Her - cotton_tail - 365 Dni | 365 Days Series (2024)

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Text

I’ll go crazy if I don’t find her.

“I’ll take over the company whether the Manentes like it or not.” He took off his jacket and undid the top button of his shirt, then returned to looking out the window of the speeding limo in vain for her. One of his lieutenants responded something.

“It’ll be better for everyone this way.” He responded into his phone, his tone bored, as he tried to scan the pedestrian faces. “They’ll thank me later,” he hung up.

His phone chirped, another message from Anna. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to deal with her.

I’ll go crazy if I don’t find her.

I'm never going to find her.

I'm going to go crazy.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

And there she was again. Five years since the accident, five years since the dream…the doctors had called it a comatose dream. They had said that she was likely someone he had met at one point in his life, and found attractive, but didn't remember. They said she didn't matter. That she existed in his brain only. That she was just there while he slept...something his brain did while it was recovering. That he would forget the children they'd had. That he'd forget the dream. That he would, eventually, forget her. But he had spent five years dreaming about a woman he knew he had met once. He could smell her dark hair, it smelled like flower blossoms, he could smell her skin, it smelled like honey, he could look into her blue eyes rimmed with dark lashes. He could almost feel the smoothness of her lips against him. Whenever he was weak and f*cked Anna or someone else, he always imagined her… his curse, his obsession… his treasure. Tesoro.

When the car stopped in front of the tarmac, he saw Domenico, Mario, and a few others waiting for him to board the small private jet first. The pilot greeted him when they entered the plane. A flight attendant passed him a glass of neat whisky.

He paid no attention to her as she flushed when their fingers grazed each other when she passed him another whisky when they plane was cruising at altitude. Over the course of the next whisky, he turned when he felt her dark eyes piercing him like daggers. He handed the drink to his half-brother, took her to the lavatory and f*cked her mouth with little interest.

Then he returned to his seat, sipped his whisky, while she cleaned up the mess in the lavatory they’d defiled.

Mario put down his newspaper, “Back in your father’s day, they’d shoot us all dead.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Back in my fathers day we used to bootleg. Now we run the biggest companies in Europe.” He sipped his whisky and raised an eyebrow at his consigliere. “I am the head of the Torricelli family and the new era, unless you wish to bring back to the old ways.”

Mario swallowed roughly.

“If you want a nice shooting, you may have a new opportunity.” Massimo said, allowing Mario to relax. “Domenico-” he turned to look at his brother, “-tell your men to start looking for Alfredo.”

He finished his whisky.

The sun over Sicily was setting when they landed in Catania. The scorching hot Sicilian sun blasting his skin and eyes, he put his sunglasses on. Mount Etna loomed in the horizon–perfectly visible.

Tourists should be happy , he thought as they entered the air-conditioned building.

“The guys from Aruba want to meet with you, about the issues we talked about earlier.” Domenico said, walking by his side. “We have to take care of the Palermo clubs, too.”

He listened intently, silently making a list of things that still needed tending to, when everything became dark, and he saw her – Tesoro. No, he reasoned with himself. It wasn’t her, it never was. He had things to do. Like finding the cocaine dealer who vanished. They continued through the airport.

When they were approaching the car, he saw her again. I’m going crazy. He entered the car and pulled Domenico in with him.

“It’s her,” he rasped, pointing at the girl marching down the walkway away from them. “It’s her.”

Domenico instructed the driver to follow her carefully, but his head was spinning. He was losing his mind,

“Holy sh*t.” Domenico breathed, and Massimo’s heart skipped a beat.

She was real. It was her. She was there. She turned her head, squinting her eyes slightly, not seeing him through the dark panes of the window. Her eyes, her lips, her nose…everything he had dreamed. He reached for the handle and Domenico stopped him.

A man with moppish hair and thick glasses was calling over to her, and she turned and walked his way.

“Not now, Massimo.”

She was real, she was there! He could have her! He would have her.

The car sped off.

“What the f*ck are you doing?” He demanded his brother and driver.

“She’s with others. We don’t know who they are. I’m sending people after her right now. You’ll know who she is before we reach home.” Domenico said patiently. “You’ve waited so long–you can wait a few more hours.”

