As pretty and youthful as she was, I assumed Roberto made regular use of her. My rage amplified exponentially, especially when I noted a row of finger-sized bruises circling one of her wrists.
Anger festering, I submitted to a shower. I didn’t want the girl to get into any trouble on my account. Beneath the hot water and soapy suds, I tried to scrub the pain away and let go of any self-pitying notions. But nothing would relieve the intense sadness now that I knew what was to become of my life from here on out.
Afterward, the young woman sat me at a vanity.
“What’s your name?” I tried once more. “I’m Lucia. I’m not going to get you in trouble. I just want to help.”
“No one can help.” She spoke in very softly accented English.
Then she bit her lip, plugged in the hair dryer, and gave no further comment. Standing behind me, she wielded a brush and the dryer, arranging my hair. After one glance at my visage in the mirror, which revealed the swelling bruise on my cheek from Sabato’s cane, I cast my eyes down too.
“I can do that,” I said to her.
“No, no. He make me do or I get in trouble.”
I resigned myself to her care, sitting there in a thick robe.
She had a light touch and nimble fingers, and I wondered how long she’d been in the possession of these men without the company of a woman.
My hand rose toward her, and she flinched away.
Wanting only to give her some sort of comfort, I touched her fingers lightly and said, “It will be okay.”
Except I didn’t know that it would be. Certainly not for me.
After she shut off the dryer, she crouched to eye level with me.
She clasped my hands in hers and whispered timidly, “I am Russian.”
Surprise splashed over me like cold water. So, the Rossi family didn’t just harvest from their own countrywomen. I wondered what Arkady would make of this . . . then again, he would never find out. Not now.
“My name”—she pointed at her chest—“Valeria.”
“I’m so glad to meet you, Valeria.”
She nodded then raised a finger to her lips and again notched her chin toward the doorway.
They listened.
She brought out makeup and prepared to apply it as she squinted at the latest raw, red streak across my face.
I stopped her. “No. Sabato did this to me. Let him see his handiwork.”
For the first time, I saw a glinting sparkle in her eyes as if she approved of my decision.
Next, Valeria pointed toward the bed where clothing had been arranged for me.
I immediately wrinkled my nose at the garb, the material slithering through my fingertips. The glittery, figure hugging gown gave gaudy a whole new name, giant crystals decorating a plunging neckline. I knew without doubt either Sabato or his son had chosen the tacky dress, and chills of revulsion rose all along my flesh.
Arkady had once picked out an outfit for me.
He’d chosen tastefully.
With Arkady, I’d been invigorated.
With this Sicilian mobster, I felt the heavy weight of lifelessness spread over me, but I remembered Arkady’s fighting spirit and was determined this wasn’t the end.
Dressed in the slutty gown and wearing strappy high heels that would never find their way into my wardrobe, I made my way into the lion’s den. And I did no such thing as plaster a smile on my face.
I wasn’t resigned to my fate. Not at all. If nothing else, I could probably kill the wheezy old bastard in his sleep.
Both repugnant men stood to attention when I entered the lounge—the elder not quite as straight with his stooped over stance. Their eyes cruised over me with equal amounts of revolting greed.
When Sabato crooked out his arm I dutifully took it, swallowing bile down my throat.
Dinner was a complete farce.
The pair of them ate like hogs at the trough and spoke among themselves. The only attention given to me were their twin disgusting gazes grazing across my lewdly displayed cleavage time and again.
At one point, Sabato’s beady eyes landed on the bruise across my cheek, and he scowled.
I smiled with seeming guilelessness. I probably wasn’t the bargain he’d hoped for, and I definitely wasn’t going to be his little breeding mafia princess.
Fuck him.
“Eat,” he mumbled.
“Surprisingly, I’m not all that hungry.” I laid my napkin beside my full plate and set about drinking plenty of wine.
He and his son would soon learn I didn’t take orders unless the man giving the commands was named Arkady Krasnov after he tied me up to a cross before spanking an orgasm out of me.
With last night’s revelations I’d thought I was completely alone. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Then I’d still had the attention, protection, and care of the Zolotov underboss.
Now, with my father’s plans coming to fruition, the sense of complete isolation was real.
I had to rely on my own smarts and savvy.
Even worse, that disgusting son of Sabato’s reminded me of the pig Augustu. I could tell with every longer, lingering sweep of his hungry eyes over me, he couldn’t wait to have his way with me.
When had I fallen for my forceful Russian? When had I begun to ache for Arkady’s special brand of sensual torture that was the only thing capable of taking away my pain?
To see him subjected to the voltages over and over again without so much as a whimper. To hear him shout for me with such a thunderous timbre.
To think I could have loved him and he me . . .
My father didn’t even bother to bring me my prescriptions. Only the Bratva underboss cared enough about me to check in, take time, take care of me.
Eventually, bedtime arrived. It seemed Sabato needed his rest, as he deemed we retire at the late, late hour of nine pm . . . what a joke.
I wished for a reprieve from the lecherous son and his overbearing father. Well, at least I’d be free of one of them. But did that mean Valeria had to entertain Roberto through the night?
I hated the idea of the Rossi son forcing himself on her as much as I despised the thought of sleeping in a bed next to Sabato.
I waltzed into the bedroom ahead of him, because he shuffled along at a slow pace with the aid of his cane. Sprightly he was not.
“You may get ready for bed,” he uttered in reedy gasps as if each breath pained him.
I wasn’t surprised—but I was amused—to see he traveled with a sleep apnea machine.
Perhaps I could just tempt the doddering old fuck to the balcony. Throw the ancient asshole off the edge and make a run for it.
Then I noticed bulky dim shadows lingering out there too. With his soldiers patrolling the balcony, Sabato left nothing to chance.
“I suppose you’ve picked out my nightwear as well?”
He waved a hand toward the vanity. “Sì, I have provided your trousseau.”
Sucking in my cheeks, I rolled my eyes.
Whereas Arkady’s gesture—even though he’d broken into my apartment—had almost been touching, the fact that this geezer had bought me a whole new wardrobe was nothing short of gross.
Atop the bench of the vanity a revealing, sheer negligee had been laid out.
Outright defiance wouldn’t do me any good at this point. He couldn’t keep me under lock and key forever. I just had to bide my time.
Inside the bathroom, I removed the slut gown and strumpet heels.