Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
VALENTINA
B y the time I was done showering and changing into another pair of Emiliano’s clothes, my thoughts had cleared and the panic set in. What if he uses this against my Dad to humiliate him? What the fuck was I thinking?
Doing that with him after the nightmare I had... I’m so fucking stupid. I can’t believe that I’ve put both my sisters’, brother’s, and Mom’s life on the line for some short-lived pleasure.
I trudge down the marble staircase as I make my way toward the kitchen. My stomach has been growling non-stop, demanding food, and my dry throat wants water. This time, when I enter the kitchen, it’s not empty.
There are three women there. One with a short silver bob, one with shoulder-length black hair that has streaks of pink in it, and the last one has long platinum-blonde hair and a slender, tall figure.
“Can I help you, dear?” The one with the short silver bob is the one to ask me as she walks toward me.
“I was wondering-” I’m cut off when my stomach loudly grumbles, my cheeks burn, and my palms become slick.
“Oh, just a second, dear. I’ll grab a couple of things for you. Would you like a drink as well?” Her eyes are so kind and gentle as she regards me.
“Uh… yes, please. Thank you…” I trail off.
“Lydia, my name is Lydia,” she supplies as she heads to the pantry.
“Thank you, Lydia,” I call after her. I notice that the woman with the platinum hair is watching me with narrowed eyes. I don’t cower, nor do I avoid her stare, and her face twists in a snarl.
“You know that he’ll discard of you once he’s done fucking you,” she says. My fists clench as I try to not flinch at the tone of her voice.
“Of course, you’d know about being discarded.” My reply is sharp. I don’t want to fight with her, but I’m not going to let her walk all over me. Whoever she is, she clearly thinks she holds some special place in the Capo’s life. I don’t care enough to fight with her about it. But if she wants to attack me and slut shame me for something that hasn’t even happened, then she’s got something else coming towards her.
“Ginevra, leave the poor girl alone. Aren’t you married? Act like it.” Lydia walks back in with a small tray of cheese, bread, and jam. She places a pitcher and a small cup on the tray. Ginevra gives me one last glare before going back to look over the pots on the stove. The girl with the black hair and pink streaks throws me a curious look before going back to her work. Lydia heads my way with a soft smile and hands me the tray.
“Thank you.” I grab the handles of the tray.
“You’re welcome. I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“Valentina, but you can call me Val, if you’d like,” I say, and she nods.
“Leave some space for dinner. We’re making Pasta alla Genovese, Sfogliatella, and Casatiello for dinner.” She tells me.
I give her a smile and make my way back to Emiliano’s room. ??
I eat till my stomach no longer hurts and is comfortably full. In the corner of Emiliano’s living room, there’s a cream bookshelf with gold lining the edges. It looks like it has around sixty books, all ranging from dark literature, some classics, and to my surprise, fantasy.
I wouldn’t have thought of him as an avid fantasy reader, but there’s at least ten fantasy novels on his shelf. I pick the one which has the most worn-out edges, running my finger on the spine.
The Name of the Wind . I flick through the pages and notice some of the words are underlined or highlighted. The door opens, and I turn around to see who’s come in.
“Hi, I know Mom said that you wanted to be alone, but I just wanted to check on you,” Mara explains as she shuts the door behind her.
“I’m fine, thank you. It’s okay, don't worry about it. I enjoy your company, not that I don’t enjoy your Mom’s.”
Mara nods as she watches me with a playful smile. She notices the book in my hand.
“Emiliano loves that book. I remember when I was younger, I used to see him always carrying it with him,” she tells me, and I gobble up that piece of information, because to me, he’s still just the Capo of the Camorra.
“I didn’t think he’d be a fantasy reader,” I say. She heads to the couch, and my throat closes as I watch her getting closer. Once she reaches it, she heads to one of the armchairs.
“Yeah, I can see why you’d say that. He’s honestly become a different person in the last three months,” she says as she settles in. I tilt my head, confused by what she means. Her gray eyes widen as she looks at me before her eyes dart around the room as if she said something that I am not meant to know.
“Is there a reason he likes to read fantasy?” I ask. Someone like Emiliano doesn’t just randomly pick up a fantasy book one day and decide to become obsessed with it till the book spine becomes worn.
