3. Leila
CHAPTER 3
LEILA
A s the days trickle by, the tension between Nicholas and me thickens like a suffocating fog. There are days when his demeanor shifts so abruptly, it's like he's a different person altogether. One moment, he's sweet and charming, and the next, he's distant and cold, his eyes filled with an intensity that sends shivers of terrors down my spine.
But it's when we're at home that his true colors emerge. The slightest provocation sets him off like a ticking time bomb, and I've learned the hard way to tread carefully around him. The air crackles with unspoken tension, and I find myself tiptoeing around him, afraid to set him off.
“You didn’t get the memo the first time, did you?” His voice slices through the air like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. My heart races as I peer around, lost and confused. The sting on my cheek sends a wave of pain shooting through my skull. I didn’t see it coming.
“I don’t know…” I mutter, my voice barely a whisper. But the rage in his eyes tells me that's not the answer he wants to hear. I shrink back instinctively, the fear coiling in my stomach like a nest of snakes.
“Try again, Leila,” he growls, his tone dripping with menace. “Come on, say it!”
“I don’t know, Nic—” I begin, but before I can finish, his hand connects with the side of my face with a force that sends me stumbling into the table, my head spinning with pain. I struggle to regain my balance, my heart hammering in my chest like a jackhammer.
“You’re a fucking liar!” he roars, his voice echoing off the walls of the room like thunder. He advances toward me, his footsteps heavy and menacing. “I heard you talking about him.”
“About who?” I manage to choke out, my voice trembling with fear as I desperately try to get on my feet and put some distance between us.
His response is swift and brutal. A sharp kick to my stomach sends me crashing back to the ground, the air forced from my lungs in a painful rush. I curl into a ball, coughing and gasping for air, tears streaming down my cheeks as I pray silently for it to end. “Christopher,” he snarls, his eyes blazing with fury as he looms over me like a vengeful god. “Why are you so obsessed with him?”
I try to speak, to plead for mercy, but the words catch in my throat as fear clenches its icy fingers around my heart. I retreat further into the corner, my whole body trembling with terror.
The force of his anger leaves me reeling, my mind spinning with confusion and disbelief. But there's no mercy in his gaze, no hint of remorse for the pain he's inflicted. Instead, he fixes me with a cold, steely stare, his lips curled into a cruel sneer.
“If you mention Chris's name again,” he hisses, his voice dripping with malice, “you’ll regret the day you were born.”
I want to flee, to escape the suffocating grip he has on me, but I feel trapped, like a bird with clipped wings. When Mr. Bonetti enters the room, his expression grim and forbidding, I know that escape is futile.
“La puttana non ha ancora imparato la lezione?” The slut hasn't learned her place yet? Mr. Bonetti's words slice through the heavy silence like a sharpened blade, each syllable dripping with disdain and malice. My heart lurches in my chest, fear seizing hold of me like a vice as I'm desperate to make myself as small as possible.
“I’m trying to tame her,” Nicholas responds, his voice oozing with smugness and arrogance. He leans in closer, his eyes boring into mine with a predatory gleam.
“Ah, Leila dear,” his dad extends his hand. I take it and I get on my feet. “The more you fight, the more we enjoy it.” his tone mocking and cruel, sends a shiver down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I swallow hard, the taste of bile rising in the back of my throat as I struggle to find my voice. “Appartieni a noi,” You belong to us, Mr Bonetti continues, gesturing between himself and his son with a sweeping motion of his hand. “Whether you like it or not, you’re bound to Nicholas and me.”
“I’m not a dog,” I retort, my voice trembling with defiance. “I don’t belong to anyone.” But my words fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the cruel laughter that echoes through the room. I make a move toward the door, determined to escape this nightmare once and for all, but Nicholas blocks my path, his arms crossed over his chest in a show of dominance.
“You became our fuck toy the moment your dad wanted his debts paid,” he sneers, his lips curled into a contemptuous smirk.
“What?” I turn back to face Mr. Bonetti, my heart pounding in my chest as I brace myself for whatever comes next. The little voice in my head screams at me to run, but before I can make another move, he lunges forward, grabs me roughly by the hair and drags me across the room. I scream out in pain, my cries falling on deaf ears as he throws me over his desk with a brutal force that knocks the breath from my lungs.
“It’s time for you to learn your place,” he snarls, his grip tightening on my hair with each passing second. “The more you fight, the harder you’ll get my cock and Nick’s.” With a hand he rips off my shirt. I try to scream, to fight him, but I'm no match for his strength. Nicholas moves closer, and for a brief moment, I dare to hope that he'll intervene, that he'll save me from this nightmare. But to my horror, he merely stands by the side of the desk, a silent witness to his father's depravity.
Feeling Mr. Bonetti’s tongue on my skin makes bile rise in my throat, and I silently pray for the strength to endure. The cold air of the room sends shivers down my spine as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the horror unfolding before me. But there's no escaping it. His hand finds its way into my trousers, and I can't help but whimper in despair.
“Please stop, don't...” My voice trails off, choked with fear and shame.
Opening my eyes, I'm met with Nicholas as he steps closer, his smirk twisting my stomach into knots.
My legs are forced apart, and I cry out in pain as the thrusts continue relentlessly. Each movement feels like a brutal assault, tearing me apart from the inside out.
“I know a good way to shut you up,” Nick sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. “Open that pretty mouth and show me what a good girl you are.”
They go on, their laughter echoing in my ears like a cruel mockery. It feels like an eternity, each moment stretching out in agony as I cling to the desk, praying for it to end. Digging my nails into the wood, tears stream down my face, mingling with the blood that trickles from the cuts and bruises that mark my skin. I close my eyes, praying for it to end, but the nightmare only continues, stretching out before me like an endless abyss of pain and suffering.
And as I lay there, broken and defeated, I realize that there may be no escape from the suffocating darkness that envelops me. Despair wraps around me like a shroud, and a sob wracks my body, a physical manifestation of the hopelessness that consumes me.