He could have killed his brother right there, but the rational part of his brain knew he could not have her then and there.

“You have one hour.” Massimo growled, “You have sixty minutes to tell me who she is.”

When they reached the driveway of the estate and stepped out of the car. Domenico’s men walked over and handed him an envelope. He headed towards the library without another word, needing to be alone to digest what he had seen.

In the library he wasted no time tearing the envelope open and spilling the contents on the desk.

He clutched a photo in disbelief–no more painstakingly detailed paintings ordered from artists–she had a name, a past…and a future with him. There was a knock at the door, “Not now,” he barked, not moving his eyes from the photos and notes. “Roxanne Hughes.” He whispered, stumbling slightly over consonants of her last name. That would have to change.

After thirty minutes he moved from his desk to his armchair.

“Massimo?” Domenico asked, peering through a crack in the door. He entered when Massimo didn’t react. “What now?”

“Bring her here,” Massimo ordered, still devouring her photos and information.

“You’ll go get her…?”

“Yes, I’ll go to her hotel and tell her I had these visions of us when I nearly died–no we’re going to take her.” There was no hesitation in his voice when he stopped being sarcastic. “Send people to the room of that–” he glanced down at the name of the moppish man she’d been traveling with, “Martin. They are to find out who he is.”

“I’ll ask Carlo. He’s right there.” Domenico said.

“You don’t have to look too far, you know,” a female voice called from behind the door. Anna walked in, “I’m right here.”

f*ck he’d forgotten she had sent him some text.

“Well…I’ll leave you two.” Domenico grinned stupidly, “I’ll take care of that thing, and we’ll finish our business tomorrow.” he said and left.

“Do you want to hit me?” The blonde asked as she approached, “It’s been a while since I’ve been spanked.”

She straddled him, rubbing herself against his zipper, her fingers loosening his tie.

He grabbed her hands away from his neck, and for a moment she must have thought he was trying something new, but when he pushed her off and left her on the floor in the library did she realize their arrangement had ended.

All he wanted was his treasure.

Eight Hours Earlier

Her feet hurt, they always hurt. Standing for eight hours, then walking back to her small New York City apartment, because it was too hot to be stuck underground in subway stations. Though she’d only left work a couple of hours ago, standing and packing while feeling her feet throbbed and ached didn’t exactly make her excited to board a plane.

“Roxy, it’s 9 already. We have to be at the airport in an hour.” Marty reminded her. His bag was already packed, along with his work bag. Even on their Sicilian vacation he couldn’t take 100% of the time off. That was his burden, starting a software company with a few of his engineer friends, contracting out their services to tech giants. Just the three of them. And he loved it.

For her, the hotel was a means to an end. Finally finishing her degree and quitting the terrible front desk job she’d had (and the more than occasional maid shift). The job that required nights and weekends all on her feet. The job that kept making her delay her graduation, but scheduling her just enough to make ends meet, but not enough to make her want to stay forever. She wasn’t supposed to still be in college at 29. She wasn’t supposed to be working as the front desk attendant at the five star hotel that she had been for the past 11 years. She wasn’t supposed to ensure she packed her knee brace in her carry-on, she wasn’t supposed to have had to defer her education this semester because her manager had fired three people within the last three months. She wasn’t supposed to be doing a lot of things now.

“I know,” she rubbed her tired eyes. She'd been packing since she’d finished the night shift and came home when the sun was rising. “I just can’t …”

“Here,” Marty walked into their room and handed her an iced coffee. “I know you want to sleep on the plane, but we’ll miss the flight if you’re just standing there.”

She sipped the coffee, “I need my toothbrush and makeup in the bathroom and then I’ll be finished I think.”

When she had hobbled into the bathroom to gather the missing items she got a look at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look great. Her dark hair, which she’d cut into a chin length bob, was a little sweaty since her walk home coincided with the hot NYC sunrise. Her eyes had bags, like they always did when she pulled an all night shift, and her skin didn’t look awake either. She’d spent so much time working she’d barely had water last night. She shook her head, she was just tired. She placed mascara, concealer, an eyebrow pencil, and BB cream into her toiletry bag along with her togo toothbrush and paste.