“My nonna on my Mom’s side was an avid fantasy reader, but she also liked to collect rare fantasy editions of books. I never met her, but I heard she and Emiliano were very close till her death,” she tells me. My thumb lightly feathers the worn-out spine of the book as I imagine a young Emiliano reading with an older woman. I bite back a smile. “Do you think you’ll be going back soon?”
My eyebrows pull together as I regard her, trying to figure out if she knows about what happened. No, I’m just being paranoid.
“No, I don’t. Why?” I ask, and she shrugs.
“I heard my brothers talking about demanding someone in exchange for you.”
My stomach drops, but something stronger swirls in my chest. Suspicion. I take some steps closer to Mara. Why is she telling me this? Did someone put her up to this? I chase those thoughts away as I sit on the couch and face her.
“Do you know who they might be exchanging me for?” I ask, hopeful that she might have overheard that as well.
“I think his name was Guiseppe, if I didn’t hear wrong. But I’m not sure, sorry.”
This is what Dad must have been screaming at my uncle about. Giuseppe must have snuck into Camorra territory, causing this attack.
“Do you have any sisters?” she asks, changing the subject. I study her face, finding nothing but pure curiosity.
“I have two and one little brother.”
“What’re their names?”
Her questions aren’t anything to be suspicious of because anyone can figure out what she’s asking just by searching our family name on the internet.
“I have a sister who’s a year older than you and her name is Violette, and the youngest one is Monica, and our brother’s name is Marcello,” I tell her. She rests her chin in her palm.
“Marcello is such a cute name.” She sighs, and I nod.
“Yeah, I guess it suits him in a way.” I feel my eyes begin to sting as my mind drifts to my siblings. I wish I could see them.
It's nearly been two weeks since I’ve been taken, and I have never gone this long without them. Mara gazes at me with a look of understanding. A tear slips out and my hand moves quickly to wipe it away. Her eyes soften as mine dart away from her stare.
“I have an idea,” she whispers. I look back at her sharply.
“Please tell me you’re suggesting what I think you are suggesting?”
This could be my only chance at escaping both the Outfit and the Camorra, two birds with one stone.
“I know a small passageway that my nonna used to use when I was a child and practically no one knows about it.” She pushes back the strands that fall over her face as she leans closer.
“What about CCTV, guards?” I ask her, and her face lights up with a convincing smile.
“CCTV was never installed there, and the guards don’t know about it either. It’s practically run-down and looks like a bunch of ruins.”
“Okay, but what’s the plan?” I can feel the swarm of butterflies in my stomach taking flight and even nibbling at the edges of my stomach.
“I’ll come get you at some point when the coast is clear and take you there. There’ll be a bicycle ready for you and a GPS device that will lead you to the closest dock. I’ll iron out some more of the details and tell you the rest as we make our way to the exit.”??
I spend the time between now and dinner just reading. I decide against reading The Name of the Wind and instead pick up Pride and Prejudice . Even if I’ve read it close to a hundred times, I’m never bored of it. I love Elizabeth Bennett but, honestly, I read the book for the sole purpose of reading about Mr. Darcy.
He’s such an intriguing character, and I love how Elizabeth and him slowly come to understand each other. By the time dinnertime rolls around and Mariana knocks on the door, asking if I want to come join them for dinner, I am nearly halfway through the book. I have to resist the urge to decline the invitation to dinner just to finish the book.
I place the book down on the coffee table and head to the door. Mariana stands to the side with a bright smile on her face, which I return. “Mara told me you were reading, so I decided to leave you till dinner was ready,” she says as we begin walking toward the staircase.
“Thank you for being so kind. You have no reason to do this.”
She waves her hand around. “Nonsense, you are innocent. I can’t stress that enough. You should not be held accountable for your family’s decisions or mistakes.”
I push my hair back. I understand and agree with what she’s saying, but somewhere in my head, something tells me that the other shoe will drop, and they’ll show me how they truly think of me.
We reach the dining room. The walls are a green mossy color, the floors a cream marble with silver accents. In the middle, there’s a long dining table that holds about twenty people, made out of a large cut of wood with beautiful dark swirls. I spot both Mara and Clarissa sitting on the opposite side of the table, so I’m guessing it’ll just be those two, Mariana, and me. I can’t help but feel a flicker of disappointment, but I quickly brush it off as I settle into the seat next to Mara, and Mariana settles next to Clarissa.??
