CHAPTER 18
Dante kept his word—he gave me space. I’ve barely seen him around the house.
The funny thing is, I want him here, even if that voice in my head mocks me about it.
Every night for a week, while I watch over Finn after my nightmares, I’ve been fantasising about what our lives could have been if everything he said was true.
I wouldn’t be alone every night while I breastfeed; he could be hugging me, watching our son sleep.
Maybe he’d even hold him while he sleeps, or perhaps read him a book.
Then he would kiss me. Maybe we’d sneak off to the bathroom or that weird room he has.
But it’s just that—a fantasy. He will never have that bond with Finn because he’s not his father, and he never will be. My son will not be raised by a sex trafficker, a killer or whatever the fuck he is.
I haven’t changed my mind about this situation.
Greta has been helping me with Finn, keeping him entertained—always inside the room, of course. For the first time in a year, I can have a bath without a baby in my arms or nearby. I’ve enjoyed the time alone like never before.
As I get out of the bathroom, dry and dressed in my pyjamas, I find Finn and Greta asleep in a rocking chair. I smirk sadly and pull a blanket over them before turning away.
The dirty dishes from dinner are still on the table, so I take them down to the kitchen. The house is unusually empty.
It is the perfect moment to strike. You could go and confront the guards at the entrance—
I sigh. There’s no point. They’re huge.
In the kitchen, the voice tells me to grab a knife. I hide it up my sleeve. I wish I didn’t have to be violent, but Dante is leaving me no choice. I need to get out of here, one way or another.
That’s the spirit.
I’m only doing it because you can’t shut up about it! I just wanted time on my own.
I inspect the cabinets and the fridge. I fancy a drink now that my son is asleep, but all I can find is food.
“Did you lose something?”
I bolt upright.
Dante is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing a turtleneck jumper. He looks ridiculously handsome. His hair is slicked back, with the distinctive messy strand on his forehead.
And I hate him.
“Is there any alcohol in this house?”
He smirks. “In my room.”
“Of course,” I snort.
“I’m not insinuating; I have the minibar in my room.” With a grin, he adds, “Unless you want me to make it an insinuation.”
I ignore his last comment and ask him to lead the way instead.
When he turns to walk, the voice starts again.
It’s the perfect opportunity to stab him and run! You just have to get Finn and—
Stop. The guards are back where they always were.
Oh, damn it.
His room is at the other end of the second floor, far from mine. When he opens the door, my stomach churns and my heart races in anticipation.
In the middle of the room, there’s a huge bed—bigger than the one my parents had in theirs and much bigger than mine. Though the covers are the same dark shade. On either side, there’s a dark wood nightstand, one with a lamp on top, the other empty.
That would have been my place if he’d been the man I thought he was.
A shiver runs down my spine.
On the right wall is a wardrobe, rather large for someone who wears nothing but suits and black clothes. On the other side of the room is the bathroom, which—even from where I’m standing—I can tell is huge.
And finally, the reason for my presence in this room: the minibar.
It’s on the left side of the room, next to a dressing table. Why would he want one? I can understand the paintings, the pictures, and the rest of the furniture, but a dressing table? I didn’t peg him as a vain man, even though the furniture doesn’t seem to be used.
“Such a large room compensates for other things?”
He approaches the minibar and picks up two glasses with a smirk.
“You know it doesn’t.”
I roll my eyes and pray the blush doesn’t take over my face.
He holds a full glass out to me. I eagerly accept it. I gulp it and close my eyes as the stinging wears off.
“This room belonged to my parents,” he says. “Mom gave it up when…” He pauses, swallows the drink in one gulp, and sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”
Don’t fall for it.
“Will you explain to me what the hell is going on? With Stefan, with my parents—”
“You’re not ready yet, ragnetta.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “But once you are, you’ll understand why I protect you—even from yourself.”
The edge of the knife presses into my arm as I pour myself more liquor. Luckily, it’s not sharp enough to hurt me.
You can’t back down.
