fabric fills the room, followed by the icy assault of air against my bare skin. A cold jolt runs through me.
I suck in a breath, the air burning in my lungs as an involuntary gasp escapes my lips.
I twist, trying to hide my exposed body from him, but he straddles my legs, trapping me beneath his weight. Helpless, vulnerable, and half-naked. My gaze flickers down to my lace bra, and a wave of humiliation crashes over me. Why, of all days, did I have to wear something like this?
Tony’s dark eyes glint with a predatory gleam as they trail over my skin. His finger hovers, then presses against my birthmark, and as if speaking to himself, his lips curve in satisfaction.
“I knew it was real,” he murmurs. “I knew those images weren’t just dreams. I knew I wasn’t imagining things.”
He closes his eyes for a beat, savoring whatever twisted revelation he’s come to, and when they open again, they’re turbulent.
He leans down closer, his fierce stare slicing through the veil of tears blurring my vision.
The intensity of his eyes makes me blink, a tremor of shame rippling through me at how exposed and powerless I am beneath him.
“Why are you still alive?” he asks, genuinely interested.
I just shake my head, averting my gaze. His fingers clamp around my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Why didn’t Carlo kill you that night? You weren’t a virgin. You weren’t what was promised to him. Why didn’t he end you? Why?”
I press my lips together, refusing to answer, and after a moment his grip slips from my chin.
“I don’t know,” I say hoarsely. “Go ask him yourself.”
This time, his hand closes around my neck, forcing me down with a grip rougher than before, tight enough to steal part of my breath.
“Answer me,” he growls.
“I don’t know,” I repeat, my voice tight. “I swear I don’t.”
He applies a fraction more pressure, testing my resolve, but when he realizes I won’t budge, he finally lets go. Straightening up, he steps away from the bed, steadies his breath, and runs a hand through his hair, disheveled from our brief struggle. His composure, however, remains eerily intact.
With unnerving calm, he shrugs off his jacket, walks to my closet, retrieves a hanger, and meticulously hangs it up.
“What… what are you doing?” I stammer as his fingers move to his shirt buttons.
He unbuttons his shirt slowly, one button at a time, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
Tugging the edges free from his pants, he slips it off, exposing his sculpted, taut muscles.
My wrists strain against the tie, but it’s useless.
Calmly, he hangs the shirt alongside his jacket, then turns back toward me.
“Please,” I beg. “Let me go. Please.”
“If you just answer me honestly, I won’t have to do anything else. Now tell me.”
“I…I don’t know why Carlo didn’t do anything that night,” I whisper brokenly. “Maybe he didn’t even notice.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Remember, this is all your fucking fault, princess.”
He moves closer and starts unbuttoning my jeans while I sob and beg him to stop. His hands are steady, almost calm, as he yanks the denim down my legs.
“There’s no fucking way Carlo missed that,” he growls. “He cracked open both his dead wives himself. You really think you can play me? I’m the master of this game, Lucia.”
I fight him, but he yanks my jeans down and throws them aside. The second his fingers touch my underwear, I scream, “He didn’t sleep with me!”
His hand freezes on the waistband. For a second, doubt flashes in his eyes.
“He didn’t kill me because he never found out what happened that night,” I cry out.
His fingers release the fabric, and he stands over me like a shadow of doom.
“You’re telling me you two don’t fuck?” he resumes the interrogation.
I shake my head hard. He stares at me for a long, painful moment, one brow raised. Finally, the corner of his mouth tugs into a grin, and he nods slowly, as if satisfied with my answer.
I swear, his face lights up, almost glowing. He touches his chin, tugs his lower lip down with his thumb, then asks, “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
He points his forefinger at me, ready to threaten me again, but this time, I cut him off, speaking with more conviction. “I swear to God, I don’t know. He never told me why.”
His hand drops, and for a moment, he just stares at me.