Lydia serves the food and gives me a wink as she fills my plate.
“Mara, have you decided what you want to do after you're done with school?” Mara turns her attention to Clarissa and tilts her head to the side.
“I’m not sure. I’m thinking about maybe doing some volunteering at some shelters once we’re back in New York.” She takes a sip of water, her fingers tapping the rim after she put the glass down. “If that’s anytime soon.”
“Mara,” Mariana warns without looking up from her plate as she cuts a piece of her food.
“Mom, you know we’ve been trapped here for the past three months. The only reason Dad died wa-”
The clank of cutlery cuts her off, and Mariana pushes her chair out, getting up.
“Enough. Mara, I’ve told you this already. Your brother makes the decisions now. and what he does is for the best. Not for him, but for all of us.” Mariana reprimands. Mara’s chin wobbles. and her fist clenches on the side of her plate. I watch Mara as Mariana sits back down and begins to quietly speak with Clarissa in hushed voices. My hand covers Mara’s, squeezing slightly, and she gives me a wobbly smile.
“You’ll be okay, don't worry,” I whisper as she bites her lips, contemplating what to say.
“I don’t know, I guess I just feel very cagey. We can’t even walk around the property without twenty guards trailing behind us.”
I study her face, and I can clearly make out the undereye bags beneath her concealer and the fear behind her glassy eyes. I wonder if she can see the exhaustion on my face and the yearning to go back home in my eyes.
The rest of dinner is spent speaking in quiet voices, but the tension between the Mom and the daughter is very obvious. Once we’re done with dinner, we head into the living room and dessert is served with some espresso. Mara doesn’t touch her espresso.
“I don’t like bitter food or drinks unless they have chocolate in them, and even then, I can barely stomach it.” She gathers her blonde hair in her hand and puts it up into a ponytail.
“Oh, you would love Alov’s cafe. Their pastries are to die for.” The cafe is just around the corner from our penthouse in Minneapolis, so Dad allows us to go there with one of our bodyguards.
“I wish I could visit it, but…” She shrugs one shoulder, and I nod in understanding.
“I’m going shopping tomorrow. If you want, I can ask Eli if you could come with me to get some clothes,” she suggests. I look down at the oversized joggers and hoodie that I’m wearing. I don’t think I’ve ever worn clothes that were four sizes too big.
“I hope I can, but if he doesn’t agree, could you grab me some basic clothes to wear? I’m a size 8. I’ll pay you back once I go back to Chicago.”
She takes a bite out of the Sfogliatella, some of it getting stuck around her mouth.
“No. Don’t worry about the money. I’ll get you some undergarments as well.”
After telling her my sizes and finishing dessert, I decide it’s best I go back upstairs. Mariana stops me halfway to Emiliano’s room.
“Hey, Val. I can call you Val, right?” She touches my arm lightly.
“Yes, of course. What’s up?” I ask. She gives me a wide smile, her smile lines more evident in her kind expression.
“If you want, I have another room that’s ready.” Her eyes search my face to see what my reaction is. I should accept it. Staying in another room is for the best because that man clearly messes with my brain worse than any drug my family distributes. If I stay in another room, I’ll be able to lock myself in there and avoid being alone with him.
“I think it’s best if I wait until your son comes back, just in case he doesn’t agree,” I say instead. Mariana’s eyes narrow, assessing my face before she nods.
“I don’t want to force you into doing something, and then end up having him take it out on you.” She walks me to the room before telling me goodnight and leaving. Sleep evades me and I settle in front of the fireplace on the couch to finish reading.
When a knock sounds from the other side of the door, I get up and make my way toward it. I open the door and find Mara standing there. She raises her index finger to her lips in a shushing motion, motioning for me to follow her. The hallway is eerily quiet, and I my stomach cramps at the prospect of being able to get away. Do I really want to leave? I mean, I want to leave and get away from my Dad, but… I shake my head. I should ignore the feeling that I’m betraying Emiliano. He’s not someone I should feel a sense of loyalty to. Mara twists her head to look back at me and motions for me to hurry up before turning back around. We reach the stairs, and she turns to look at me again.
“There’s a secret passageway. Eli knows about it, but he doesn’t use it. No one has really used it in about four years now.” She tries to keep her voice as low as possible as we slowly make our way down the stairs.
