Chapter Nine
Morena
The leash tugged the moment I tried to shift my shoulders.
The free end rested across the mattress near my hands exactly the way he had left it, a constant quiet threat that moved with every breath.
Leather lined collar, locked at the back, the silver ring centered at the hollow of my throat so that any small turn of my head reminded me the key lived in his pocket now.
The ache between my legs was deep and insistent.
Every small inhale made me feel the residual stretch, the places he had forced open while strangers touched themselves in the dark.
Dried evidence of him marked the insides of my thighs in faint sticky streaks the shower had not fully erased.
The ring on my left hand caught a bar of city light through the windows.
Heavy gold. Sharp, clear stones. It sat on my finger like a brand more than anything else, the weight of it pressing into the bone with every heartbeat.
I did not cry. Tears had spent themselves in the weeks before. What remained was a cold hollow quiet and the steady thrum of fear that lived under my skin whenever I thought of the man who had just closed the door.
Matteo Ventura.
The name felt foreign even though I forced myself to whisper it. He had answered the only question I dared ask and then locked me here without another syllable. No softness. No explanation beyond the rules he had listed while I knelt on the cushion at his feet.
Collared. Leashed. Available.
A schedule for the heirs the Families demanded. Multiple. As many as my body could safely carry.
The private physician. No telephone. No contact with the outside world. Dario was no longer my concern, at least.
That meant I would not get to see any more pictures of Camilla. How would I know that she was still alive and okay?
Dario has no use for her now.
I stared at the ceiling and tried not to remember the way Matteo’s hands had moved over me in the shower. The way two fingers had parted me under the water so he could rinse what remained of our wedding night.
The way he had watched the pulse jump beneath the new collar while I ate the food he placed in front of me.
Everything about him was controlled. Measured. The same cold focus he had used when he went to his knees between my legs on that stage and made my body answer him in front of every powerful man in the city.
I hated that my body had answered.
The memory rose without permission. The flat of his tongue dragging through me while the crowd leaned forward. The thick stretch of his fingers curling against a place that had never been touched. The blunt pressure of his cock pushing into me while he ordered me to come for them.
My thighs clenched uselessly. Fresh shame burned through me hot and thick.
Time moved strangely in the quiet. The light beyond the windows shifted from the morning into afternoon.
Matteo was nothing like anyone I’d met. He wasn’t the loud kind of intimidating, not spitting threats, not Dario. Dario was shouting, the slap, the casual cruelty that announced itself. This was quieter. Colder.
The kind of evil that lived in the precise way he had washed me, the flat tone he used when he listed the rules, the way he looked at my body as if it were a schedule of ovulation windows and blood panels and heirs.
And then he had brought me here, collared me, leashed me, and begun the work of turning the rest of my life into the queen the seat required.
I would stay silent. I would stay useful. I would not give him anything he had not taken.
Somewhere beyond the glass the city kept moving.
People walked free. I had no way to know what waited for me after the doctor.
I only knew that the man on the other side of the door owned every hour that came next, and that the only way to keep breathing was to remain the quiet, obedient thing he expected.
I must have drifted. The next sound that pulled me under was the door opening without a knock.
It was not three yet, but the light had the quality of a day that had fully arrived.
Matteo stepped inside dressed the same way he had been earlier.
Black trousers, freshly pressed black shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, a watch heavy on his wrist. Behind him came a man in a dark suit carrying a black medical bag and a woman in scrubs with a tablet open.
The physician was early, apparently. I sat up with a groan.
Matteo left the leash and wrapped once around his fist. The slight tug against my throat made my pulse jump.
“The doctor is here,” he said. His voice was the same flat controlled tone he had used for the rules. “He will examine you now. You will cooperate, right?”
My stomach dropped so hard I tasted metal. I had thought I had a bit more time. I had thought I had a few more hours, at least, to prepare myself for the next violation. There was not enough preparation for this.
The doctor set his bag on the low dresser and looked at me the way the women at the club had looked at me the night of the auction. Livestock to be checked. He did not introduce himself. He simply nodded once at Matteo and began.