“So, my family is the bad one for marrying me off to someone else?”
Of course, they are, except for my mother. That day, she looked as clueless as I did. It doesn’t make Dante any less guilty—for what he did to me and for what he does for a living.
How many girls does he have to kidnap every day just because he wants money? How many kids? Babies?
He tenses his jaw.
“You have no idea, sweetheart. “ He drinks again. “Your father thinks he has the right to do whatever the fuck he wants with you.”
“Apparently, he does. That’s why he sold me to a stranger and married me to another.” Among other things, like entering my room almost every night. I pour myself another drink. I have to drown the pain in my chest. “I don’t know how twisted you must be to purchase someone, let alone to—”
“To rape them on their wedding night? Pretty twisted, I agree.”
No.
He can’t know that.
“How…”
Not hearing an answer, I turn to face him. He glances away…
I want to vomit.
How did he see us if he left after the reception? Was he aware of it? Did anyone else see? Did Stefan record it? Did he pay Stefan to watch?
He saw him raping me and did nothing to stop it?
No. I thought we were alone, but I heard things… I thought it was my imagination or the pill I took.
It was him.
I drink another glass. I can’t take this. It hurts too much, and it’s not just my burning throat.
I was too high to be aware of what Stefan was doing besides using my body. At any point, someone else could have walked in, and I wouldn’t have noticed. What if he invited people to see? To rape me? What if that nightmare was also a memory?
Focus!
“Tell me h-how you got to save me,” I whisper. “Can you do that, at least?”
He sighs. “I can’t.”
“Well, you’re an open book,” I snort before pouring myself another drink.
“I’m sorry, ragnetta, but after what happened a week ago, I’m not going to risk you having another breakdown. You might kill yourself.”
I finish the last glass. That’s enough.
First of all, I deserve to know the truth about what’s going on in my life. Second, I don’t need a babysitter. Whether I have a breakdown or not, it’s my problem, not his. I’m sick of living under his roof.
I want to get out, to leave with my son, and never come back.
There’s only one way to end this.
I walk towards Dante. He looks at me confused but with an excited gleam in his eyes. I slide a hand along his shoulders until I’m cupping his cheek.
If I have to resort to this, I will do it well. It’s all I’m good for.
“What if I told you that, if you are honest with me, I will get naked for you? Right here, right now.”
He doesn’t change his demeanour, but I know him—and beneath his impenetrable facade, he’s dying to lay his hands on me.
As any other man.
“What’s the point of having you naked if I can’t touch you?”
“Who said you wouldn’t?” I lean closer, inches from his lips. “You’ll have me bare, dripping, just the way you did almost two years ago.” I keep the knife pointing away from him so I can touch him better. “You could fuck me however you want. Only if you tell me the truth.”
“I won’t.”
“Perhaps I can change your mind.”
I straddle him and close the space between us before he can answer. His hands still don’t touch my body, but he’s getting harder beneath his pants.
My hands run through his hair. It’s a bit damp but no less pleasant to the touch. His breathing becomes heavier. Soft thrusts beneath me send waves of pleasure from my core. Even though I’m aware of the knife in my sleeve, I can’t help but rub against him.
And I need more.
Why can’t you be stronger when it comes to him?
“Touch me.”
He drops the glass, and his hands trace my body gently, as if he’s afraid to break me.
As if I’m going to disappear.
He’s not like that; wake up.
I deepen the kiss as he brushes against my pyjama sleeve. I can keep the knife hidden without a problem, moving it just enough to keep it out of the way until we finish.
I want to enjoy this lie for a few more minutes. Just a taste won’t hurt.
His hands slide over my thighs and move upward until they reach my breasts. His thumbs brush over my nipples. I gasp against his mouth, and he grins.
One of his hands goes down to my bare pussy, sliding his fingers slowly across my slit. He rubs around but doesn’t insert them. The anticipation is killing me. He moves a little higher and presses his thumb against my clit. I hate how my body reacts to his touch, but I can’t help it.