“Don’t you think it would be better if we act natural, like we’re going to the kitchen or something? Then we can say we weren’t doing anything wrong if someone catches us. If we keep acting like this, they’ll think we’re up to something,” I whisper back. She stops at the last step and looks at me, before giving me a small smile.
“You’re right. Come on, it’d be better if we didn’t get caught at all.”
She turns to the left of the second floor, leading me down a hallway I haven’t been in. The walls are different, fuchsia with swirls of black that create a look of overgrown roots coming from the ceiling. And instead of marble floors, a lime green carpet is in its place. The place resembles something out of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, with all the bright colors. We walk for two minutes, not talking to each other, but I can hear Mara muttering something under her breath. The hallway comes to a dead end with a large painting of a woman on the wall. Her eyes seem to glow like azure stones, her lips turned down in a frown. She looks young, but mature, as if she’s reaching her late thirties. She’s wearing a silver cocktail dress, and her hair is twisted in blonde curls that resemble gold rather than actual hair.
Mara steps toward the painting and grips the sides of it. She slides her hands up and down the frame, before something clicks softly. Stepping back, she pulls the right side of the painting with her and it opens like a door, revealing a small hallway in the wall, with light fixtures embedded in the ceiling.
“My nonno built this when the mafia had an all-out blood war with the Russians. He hid the entrance behind a painting of Nonna,” she tells me as she steps back and turns to face me.
“I don’t know how to express this, but I’m so grateful for this, Mara. Really, thank you.” I grip her hands in my own before I pull her in for a hug.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Valentina. Why are we the ones who always have to pay the price for the mistakes these men make? They always have to blame someone for their own shortcomings, and it's unfair. To you, and to every person out there. If I could help at least one person, then I've done some good.” Mara squeezes me tighter before pulling back. “Now come on. We have to get you out before someone comes back looking for you.” She moves toward the secret entrance and manages to pull herself up into the small hallway. Motioning for me to move closer, she grips a metal bar embedded into the side of the small hallway before she extends her other hand to me.
It takes a bit of an effort to get myself up there, even with Mara’s help, but once we’re both in there, she moves to the side.
“Could you stand over there? I need to close the entrance door and make sure it's secured.”
Once I’m out of her way, she pulls the back of the painting into place, which takes her a couple of seconds to do since the back seems to be made out of metal. The door latches with a hiss, engulfing the entire space with the orange hue of the lights in the ceiling. It takes a bit for my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting.
“Come on, we have to be quick. I don’t know what my brother would do if he caught us.”
The hallway is wide enough for Mara to walk past me, hunched over, to avoid bumping her head on the low ceiling.
“How long will it take for us to get outside?” I ask as I follow behind her. The farther we go down the hallway, the more damp the walls appear.
“I can’t go with you the whole way through, but I’ll get you past the confusing hallways that span the entire estate, and then you’ll be on your own till you reach the outside. Once you see the outside light, you’ll be just outside the estate gates, so be careful. Even though there aren’t any cameras installed over there, there’s still a chance my brother’s guards will catch you,” Mara explains as she continues to walk ahead of me. My nerves rachet higher at the possibility.
“What do I do when I get to the dock? I know you’ve already done a lot for me, and I’m grateful, but I’m not familiar with New Hampshire,” I ask, pushing a stray strand of hair out of my face.
“When you get there, a boy with cotton-colored hair should be waiting for you at dock number 6. He’ll take you anywhere you’d like to go.” Mara stops in front of me before turning her head to look at me. “This is as far as I can get you. If I’m gone any longer, they’ll find us.” She nods ahead of her. “Keep going forward, and you’ll reach the exit in about twenty minutes. I’ll try to create a distraction.”
“Thank you, Mara. I’m so grateful for your help. I understand that you’ve put yourself in an awkward position with your family just to help me, so thank you so much.” I step closer, and we both hug each other in the small space available.
“Go, you need to leave as soon as you can. Be careful, the hallway becomes narrower than this, but the ceiling gets higher,” she whispers into my hair, which urges me to move around her and start walking toward my freedom from this world. I can make out her retreating steps and then the silence.
