FuckPaolo.
“You know, you’re just as disgusting as your boss.”
There’s that sigh again. I wait for Scarface to come to me. I’m sitting with my back to him, and I tuck my feet underneath me and get ready to spring.
“The harder you make this, the—”
His hand touches my shoulder, and I jump. I crash my head back and hit something hard. Scarface curses under his breath.
I crawl as fast as I can to the other side of the bed and jump down, but he’s already there. Blood runs from his nose, and his stone face has heat in it now.
I lift my knee to kick his groin, but he catches it and spins me around.
“Let me go!” I scream, bucking as he presses my face into the mattress. He pushes between my shoulder blades and holds me there while he leans over and pulls something from a drawer in the nightstand.
“I’m not Paolo’s goddamn property! I don’t consent to this!”
Scarface straps my wrists behind my back with leather bindings, and then he lifts me onto the bed. I try to scramble, but he pulls me back to him by my hair. My eyes clench shut, and my teeth grind. He jerks me upright, and my arms stretch when he pulls.
He secures my ankles with two more leather straps, and when he lets go, I still can’t bring my arms up. They’re secured to the ankle restraints with only a couple inches of leeway.
He presses his knees into the mattress and lifts me. He tosses me into the middle of the bed and then hauls me up into a sitting position when I fall over.
I can barely move at all, and in order to keep my arms from straining too much, I have to keep my knees apart. I take in deep breaths and stare up at the ceiling. Scarface plants his feet on the floor and walks away, his own breaths coming out heavy.
“Hey, Scarface?” I say when he’s halfway to the door. He stops, his hands clenching at his sides. “Fuck you.”
He stomps the rest of the way to the door, opens it, and slams it behind him.
Minutes blur into an indeterminable amount of time. I think about what I’ll do when the big man comes. What I’ll say that will get me out of this. I wonder if he’ll even care.
My thoughts drift, and I think of Paolo. My father. My life.
I think of Settimo. The way his hands felt on my hips and the alcohol on his breath. The way I cried after he left and the sorrow I felt. I’ve questioned the decision to let him fuck me every night since it happened, laying in my bed staring at the ceiling like I’m doing now in this room. I’ll never question that decision again. However much pain I felt then, however impersonal the encounter may have been, it will always be more pleasant than whatever will happen here.
I’ve memorized the tiny imperfections in the ceiling by the time the door opens again.
I whip my head down and stare at the entryway. My heart hammers in my chest, and while my full intention is to tell this man exactly what I think of him, I’m struck with fear.
The door opens fully, and a man steps through. Recognition hits and my mouth falls open. My eyes bulge… and then they narrow.
“You.”
5
SETTIMO
“You.”
I chuckle. “Me?”
Alex struggles against the binds, her silky hair swaying with every jerk. My hand twitches at an image of having that hair wrapped around my fist.
“Undo these right the fuck now.”
I arch a brow and lean against the door frame.
“I’m leaving,” she says with conviction.