Then she hobbled into the closet, and changed into the tank top, Hawaiian shirt, cotton shorts, and slip-on sneakers she’d prepared for the long flight to Sicily. When she’d hobbled into the small combined living room and kitchen she saw Marty with his glasses pushed down his nose as he typed furiously on his phone. He was always on his phone or his laptop. Ever since he’d started his business, his work was an unceremonious third member of his and Roxy’s relationship. And she’d resented it.

They had been together for nearly 11 years, putting each other through college, sh*t jobs, and sh*ttier managers. And they’d always come out on top (with their relationship still intact). But this phone thing, relevantly new in the past year since he’d finished his masters degree in computer science or computer engineering or coding; she wasn’t too sure. But whatever he’d gotten his degree in, he was making enough money to cover his student debt, his share of the rent and other bills. Besides, she could put up with the workaholic, it had been a while since he’d shown this much passion about anything; and he’d always made her feel safe…and calm.

She’d always had anxiety and claustrophobia in some shape. Usually it meant keeping a window open so she could feel the breeze or see the sun. Sometimes it meant walking instead of taking a cab or the subway (her bum knee be damned). Being trapped in a plane for hours on end where anything could happen and she’d be stuck in her seat; she made sure to pack her anti-anxiety medication in her carry on.

Her and Marty’s friends were waiting for them in the departure hall of the airport. Kathy and Mike; who’d been together a year and were already thinking about marrying.They had all been friends since their freshman year at college, where they’d meet at a mixer for undecided majors. While Marty and Roxy had coupled up quickly, Kathy and Mike loved each other from afar until a year ago when he’d made a huge drunken confession at his Halloween Party. They two had been inseparable ever since.

During the stopover in Rome, after successfully sleeping through the first long leg of the trip, Roxy had taken her medication and let her mind wander while she waited for it to kick in. She’d never been to Italy before. She’d barely ever been out of New York before (she’d been to New Jersey a couple of times for Bed Bath and Beyond or a friend’s House Warming), but New York had everything.

Except Benedetta.

Benedetta Rossi, her best friend since kindergarten who’d moved to Sciliy when she was 21 to help care for her ailing Sicilian grandparents and their authentic Sicilian hotel. Benedetta, the child of Sicilian Immigrants, had spoken with a thick Italian accent until well into fifth grade. She had been able to maintain her scholarship to graduate on time with a degree in business management and accounting. They had never lost touch. Beni was the reason Roxy, Marty, Kathy, and Mike had been able to afford this trip. Beni was giving them a suite for penny’s on the dollar (or whatever the Euro conversion was).

When they landed in Catania, the sun was setting, and as the four waited for the shuttle to Beni’s hotel, Marty, Mike, and Kathy had made stops for the bathroom and water. But Roxy needed to be outside. As far away from the confines of the cylindrical coffin, that was the plane, as she could be–outside in the sweltering heat watching the smoking summit of Mount Etna seemed right. And in making her way out of the airport she’d nearly knocked into him, a big Italian man being followed by a bunch of men in dark suits walking out of the airport terminal. They didn’t stop as she swerved out of their way.

She closed her eyes and stayed outside for a little longer, letting the dying sun’s rays hit her skin, when three black SUVs drove by. The middle one seemed to slow down for an instant, but she couldn’t see through the darkened windows.

“Rox!” She heard Marty call out, “Beni just called the shuttle is running a little bit late!”

The Giardini Albergo di Rossi welcomed its American guests with tall red flowers and a romantic garden motif.

“Really ritzy, darling,” Roxy told her friend. Bennedetta was an olive-skinned, dark eyed, dark haired vision of Venus. Sicilian life seemed to agree with her more than New York City life did. She smelled mildly salty like the ocean, but mostly of fresh flowers that decorated the grounds and interiors of her family's small hotel. Her long dark hair was twisted delicately at the nape of her neck. And she seemed to shine brightly as she and Roxy traded inside jokes.

“Not as ritzy as my hotel on Park Ave,” Beni quipped back, “You should see the maids I have for my maids there.”