I grip the wall of the hallway, as it is getting hard to see anything. Squinting, I finally make out the shape of a door with some light peeking through the sides. Hope fills me with energy and something else like excitement and nervousness for the future. I wish I didn’t have to choose between running away from the grasps of the Outfit, the Camorra, and my family. But I guess that isn’t in the cards for me. Once the Camorra returns me to the Outfit, there will be no way in hell that I’ll be able to get away. Security was already tight before the attack and now I can’t imagine how hard it would be to even breathe without that being reported.
I hate this shit, I hate it so much. Why do the men in our family get to do whatever the fuck they want? How come the Camorra can establish themselves as ruthless rulers, but treat their women better than the Outfit, who pride themselves with their honor? The hypocrisy that has prevailed within our family will be the end of the Outfit itself. Dad is trying to prevent it, but going with the same old traditions will only intensify the destruction. He may not realize it, but the Outfit will get what’s coming its way. And I’ll relish the destruction of the very foundation of their ancient traditions.
As I stop in front of the door that will lead me to my freedom, my breath catches and I look back at the hallway. Bye, Emiliano. I push on the latch, and the door slowly creaks open. Orange, I’m surrounded by a forest of trees, leaves crunching beneath my feet filling my ears as I run in the direction Mara directed me. It’s a blur from there. When I come to my senses again, I’m in front of the road, a bike hidden near the tree to my left. I don’t waste any time thinking as I pick it up and take it to the roadside. I debate whether that’s wise, then instead take it back to the grass area, making sure that I stay close to the forest edge.
I ride the bike for what seems forever, but I don’t stop. Everything around me is a blur as I cycle faster and faster, my chest rising so quickly I’m scared I’ll collapse. In the distance, I can see the ocean, which means I’m close. When I see the entrance of the dock, I slow down and relief fills me, but that is soon crushed.
Because right in my line of sight, I see a red Maserati. And who is leaning on the red Maserati, with a lit cigarette in his mouth? Who else other than Emiliano Folonari?
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I drop the bike and make a run for the dock. Maybe I still have a chance at getting away from all this crazy shit. That hope is crushed in less than a minute as the breath is knocked out of me when Emiliano’s arm wraps around my waist and he lifts me effortlessly.
“Be a good girl and follow me to the car like a civilized human being,” he whispers into my ear. His tone is harsh, cold, and uncaring.
“Let me go, Emiliano.” I don’t look at him, my eyes still longing to see the man with the cotton-colored hair, my salvation. “Please?” My voice breaks on the word, but he doesn’t answer me.
“I’m sorry, ragazza mocciosa, but you know I can’t do that.” He presses his lips to my ear, a sweet caress if only my eyes weren’t filling to the brim with tears. My nails dig into his arm as vengeance singes my blood. I don’t know where to direct my anger.
Emiliano practically drags me to the car, throws me in the back passenger seat, and slams my door, locking it. I sit there, shaking and numb, as he slides into the driver's seat. His eyes cut to mine before they return to the street, and he starts the car without saying a word.
We don’t speak the entire way back to the mansion, and soon enough, the gates are only a couple of feet away and they creak open for us. The car comes to a halt, neither of us making a move to get out. I can feel Emiliano’s eyes on me, and I return his gaze in the rear-view mirror.
“How could-” He pauses before starting again. “Do you understand the danger you put yourself in when you decided to run away?” His eyes are hardened, but a gleam of vulnerability shines there. I swallow the sudden guilt filling my veins like a traitorous poison.
“What you don’t realize, Emiliano, is that you and my Dad are the real dangers to me, so no, I don’t understand.”
I catch the hurt in his arctic eyes before they become vacant of all emotions. He gets out of the car, and then he’s dragging me to his room.
The door closes with a click, and I am back to exactly where I started. Emiliano advances on me like the predator he is, a determined look on his heavenly face. How can someone so devilish look so angelic? The backs of my knees hit the couch. and I tumble backwards with his arm encircling my waist, his face inches from mine.
“You think I’m a danger to you?” Emiliano’s voice is full of emotion, which takes me by surprise. Anger and something akin to hurt there as well, maybe sadness. “I would never hurt you, Valentina.” His voice is low with his admission, as if someone will hear him. I rest my palms against his rising chest, his heartbeat a drum that matches my own.
“I am your enemy. That is the reason you took me from my family,” I remind him, and his eyes soften as they take in my face.
