A doorway opens to the only bedroom in the cabin. The door’s ajar. There’s a queen-sized bed covered with a quilt, a pile of folded blankets, and wooden end tables on either side of the bed, each with a few books on top.
I take this all in in seconds, and since it isn’t my first time here, I only look for anything that’s changed. The only difference is that this visit, I have supplies already laid out for us.
I pull out one of the chairs by the table, fold myself into the seat, then draw Vivia onto my knee. I’d have to be blind and heartless not to respond to the soft, gentle weight of the beautiful woman in my lap.
Alone in the woods with full control over a stunning woman? No one can hear us for miles? Twist my arm.
We’re going to become very, very intimate over the next few days whether she likes it or not. And that starts now.
She doesn’t protest when I sit her on my knee, nor when I reach for her gag and unfasten it. She opens and closes her mouth, then releases a labored sigh before I unfasten the blindfold. I watch as she blinks, unaccustomed to the bright natural light filtering in through a window.
I spin her around to face me and hold her chin between my fingers. “I’ll only take the restraints off your wrists under one condition.”
She nods, probably not trusting herself to speak.
“You’ll do exactly what I say. You heard your cousin, and you’re a smart girl. You know what these stakes are, don’t you?”
She nods.
“Then tell me. What will happen if you disobey me?”
“I’m sure you’ll punish me,” she says, disgust coating her voice.
“I will. And what will happen if you try to get away?”
“You’ll catch me and punish me again.” The way she grits her teeth suggests she’s schooling her features so she doesn’t roll her eyes. Smart girl knowing that wouldn’t go over very well.
“Precisely. Would you like a few minutes of freedom?”
She grits her teeth. “I’d like a lot more than a few minutes of freedom but yes, of course, I would like at least that.”
“You’re a long, long way off from earning full freedom, Vivia. You’re being accused of some of the most serious offenses our families have ever known. The fact that you’re even here with me is a mercy.”
Her lips thin. I doubt she’d phrase it quite that way.
“For now, you can answer some questions for me. I’m an excellent judge of character. So it’s in your best interest to answer as truthfully as possible. If you do, I’ll completely unfasten your bonds and let you use the bathroom.”
I watch as her back goes ramrod straight. She narrows her eyes at me. “I’d be grateful for that.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “You like me sitting in your lap.” She squirms on my lap, holding my gaze. I don’t know if she’s uncomfortable or trying to get a rise out of me.
“Of course. You’re beautiful. I might have a job to do, but I’m not dead.”
Something shifts in her eyes. It isn’t the first time I’ve noticed a response to a compliment. I keep note of this because I can use it to my full advantage.
“We’re going to start with some very simple questions. Straightforward answers. Don’t sugarcoat anything. Understood?”
She swallows hard. I can’t help but notice how thin and vulnerable the skin at her neck is.
“Yes, of course.”
I have a few ways I could interrogate her. Brute force is one, but with a woman like her that likely isn’t going to go over too well. If she’s been raised in the mob, she’s probably more accustomed to brute force than anything else.
I’ll try another method.
“What was your childhood like?”
No reaction at first, then she clears her throat. She likes to think before she speaks, then. Formulates her words. “You probably know more about the Rossi family than any other family, I’d guess. Our childhood in some ways was very similar. We had similar expectations. My father, like theirs, was heavy-handed and authoritarian. He thought nothing of harsh, vicious punishment at the slightest sign of what he’d call disobedience. His favorite expression was ‘Mazze e panelle fanno i figli belli.’”
Ah. I’m familiar with his favorite saying. Literally translated, it means “sticks and bread make beautiful children.” In other words, hard discipline and good food are the recipe for a good childhood. Most of us grew up with a variation on the principle. My grandma used to say walk softly and carry a heavy wooden spoon. Good times.