“I suppose my butler will live without a butler for this one extravaganza .” Roxy replied. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

As Beni led them to their suite, she took the long detour through the beautiful hotel grounds. Past the pool, the restaurant, there was even a patio that held nightly parties.

“I thought you said it was a small beachside hotel?” Kathy remarked as they passed by the second patio with a well stocked bar.

Beni smiled sadly, “We’ve recently gotten an investor to, um, upgrade the facilities. It used to be this really small hotel by the beach, but with the big corporations like Hilton and Four Seasons we’ve had to find some way to make this place stand out as a resort.”

Roxy remembered the pictures she used to bring to show and tell of a small seven bed and breakfast and her grandparents standing by an old sign in Italian no one but Beni could read. Giardini Rossi was a small, beautiful hotel back then. Now it looked large and beautiful, without any of its old world charm.

Her stomach grumbled, “I can already taste the pizza.”

“You should go to the restaurant, Tortuga, on the grounds. It’s got really good pizza, and really good atmosphere.” Beni suggested. “And really good wine!”

After they dropped off their luggage in their suite. They strode into Tortuga. At the entrance there was a white sailcloth that waved in the wind. The dining area was divided by cozy nooks enclosed by heavy wooden beams to support the cloth roof. In the dining room it had glass tables, white chairs and sofas, and candles everywhere. It smelled like the sea and the decedent Italian food. It was packed, and Roxy thought Beni must have called ahead because they were seated immediately.

She felt eye’s on her.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” she whispered to Marty.

“You’re just anxious. You haven’t taken your medication since we were in New York.”

She scanned the restaurant, and when not seeing anyone looking at her, she returned to look at the menu.

After the waiter took everyone’s orders, Roxy excused herself to the restroom. She wandered around the restaurant until she spotted an alcove by the wooden bar, thinking it was the restroom she walked into, only to quickly realize it was the door to the kitchen. When she turned around only to hit the hard chest of a tall Italian man. His black eyes fixed an icy stare on her.

“You seem lost,” he said in accented English. She wasn’t sure if he was Sicilian or just another lost tourist like her. “I can help you if you tell me what you’re looking for.”

“Uh, r-r-restroom, please,” she stuttered, his presence domineering over her.

He smiled, presenting perfectly straight, white teeth, and placed a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. His touch sent unwelcome shivers down her spine, like his hands were ice cold. He directed her to the restroom and then disappeared when she went to thank him.

When she returned to her table she was met with a glass of wine and a waiter brought a bottle before she’d even finished her sip.

Marty shot her a look and laughed, “You boozer, I thought you had to pee.”

“I did!” She turned to the waiter, “I didn’t order this,” she tried to tell the waiter.

The waiter ignored her and placed the wine in front of her, turned and nodded at someone in the restaurant.

She turned her head looking for who the waiter was indicating; she saw him. The Italian man who spoke English, stuck out in black linen trousers, a black shirt, and black loafers. He raised his glass of wine at her.

She turned away.

When dinner was served she realized she’d ordered sea scallops, Marty had ordered squid, Kathy had ordered margarita pizza, and Mike had ordered octopus. They all sampled each other’s dishes. Enjoying the flavors and wine, when Marty’s phone chirped.

“Holy!” Marty exclaimed. “Do you know what time it is? It’s midnight. Happy birthday Roxy.”

He placed a kiss on her lips and said, “I’m sorry to tell you that I already told the waiter.”

“What?”

The waiter appeared with a small selection of deserts and a single lit candle and then began to sing in Italian.

She flushed pink until they finished their song.

When they left Kathy raised her glass, “May you find what you’re looking for, always have what you want, and fulfill all your dreams!”

“You mean finally finish my bachelors degree?”

“That’s the spirit!” She said picking up a small cake and eating it.

After midnight the restaurant turned into a club. The white base became drenched in hot pinks, electric blues, vibrant purples, and intense orange. It was her turn to refill everyone’s drinks. As she made her way to the bar, she felt like she was being watched again. She’d had to elbow people to get through the crowd, they had to have been staring at the gawky tourist who didn’t know how to say ‘excuse me’ in Italian. But then she saw him out of the corner of her eye, leaning against one of the wooden beams and showing no emotion. He was tall, dark, and handsome. His black hair was styled with gel, but still looked soft. His sharp jaw was covered with meticulously trimmed dark stubble, his lips were full and well defined. His stare was piercing. It was the stare of a wild animal waiting to pounce. He was tall, taller than Marty. Taller than most of the men she had regular interaction with. She looked away from him, focusing on finding her boyfriend and friends.