“You are so much more than that,” he says before turning cold and distant all over again. “But you tried to run away.” Emiliano shoves me onto the couch. “It’s time for your punishment.” His words confuse me, and then he kneels in front of me, his hands pulling my jeans down along the way.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, nerves making my voice raspy.
“If I make you feel uncomfortable, or you no longer want to do this, then just say ‘twist,’ and I’ll stop. You won’t come until I allow you to, and if you come without my explicit instructions…let’s just say, you’ll regret it.” He yanks the jeans and panties down, ignoring my gasp.
His tattooed hands part my legs, lips leaving a blazing flame across my thighs as he kisses his way to my center. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sexier man in my entire life. Jesus, why does this man look this exquisite on his knees? He blows a breath over my pussy. And a small chuckle leaves his mouth when I suck in a sharp breath. Brushing two fingers over my wet folds, I whimper as I move my hips upwards to push his fingers in.
“So wet for me, and here I thought you fucking hate me,” he says, amused. “Move another inch, Valentina, and I’ll spank you till your ass is covered in blood.” I don’t know why, but his warning causes goosebumps to skitter across my arms and down body, my stomach clenching at the timber in his voice.
Bringing his face forward, he flattens his tongue against me. The slow laps along my wet folds drive me to the brink of madness, and I fight the urge to push myself farther into his face. Instead, I lace my fingers through his silken hair, my head falling to the backrest of the couch.
“Eyes on me, or I’ll fuck you to within an inch of your life and it won’t be with my cock.” Emiliano taps my thigh, and I snap my eyes back to his. They hold me captive as he continues his torturous rhythm. “Beg me, beg me to let you come.” His command is clear as day, even though his face is buried in between my thighs.
“Please, let me come, I’m begging you.” I tug at his raven strands, and I can feel the smirk that paints his lips as they rest against me.
“No,” he answers, before his teeth sink into the side of my inner thigh. I throw my head back on a half moan, half scream. The pain is quick to dissipate, pleasure taking its place as his tongue soothes the bite before he goes back to lapping at my pussy.
A low hum builds in my lower abdomen, so close, but so far away. Emiliano sinks his tongue inside me, swirling it around before he groans in approval.
“So delicious, so mine. Your taste is the best taste I’ve had the honor to have in my mouth. But you go and fucking ruin this perfection by trying to get away.” His strong hands press against the flesh of my thighs, and I’m sure there will be bruises tomorrow, but the pleasure is too much for me to care. “Tell me you’re mine, tell me that I’m the only man you’ll let have you, own you, mark you, fuck and degrade you as I please. And I’ll let you come.”
My chest heaves as I tug even more at his hair, writhing against him.
“You lied two seconds ago. How do I know you’ll let me come this time?” I pant. His lips are feather light as he kisses my inner thighs again.
“I swear on my honor, Valentina.” This time, he does something that makes me release a strangled noise as he flicks my clit with his tongue more than once.
“I’m yours, I’m yours.”
“Say that you’re my property. Mine to fuck and mine to do as I please.”
“I am Emiliano Folonari’s property. I am yours to fuck and yours to do what you want with,” I breathe out in a rush. That is enough to spur him on because he not only delves into me with his mouth, but he also adds his fingers, two and then three, to be exact.
“Let me tell you this, Val, if you try to run again, I’ll pump you so full of my cum till it leaks out of you for days,” he growls against my center. “Come for me, Val, come for me and let me taste your sweet release.” His words send a hot trail of fire across my skin, and I come with a loud moan, but Emiliano doesn’t stop until I’m completely spent.
He stands and tugs my panties and jeans up to my knees. My face flushes red when I see something glisten on his chin, and I realize it's my arousal. I turn my head to look anywhere but at him, but he places two fingers under my chin and turns my attention back to him.
“I think we’re way past you being shy.” His fingers move back and forth over my cheek, his eyes glazing as if he’s thinking of something else. He shakes his head before he says, “Get some sleep. I need to find out how you got out. And don’t try to do that again.”
* * *
By the time I wake up, it’s around noon, if the clock on the fireplace is anything to go by. A groan leaves my lips, as trying to move my stiff neck is a mistake. This is what I get for sleeping on the couch. My back hurts like a bitch, and my limbs feel like I haven't moved them in a century. They’re so sore that even when I run my palm over my calves, it barely registers. I can’t stand on my feet without wincing as I try to make my way into the bedroom to get to the bathroom.
