I whimpered.
“You feel how fucking hard you make me? It’s that fight of yours. Even if you don’t speak, I see it in your eyes.” He pressed my palm harder against him. “It makes me so fucking hard, all I can think about is bending you over and fucking you until every last ounce of fight you have inside you dies like a delicate, vulnerable, withering little flower.”
Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes as I turned to look at the bodyguards. Why weren’t they helping me? Why were they just standing there, not even looking our way?
With a tight grip around my neck, he jerked my head to face him again. The edges of his mouth curved with malicious intent. “Are you wondering why they aren’t helping you?”
I gasped, my lungs no longer expanding with air.
“You see, Layla, my father isn’t always the fucking dictator. He’s losing his ability to lead. After his own son defied him, getting killed in the process, his authority is being questioned by a lot of important people. If he can’t even control his own son—or sons,” he smirked, “how can he lead an entire family?”
He let go of my hand, only to force his between my legs. I cried through gagging and gasping, my body numb from the invasion. His lips touched my ear, and I shuddered as his warm breath slithered across my skin. “So, tell me, Layla. Tell me what the fuck is stopping me from pushing my cock so deep inside that sweet cunt of yours, fucking the last breath out of you?”
Tears trickled down my cheeks, and he pulled his hand from between my legs, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “And if you’re lucky, I’ll let yourvaliantmafia prince watch.”
The excitement in his hard, low voice sent a shudder of fear throughout my body. My knees threatened to give way, and all I could do was pray my life would end before he had the chance to tear my soul from my body in the most horrific way.
For a few seconds, his grip tightened to the point I thought I would pass out. Black shadows invaded my vision, my throat and chest burning as he buried his fingers deeper. Then suddenly, he let go of my throat, and I hunched over, coughing and gagging, desperate to take a decent breath. My body was weak, my legs numb. My attention turned to the pouch I still clutched in my hand. My hate for this man had outweighed my need for a hit. At that moment, I wanted to shove that needle into the skin of the son of bitch standing before me, rather than my own. It was him I wanted to poison more than myself.
I tightened my grip on the pouch, embracing the rage which consumed me little by little.
Then the sound of a phone ringing pulled me from the anger that almost made me act on impulse.
Matteo pulled the phone from his pocket, still staring at me like I was fucking dinner. I held my breath, praying to God he would answer it, that he would divert his attention away from me.
He straightened, and I exhaled.
“What?” he growled into the receiver. A few seconds later, he turned away. “Dad, what’s going on? What? How is that possible? Who the fuck would…? Yes. I’m on my way. What? Why?” He turned to look at me, and I swallowed hard. “Yes. I’ll bring her with.”
He hung up, grooves of anger forming on his forehead. My curiosity was piqued. Anything that angered Matteo had the tendency to affect me in some way or the other.
“Seems like we have someone meddling in our business.” He said it as if I had to know what the fuck he was talking about. I remained silent while he rubbed his chin, seemingly deep in thought. “I have no idea what the hell is going on, but since my father ordered me to bring you with me, that gives me the idea it has something to do with your pussy-whipped boyfriend.”
“Dante.” I breathed out his name like a prayer for my goddamn salvation.
“Yeah.” He grabbed the pouch from my hand, and instinctively I tried to get it back. But Matteo managed to grab a fistful of my hair and swung me back. My ass hit the floor just before the side of my face connected with the corner of a marble table. Pain exploded through my skull and the sound of shattering glass sliced through my ears. The crystal vase which stood on the table was now laying in pieces next to me on the floor.
“Now see what you’ve done. Fucking junkie.” Matteo held up the pouch. “You broke a two-thousand-dollar vase just because you wanted a tiny little fix.”
I cringed as I touched the broken flesh next to my eye, blood painted on my fingertips.
“Get up, you fucking cunt.” Matteo pulled me up by my hair, and I cried out in pain, my skull on fire, and the wound on my face aching and pounding like a bitch. But even through all the pain, the shock, my body still craved the heroin. My stomach clenched, and I couldn’t take a decent breath as it seemed like panic filled my lungs instead of air.
“Matteo,” I said softly, “please.”
He dangled the pouch in front of my face like a spoiled little brat. “You want this?”
All I could do was nod. “Please.”
A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I think we’ll keep this. You know, until we meet up with your prince and the rest of his royal cocksuckers. That way he can watch as you push the needle into your skin yourself.” He pulled me closer, his face inches from me. “Maybe then he’ll realize you’re no longer worth fighting for.”
My jaw clenched as I tried to bite back the tears, the heartache. Matteo was a heartless son of a bitch who thrived on the pain and suffering of others. But a part of me feared what he said would be true.
What if Dante realized I wasn’t worth it?
It doesn’t matter, because you’ll probably be dead anyway.
Fingertips which only agitated my skin more traveled down my arm before wrapping around my wrist. “Get ready, Layla. I have a feeling this war ends tonight.”