“You’re so wet, amore,” he whispers in a husky voice. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
I did. Past tense.
He thrusts two fingers inside me. I bury mine in his shoulders. With his free hand, he tugs down my neckline to expose my bare breasts and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. I arch my back and grind against his hand.
You shouldn’t be doing this. We had a bloody plan.
But I want to turn back time. I want to go back to that hotel room and not fall asleep. I want just a glimpse of that day.
Only one… before I leave.
Before you kill him!
I reach for his lips again. Mine part as a moan escapes my mouth, and he slips his tongue inside. He tastes of whisky and mint. His lips are as soft as I remember, despite the scar that crosses them.
God, I’ve missed this so much.
He continues his movements, his thumb lingering while his fingers move just right. I haven’t had an orgasm since he left me. It won’t harm me to seize this moment.
I rock my hips, humping his fingers. I moan against his lips. He smirks and presses his mouth against my ear.
“Show me how much you missed me.”
His movements intensify. I stop to savour every touch until I’m trembling in his arms. I kiss him and hold him close, panting. His fingers slip out from inside me, and he delights himself with my breasts.
Now!
No!
I’m lost at this moment; I want it to last a little longer. I want him. I want everything they took from me. Liar or not. I missed him so much; I need him. I want to—
His hand wraps around mine, squeezing it so hard I whimper against his lips. His breath catches in his chest, and his eyes widen. As they lock with mine, I pull away. My heart beats frantically. He squeezes again, so I look down, and regret consumes me.
The knife is buried in his ribs, the handle touching the fabric of his jumper.
What have I done? What just happened? We were kissing!
Oh, God.
Is he going to die? Did I kill him?
Hopefully.
No!
One thing was shooting him in an entirely different circumstance, but this...
Oh, God!
A flash of amusement crosses his gaze. I try to pull the knife out, but one of his hands is already on top of mine, holding it in place.
He needs help!
Why is the bastard grinning?
“Your husband didn’t teach you how to kill, ragnetta?”
I still. I move away from him slowly, tugging my dress down until it covers me fully. He still won’t take the damn knife off!
He looks down at the wound, then at me, with a cocky grin. “You should have... done it a bit higher.” He points to the spot. “Make sure you get it right next time.”
Next time?
I rush out of the room, terrified and panting, and head for my own.
He’s going to kill me. As soon as he can, he’s going to do it. If not him, then his men will.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What did you do? I didn’t mean to kill him!
And that’s the problem. You couldn’t kill your husband; now you can’t kill your kidnapper. Weak. That’s why—
Shut up!
I wanted him...
You wanted your worst nightmare. A rapist. The person who broke your heart. He used you!
No!
Why can’t I have a normal life? Why can’t I live alone with my baby in a cute little cottage?
When I get to my room, Greta blinks in a sleepy daze. She says something in Italian as she stands up, holding Finn to her chest.
While she was taking care of my son, I tried to kill hers.
Fuck!
“I-I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She frowns. I grab Finn, turning away from her, just as a presence looms in the doorway.
Dante still has the knife in his ribs, and his posture is stiffer. His tired, upset eyes look at me, then at his mother. Greta runs to him. They speak in Italian, glaring at me. A shiver runs down my spine.
He wants to kill me. He’s going to kill me.
I wanted to reach his limit—and I did.
It’s over.
“I’ll go get treated,” he says, his jaw clenched. “Behave yourself, and don’t try anything stupid.”
I nod. He groans loudly and walks away. Greta pauses for a second, looking at me, disappointed, before following him.
I latch the door, as I do every night, but this time I also drag one of the pieces of furniture in front of it—not a chair. I freeze as the necklace Dante gave me a week ago glints, teasing me.
He owns you.
Finn is still asleep. I’m still trapped in this house, with guilt and shame growing inside me.
And regret.
I hate him! Why can’t I hate him the way I hate everyone else? Why can’t he leave my heart for good?
The voice is right. I am weak!
But I don’t want to hurt him ever again.