My mood only worsens when I finally see the state of my hair. I try to free some of the knots by threading my fingers through them. But it doesn’t help and my fingers get stuck in different sections every time.
I rummage through Emiliano’s bathroom drawers, finding a bunch of miscellaneous things. Toothpicks, floss, shaving cream, nail clippers, some scissors and a couple of razors. Opening the cabinet below the drawer, my nose wrinkles when I spot a red thong. Gross. I shut the cabinet and move to the other side of the two sinks.
When I find a brush in there, I take it without looking further. I’ve traumatized myself enough for the next lifetime. I also don’t feel like examining whatever ugly green monster decided to peek out from the depths of my mind. Biting my lip, I swallow my scream. I don’t know why brushing my hair hurts, even as I start from the bottom of my hair.
After enduring the pain of pulling out what seems like half of my hair, I hop in the shower. When I first took a shower here, I was surprised to see that Emiliano uses a strawberry-scented shampoo and conditioner. I thought someone like him would use something like fresh fall. Whatever the fuck that means. I grab the loofah that I got from one of his cabinets and lather it with the body wash. It smells exactly like him, which causes my skin to tingle and my stomach to clench. I ignore the feeling.
Once I step into the bedroom, I notice it’s been cleaned up and some bags are set in the corner. Mara was probably not able to convince Emiliano to let me go with her if the bags have the clothes she offered to get me, especially after the stunt I pulled yesterday. My suspicion is confirmed when I rummage through the bags to find two sets of jeans and some cute tops, two pajama sets, some underwear, bras, and a cute pale blue dress, all in my size. I settle on some blush-colored panties and a matching bra. Then I grab a pair of black joggers and the matching hoodie before leaving the bedroom. My stomach grumbles, and I decide to grab the tray of food from last night and take it downstairs. ?
My mood takes an ugly turn once I enter the kitchen and spot the woman from yesterday, Ginevra, standing close to Emiliano with one hand resting on his chest. Her finger is making small circles as she speaks in a hushed voice. They don’t seem to notice me, and my throat tightens. I try to swallow to get some self-control back, but it does nothing. This isn’t the way I should be reacting. I breathe in deeply and gently place the tray on the island table, and ignoring them, I turn to face Lydia who’s just come out of the pantry.
“Hi, Val, would you like me to prepare you something?” she asks me as she moves around the kitchen with a soft smile on her face. I can see that Emiliano has pushed Ginevra away from him because she stands scowling at me while he’s leaning on the counter and watching me. I follow Lydia around the kitchen.
“Could you just show me where the bread and jam are?” I ask, and she nods and walks toward the marble counters lining the wall that faces the garden. I go to follow her, when a large hand wraps around my wrist. I turn to see Emiliano still leaning on the counter with an amused look in his eyes, but otherwise his face is a mask of indifference. I narrow my eyes at him before trying to yank my wrist out of his hold. It doesn’t work. He pulls me closer to him and we stand face to face.
“Lydia, could you please toast two pieces of bread with some jam on the side and put it all on a tray to have Ginevra bring it up to my room?” he says while still assessing me. I continue to scowl at him, trying to free my wrist from his grasp. Emiliano slowly stands up without letting my wrist go and drags me along, all the way back up to his room. He only releases me once we’re inside and he’s sat in one of the armchairs. I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him, standing between his legs. He watches me with a slight smile on his lips, his dimples winking at me.
“What do you want?” I ask. His smile widens, and my heart does a weird flutter.
“You’re jealous.” He leans back, his thumb brushing his clean-shaven jaw lightly.
“I am not. I don’t get jealous, first of all. Second of all, there’s nothing to be jealous of and, besides, why should I be jealous?” I argue. The smug bastard laughs. I must be starving because my stomach feels all fuzzy. “I want to go back to Chicago. When can I-” I'm cut off when he grabs my arm and yanks me to straddle him on the armchair. My legs land on either side of his hips, my chest pressing against his and my hands landing on his shoulders. His hands grasp my hips, squeezing slightly.
“You’re not going anywhere unless I decide so,” he growls, with a look of cold anger. I press his shoulders back to get up, but he snakes his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against him. Leaning forward, he runs his nose down my throat, inhaling deeply.
