Chapter 16
Madelene
He grew silent after I told him how I ended up with the Severino family.
I think he’d slit my father’s throat if he were given the chance, but I can’t let his anger at my abuse muddle my head.
The man is a killer just like the men he stole me from.
His moral compass may be a little more finely tuned, but that doesn’t negate the fact that he could kill me as easily as they could.
Hell, he could demand my hand in marriage in an effort to steal my family’s money for himself.
This little house doesn’t exactly scream that he’s rolling in cash.
I look around the tiny shower I’m standing in, wishing the water would get just a little warmer, as if the heat will ease the ache still in my shoulders from being tied up for so long.
He grew silent after I explained, and he didn’t ask me further questions about the family, but I know it will be a short-lived reprieve.
He wants to know all of it, and surprisingly, I plan to answer every single question he asks.
I have no hope of survival if I end up back with Alessio.
Maybe this man is crazy enough to cause enough of a disturbance that I can disappear forever.
He seemed reluctant to allow me in here, as if imagining me getting comfortable in his space made his skin crawl, but eventually he nodded after I asked him if I could shower.
The door is locked, but it’s a false sense of security. I know that he could easily open the door by simply ramming his shoulder against it.
I know what all men are capable of. The look in some of the Severino guards’ eyes told me that the only thing keeping them from raping me was the threat Alessio was to them.
This man has no such loyalty to the family.
There’s nothing stopping him but his own principles, and I’m not so sure the man has any.
I use the three-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body gel, making a point to scrub every inch of my body.
I got most of Julio’s blood that I could off me when I came in here first thing this morning, but I still felt sticky with it.
It took hours of sitting at the tiny table before I managed to gather the courage to ask him to shower.
The day dragged by with me waiting for his next move and him seemingly lost in thought as he stared out the window, as if the view had the power to answer his questions and solve his problems.
We didn’t talk much. We didn’t eat. He didn’t open the front door and tell me to leave again. I didn’t cross the room to open it myself. The silence was awkward, somehow expectant without either of us speaking.
I fought the urge to ask him about his life, my curiosity only held at bay because I figured he’d physically shove me out of the house if I spoke in a way that wasn’t answering his questions.
When darkness fell, the shadows cast on his face made him seem even more dangerous and that was a feat, considering I’ve witnessed him kill two men without a moment’s hesitation.
Unsurprisingly, the water runs cold long before I’m ready to get out.
I do one final rinse, making sure the soap is gone before turning it off and peeking around the shower curtain.
I didn’t hear him enter, but he seems like the type that could be stealthy when he needed to be.
The bathroom is empty, the mirror not even fogged because the water never really got warm enough for it despite the small confines of the room.
The towel hanging on the bar is disheveled as if he’d used it at some point before bringing me here, but my look around the room for a clean one leaves me empty-handed.
Although wrinkled, it’s completely dry as I pull it against my chest. There’s no fluffiness to it as it nearly scratches my skin as I dry my body.
I look toward my pile of laundry, folded neatly but still covered in Julio’s blood.
I gag at the thought of putting them back on, feeling childish at my instinctual reaction.
Everything in this house seems functional, but there are no real amenities.
I know I was given many more luxuries than a lot of people have in their lives.
Even with the Severino family, I had more than many people could ever hope for.
They needed my money, but they also have money of their own.
My money meant more power, the ability to expand further.
It’s not like they were in the soup line without it.
I learned long ago that greedy people always want more no matter how much they have.
Marcello lived every day that way, and I have no doubt that being promised to Alessio was the only reason he focused on me at all.
It wasn’t that he wanted me. It was that Alessio was given something, and he wasn’t.
His selfishness wouldn’t allow him to just look the other way.
He had to taint and destroy anything that wasn’t his. He had to ruin it for everyone else.
I had to behave a certain way, hold my head up despite my pain.
I was expected to act as if I was treated like a princess rather than let anyone know the truth about the men others respected.
I wonder if they would’ve held them in such revere if those people knew the truth.
I know there are people connected to the family who would be appalled with what happened at their house daily, but no one would be brave enough to go against them.
Just the rumors of their brutality to their enemies kept most people under their bloody thumbs.
I don’t know that they’d act any differently if they were made aware of how the brothers treated me.
Maybe many of them were raised to hate my mother’s family the way many of my ancestors were raised to hate the Severinos.
Maybe they want to hurt me the way Alessio and Marcello got the chance to.
I press the towel to my face as the tears start to fall.
I feel weaker than I ever have. I know better than to think I’ve escaped them.
I wasn’t lying when I told that man that Alessio will find me.
I believe it in my soul that I’m meant to die at his hands.
Thinking any differently will only bring on false hope. It will make the crash that much worse.
It doesn’t take long to get my emotions under control. I’ve been doing it for a very long time because Alessio and Marcello liked my tears too much. It was never a sign to stop but the jumping off point for them.
I glance back at my clothes, knowing I can’t put them on. I make up my mind to use the washer and dryer I saw in the corner of the kitchen to get them clean. I could easily run out there, pop them in the washer and come back in here and wait until it was time to switch them into the dryer.
I tuck the towel around myself before gathering the clothes in my hands, doing my best not to let them touch my clean body.
