“What?” I stare at him in horror. “No, I’m not taking my fucking panties off–”
“Sasha–” There’s a clear warning in his voice. “Do it now, or I will do it for you.”
That’s thelastthing I want. I don’t want to be completely naked under the dress, but I want Art’s hands that close to me, much less.
“I hate you,” I grit out, shoving the cotton panties down my hips. I’d shaved a little while back, in hopes that Max and I might end up in bed together again and that he might like it, and now I wish I hadn’t. I’d give just about anything for some barrier between my skin and Art’s eyes.
“Mm.” The grunt of pleasure he makes sends a wave of disgust over me. “You have such a pretty pussy, Sasha. I’ll make sure I fuck it the way it deserves.” He nods toward the dress. “If you’re a good girl tonight and behave, you won’t end up with my fingers inside it at the dinner table.”
He smirks at me, and my skin goes cold. “Unless, of course, you decide you want them there. Feel free to act out then, Sasha. Maybe I’ll show you off to our host. Let him see how prettily you come with tears streaming down your face.”
Putting on the dress is easier than it was before. I’d put anything on to be clothed again. I hate being naked in front of Art, seeing his eyes rake hungrily over me, so similar to Max’s except in intent. It’s like seeing an evil facsimile of Max in front of me, Max, if someone tried to draw him from memory, different but still close enough for it to be all the more sickening when Art lets me know just how much he’s looking forward to violating me.
I yank the zipper down, pulling the flimsy, silky material over my head. I’m in a rush to be covered, but I make sure to be careful–the last thing I want is to rip it and give Art an excuse to drag me downstairs bare after all.
It slithers over my body, clinging to me in all the right–or in this case, all thewrong–places. The fine red silk molds against my breasts and my hips and thighs, falling open on both sides at mid-thigh. The reinforced v of the neckline comes down to my ribs, holding my breasts in with the slight curve and underneath of them on display, somehow sexier than if I’d been naked. I’m no longer sure, actually, which one is worse.
This is a dress meant for a woman who wants to be looked at, admired,lustedafter. It’s not me at all, and I feel distinctly uncomfortable in it, all the more so when Art steps towards me.
“Turn around,” he instructs. “So I can zip you up.”
I’m past arguing. There’s no point any longer, not right now.Pick your battles,I tell myself, but it’s more difficult than ever when Art’s fingers skim up my spine, sliding into the silk to caress the sides of my breasts before he draws his hands back, pulling up the zipper.
“If you’re good,” he murmurs, “I can show you just how good I can be to you, Sasha. It doesn’t have to be this way. I like pain–” He slides his hand up my front, pinching my nipple through the silk, hard enough that I have to sink my teeth into my lip to keep from crying out. “But I also enjoy giving pleasure. I’ll enjoy breaking you,mia bella, if need be. But I would enjoy you giving yourself to me just as much.”
He turns me to face him, and I look up, mustering every bit of disdain that I can plaster over my pale face. “You’d enjoy either, only because it’s taking something from Max,” I spit out. “So if I have any say in it, you’ll never get me. Not willingly or by force. I don’t want to give you the pleasure.”
Art’s expression turns ugly again. “You’ll give me pleasure one way or another, Sasha. You choose.” He pushes my hair out of my face, running his fingers through it. They catch painfully on the tangles, and I wince despite myself. “Is death really better?”
“Than fucking you? Absolutely.”
He laughs, a cold bark of a sound as he steps back. “Go brush your hair. Quickly. Edo is waiting on us.”
I hated the man who raped me in the warehouse and stole my virginity. I hated Alexei for what he did to all of us. But at this moment, I’m not sure I’ve ever hated anyone this much. It might be because it’s the freshest hurt, the most present danger, but I hate Art with a ferocity that makes me feel as if it might make me come apart at the seams.
I’d rather die than let him touch me. But I hope before that happens, I get the chance to hurt him for what he did to Max.
This time, I want to be the one to get my revenge.
6
SASHA
I barely notice the house around me as Art and I walk downstairs, my arm painfully pinioned in his elbow in a mockery of a couple going to dinner together. It hardly matters to me; it looks the same as every other wealthy mafia family’s home, as far as I’m concerned. Luxurious, expensive, and made to showcase power and money. I’ve never met Edo Casciani, and I never intended to, but I hate him already all the same. It’s his daughter that Max was meant to marry, and though I can’t hate her when she’s dead, I can hate him just fine.
When we step into the dining room, the man that I assume is Edo Casciani is already sitting at the head of it–and my world spins to a stop as the pieces fall into place.
I’ve seen the grey-haired, barrel-chested man at the table before.
The last time I saw him, he was pushing the muzzle of a gun into the belly of the man I loved–right before he pulled the trigger.
I realize, with a sickening wave in the same horrifying moment, that I’m probably wearing his daughter’s clothes.
“You–” I breathe the word, feeling my throat close over with emotion. I try to jerk myself free of Art’s grip as my other hand fists at my side, but Art holds me there, pinned to him. “You killed Max!”
Edo looks down the table at me, his face calm and impassive. “I shot the man responsible for my daughter’s death, yes. You must be very new to this world, if that shocks you, little one.”
I feel cold down to the marrow of my bones, as if I’m already a corpse, too. “That wasn’t Max’s fault,” I whisper.