“You smell of me.”
“I used your body wash, sorry,” I mumble. His lips lightly kiss my throat.
“Don’t be. I think I prefer you smelling like me than anything else,” he whispers. My lips part on a low moan comes out when his tongue slowly trails up my neck before he bites it. A knock breaks through the little bubble around us, and I begin to wiggle around to get free, but he just holds me in place, not allowing me out of his arms.
“Who is it?” He doesn’t make a move, his head still in front of my neck and his fingers still sunken into my sides.
“Ginevra. I have the tray you asked for,” she says from the other side of the door, and I roll my eyes as I push harder on his shoulders to get free. His hold tightens.
“Stop moving, or I’ll fuck you just like this in front of her,” he warns.
“Come in, Ginevra.” The sound of the door opening and closing echoes in the room. My back prickles with the sensation of someone watching me. I hear the clatter of plates on a tray as they get closer.
“Do you need anything else, boss?” she asks. Emiliano doesn’t stop his light kisses on my neck, causing me to sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning. I feel one of his arms move. The sound of retreating steps and the door closing is all that I hear after that. He pulls back, regarding my face.
“Ginevra is just one of the maids here.”
It feels like I’m rolling my eyes a lot around this man, and when I try to get up again, this time, he lets me. The tray is placed on the coffee table, and I stomp my way to the couch near it.
Once I sit down, and my eyes dart back to Emiliano, I find him watching me once more, his thumb toying with his bottom lip. I scowl, but it has no heat behind it because that’s all going to my cheeks. He slips his hand into his suit pocket and pulls out a tiny medicine box.
“What’s that?” I ask. His eyes flick from the box back to me, and then down the length of my body, leaving a hot trail behind. Emiliano looks like he’s ready to devour me in a beat. My skin pebbles and my neck feels weirdly warm.
“Birth control. It’s a patch.”
My eyes narrow into slits as I cross my arms over my chest.
“What for?” I ask.
He gives me a smug smirk before twirling the box between two fingers.
“For when I fuck you.” This man has such a filthy mouth, he’d make Lucifer blush.
“Who said anything about you fucking me, let alone without a condom?” I ask. His cold eyes drag over my face, gauging my feelings. The smug smirk is replaced by cold indifference.
“I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he tells me. I’m inclined to believe him, but after what I saw in the kitchen, I think he might be a bit of a man-whore.
“How the hell have you stayed clean if you don’t even use a condom?” I ask. A corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.
“I’ve never not used a condom, and everyone I’ve been with physically had been tested beforehand. And you were begging me to fuck you a couple of hours ago, or have you forgotten?” he teases.
“I guess being Capo has finally driven you to madness,” I say, rolling my eyes. He runs his tongue across his top teeth, like the predator watching its prey.
“No, the only thing that has driven me to true madness is your insistence on delaying what is going to happen. Now eat, and if you keep rolling your eyes, I’ll make sure they’ll stay there permanently when I fuck that attitude out of you,” he says, and my stomach flips. I take a bite out of the toast as I give Emiliano a glare. “Eat up, ragazza mocciosa, because once you're done, I’m filling you up with something entirely different.”
The insinuation isn’t lost on me, and I choke on the bite of toast I’d taken. He gets up and pours me a cup of water before handing it to me, rubbing my back as I gulp down the water. I huff out a breath once I finish the glass, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on my back.
I shuffle across the couch, away from his touch, and focus on the tray. He doesn’t comment or touch me again, keeping his distance, but I can feel the weight of his stare.
“What makes you think I’ll agree to do anything with you?” I know I’m only saying that to provoke him, but he doesn’t know that.
“Bullshit. What changed?” he asks.
I turn to look at him, to make out his expression, but his face is an unreadable mask. I shrug.
“You’re just not my type. And I don’t like tattoos. You have a lot of them.” A fucking lie. He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, and I give him a look telling him I don’t give two shits.
“Stop lying. I can still fucking smell you on my hand, not my fingers, my fucking hand because you were so wet. For me.”
My entire face feels like it’s on fire, and I stuff my mouth with the last piece of toast to avoid saying anything. I dust off the crumbs off my fingers, lips, and joggers before standing up. I quickly make my way to the bathroom, but I don’t reach it because Emiliano follows close behind me, locks the door, and grabs me by the waist.