The bedroom is dark and silent when I pull open the bathroom door, but there’s no mistaking the large lump on the far side of the bed. He didn’t enter the room last night, but it seems my reprieve is over.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I say, not even sure the man is awake.
I’m met with silence, but it’s not like I expected him to offer me something to wear. I’m not exactly a guest here.
I leave the room, heading out to put my clothes in the washer. The powdered laundry detergent doesn’t even have a scent, and all I can do is pray the stains come out as I close the lid and turn it on.
I debate staying in the living room while I wait for my clothes to wash, but the front door seems ominous. I don’t think the man would protect me exactly, but if someone breaks in, he’ll at least defend himself, and that would be a benefit to me.
I creep back into the bedroom, standing near the bed as I try to listen to him breathe. It takes a while for my heart to calm enough that I can hear anything over the pounding of it in my ears. Eventually, his soft, steady breaths can be heard.
Considering that he’s asleep, I glance from the bathroom door back to him. The house lacks so many things, but the bed was surprisingly comfortable last night, despite the way I was trussed up.
I know it’s probably a huge mistake, but as slowly and quietly as I can, I lie down on the bed next to him, freezing more than once in my journey to make sure I don’t wake him up.
I tell myself I’ll nap, knowing I’ll hear the washing machine stop because of how loud it must be and how small the house is.
I let my eyes flutter closed, wondering how long I’ll lie here awake because I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep.
My eyes grow increasingly harder to keep open, my blinks slowing until I find it impossible to open my eyes at all. I lick at my dry lips, chastising myself for not getting a drink of water as my body grows heavier and heavier.
A noise makes me jerk my eyes open, but I’m not met with the darkness I closed them to. Instead, I’m staring into the very angry eyes of a very wet and naked man.
I keep my eyes locked on him because looking down wouldn’t be wise. I can see in my periphery that he’s hard, his manhood the closest part of his body to mine.
I swallow, wanting to scream for help when he reaches for me.
Staying here was the biggest mistake of my life.
I knew it would come to this. All men are the same.
They’re controlled by their cocks, convincing themselves that everything in the world is theirs for the taking regardless of whether they were given permission or not.
I know better than to swat at his hand as he extends it in my direction. I made that mistake with Alessio once, and the result was extremely painful.
The man reaches for the towel, nearly rolling me onto the floor when he rips it away from my body.
He just stares down at me with it hanging from his fingers.
I don’t attempt to cover myself, another thing I learned by experience while living with the Severino family.
They may not have raped me, but they made it very clear, very early on, that they’d do just about anything else.
He doesn’t take it further. He doesn’t command me to suck him off. He doesn’t reach for me or touch me.
He doesn’t back away either as he continues to stare down at me as he dries himself off. His erection never flags, and I swear he strokes it more than dries it when he gets to that part of his body.
I wait for the splatter, wait for him to shame me by coating me with his cum, knowing this man is no better than Alessio or Marcello, but it doesn’t happen.
When I look up at his face, he seems disgusted, like he could read my mind and hated the thoughts he saw there.
“Get real,” he grumbles as he finally takes a step back. “Don’t hog the fucking towel.”
He doesn’t go back in the bathroom, but he does turn his back in my direction as he finishes drying off before pulling clothes from the tiny closet, leaving the towel in a wet pile on the floor like a savage.
“Don’t forget to put your clothes in the dryer,” he snaps before leaving the room.
I stare at his shadow from the bed as he moves around the kitchen.
I don’t hesitate to climb out of the bed and re-wrap myself in the towel, hating the cool dampness against my skin. It takes me a little longer to leave the room.
He didn’t apologize for the way he treated me, but it’s not like I should expect him to.
He may not have hurt me the way I thought he was going to when I woke up to him standing over me with his erection not far from my face, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t planning on it, or that he’s fighting a battle against doing it that he will soon lose.
I slowly creep out of the bedroom, finding his eyes on mine the second I come into his view.
I don’t smile at him although it seems natural to do it.
It’s a reaction beat into my brain. The Severino brothers wanted me to appear excited and happy to see them.
They wanted me to be like the beaten dog that stills wags its tail when its owner comes out to feed it with the hopes that it will be met with kindness rather than a kick to the ribs.
Sometimes I think the psychological abuse was much harder to deal with than the physical abuse.
I can feel his eyes on me the entire time it takes me to cross the small room, one hand still clutching the towel at my chest. I know not to trust in the safety of the threadbare fabric as I open the washing machine and pull my clothes from it and put them in the dryer.
His back is to me now, but I know he’s still very aware of my every move. I clear the lint catch, surprised to find hardly anything in it before closing the door and turning the machine on.
He hasn’t paused in eating his bowl of cereal, and the man honestly looks a little childlike over his bowl of Frosted Flakes.
I don’t ask for permission when I go to the fridge and pull out the milk before heading to the cabinet to get a bowl. Like the bathroom towel, it seems there’s only one, and he’s using it.
He glares at me as I pull the only cup down and pour cereal into it before topping it off with milk and grabbing the lone fork from the dish drainer.
He lives alone. That’s very clear. He isn’t a man that depends on material things. He either lives a very simple life or this isn’t his only house.
He keeps his eyes locked on me as I take a seat across from him, wondering why he has two chairs at the table but only one of everything else. I know better than to open my mouth to ask him, opting to stuff it full of sugary cereal instead.