“Remove the trousers.”
Matteo gave the leash a short tug. “Go on, Rena.”
I sat up and worked the soft grey fabric down my hips. The air of the room was cool against skin that felt raw from the night before. I kept the long-sleeved top on. No one told me to take it off yet. The leash hung between us like a living line. I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
The doctor pulled on black latex gloves with a soft snap. The woman in scrubs adjusted the lights higher until the brightness made my eyes water. Matteo stood at the side of the bed, leash in hand, watching everything with the same cold focus.
“Knees up. Feet flat. Let them fall open,” the doctor instructed.
I obeyed because the alternative was worse. The position left me completely exposed under the bright light.
The doctor’s gloved hands were impersonal and thorough. He checked the faint red marks the old collar had left beneath the new one. Then the places where the cuffs had bitten during the long hours of restraint. His fingers pressed and noted and moved on. The woman in scrubs typed steadily.
Then he moved lower.
I stared at the ceiling and counted breaths while he examined the place Matteo had claimed in front of every powerful man in the city. The stretch of gloved fingers was clinical, not sexual, and somehow that made it worse.
He noted the residual swelling, the slight tearing that had begun to heal, the evidence that less than a day earlier I had been untouched.
Cool air hit the wetness the examination left behind.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood and forced myself to stay still.
The leash remained taut in Matteo’s hand.
I could feel the weight of his attention on every place the doctor touched.
“Healthy,” the doctor said at last. “Young. Fertile. No signs of infection or lasting damage from the consummation. Cycle appears regular from the history provided. We can begin tracking ovulation immediately. Bloodwork today. Ultrasound for baseline measurements of the uterus.”
Matteo’s voice was quiet. “Baseline. And the full panel. I want to know everything before we start.”
The doctor nodded. The woman prepared a tourniquet and vials.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling while the needle slid into the bend of my elbow.
Blood filled the tubes one after another, dark against the glass.
I did not flinch. Pain was just information now.
Something to notice and file away the same way I had filed away every bruise Dario left and every night on the secondary stage.
When the bloodwork was done the doctor positioned a portable ultrasound machine beside the bed. Cold gel slicked across my lower abdomen. The wand pressed low, moving in slow clinical sweeps. The screen flickered with grainy black-and-white images of the inside of me.
“Uterus is normal size and position,” the doctor said. “Ovaries healthy. No cysts or abnormalities. She should conceive easily once timing is optimized.”
Matteo’s hand tightened once on the leash. I felt the slight pull against the collar and kept my face carefully blank. I did not look at him. I did not speak. Fear sat too thick in my throat for words. The knowledge of what my body was now settled deeper with every grainy image on the screen.
The examination continued. Height. Weight. Blood pressure. Questions about my cycle that I answered in monosyllables because the alternative was screaming.
The doctor noted everything with the same detached efficiency the women at the club had used when they checked my teeth and made me hold myself open under harsh lights. When he finished he stripped off the gloves and spoke to Matteo as if I were not in the room.
“She is in excellent condition for the purpose,” he said. “I recommend daily monitoring of basal temperature once we have the blood results. Intercourse timed to ovulation windows. Supplements to support early pregnancy. Any history of trauma I should know about that might affect compliance?”
Matteo’s gaze flicked to my face for the briefest second. Something unreadable moved behind his eyes before the cold mask settled again. “Not that I know of, but it’s possible.”
The doctor packed his bag. The woman in scrubs closed the tablet. They left without looking at me again. The door clicked shut.
The room felt larger and smaller at the same time. The bright lights stayed on. The gel from the ultrasound had begun to dry sticky on my skin. The puncture mark from the blood draw throbbed faintly in the bend of my elbow.
Matteo did not remove the collar or the leash. He simply stood at the side of the bed and looked down at me. Trousers around my ankles, gel cool on my stomach, the ring heavy on my finger, and the confirmed information that I was the perfect baby making machine.