He was at her side immediately. “Are you lost? Do you need help?”

“I’m fine,” Roxy asserted, the alcohol she’d consumed making her braver than she was. “You don’t have to stare at me. Have you been doing it all night?”

The man smirked. And her hands flexed around the three drinks she was carrying.

“I watch the club,” he informed her, “I supervise the staff, check on the guests, and look for women in need.”

“In that case…thank you. Goodbye.” She said quickly, moving into the crowd, uncomfortable in his presence.

“See you around, Roxanne.”

She turned halfway, the ice in the alcohol clicking against their glasses, wondering how he learned her name–her government name. But he was gone.

Had he been eavesdropping on her? No, he couldn’t have. Nobody but her grandmother called her Roxanne, and that was when she was in trouble.

How did he know she was Roxanne?

She didn’t have any more time to think. Kathy had wandered over with a smile.“Did you get lost?”

“A little,” Roxy lied, sheepishly. Why had he been looking at her like that? How did he know her name?

She woke up with a terrible headache. She was never a drinker, and with the amount of alcohol she’d consumed the night before, while it wasn't much, she was lucky she woke up in the bed and not with her head in the toilet. She crawled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom where she’d kept medicine. After she took it and got a cup of water she looked around. Marty was gone. So was his laptop. He’d left a message on her side table saying there was an emergency and he had to work, but hoped he would finish quickly. It was her birthday, and he’d chosen work. She wouldn’t cry, not out in the room. She slunk into the shower and let herself weep. She could hear people down by the pool, laughing and having fun, and decided it was no use waiting for him in the room.

She rifled through her luggage and found the one bikini she owned and put it on, the light green cotton shorts and the matching cuban collar shirt cover up set, and huarache sandals. Then she went to the pool area.

Mike and Kathy were sprawled out on chaise lounges by the pool, sipping ice cold co*cktails with festive umbrellas and fruit.

“Beni was just here,” Mike said, “She’s working this afternoon and then she’ll meet us for dinner and she’s done for the rest of vacation.”

Beni, Roxy smiled, had never let her down before. She’d promised that she was taking time off and Roxy could trust that she was. Even over in Italy, Beni kept every phone call date they had, responded in a timely manner to every email, and still kept Roxy updated on her love life. Roxy, took off her coverup, laid down on the chaise and spent the rest of the day alone.

“You’re upset about Marty, aren’t you?” Kathy asked. “Because he’s still working in the office center?”

“Let’s get food,” Mike said, “I’ll get Marty. That bastard can spend one day without his laptop.”

He got up, put on his t-shirt, and headed to the lobby.

She turned to Kathy, “I feel like I’ll never be number one with him. Not anymore. He spends more time working that stupid computer company than with me. We haven’t had sex in 6 months.”

Kathy rolled to her side and propped up on an elbow, “You know it happens, Rox, you and Marty have been together more than a decade. You’re bound to have rough patches.”

“We’ve had rough patches before, Kathy, this isn’t like those times. He’s…distant. Maybe it’s me,” she laughed sardonically, “Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to get married until I graduate. Maybe I got ugly. Maybe he’s bored of me.”

Kathy jumped to her feet and gestured for me to get up.

“You need a drink, you’re stressed and overthinking. Just look around, we’re in Sicily, we’re going to be with Beni soon. Mike will threaten to destroy the stupid computer, Marty will get scared and you’ll be having sex the rest of vacation.”

Roxy grinned, she re-dressed in her coverup set and huaraches, and followed Kathy to the bar in the lobby. Kathy ordered Roxy to drink and then went to her room to get her purse and ask Mike about lunch plans.

Roxy went to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine spritzer.

“That’s it?” She heard a man’s voice behind her, “I thought your heart belonged to vodka cranberry?”

She turned around and froze. There he was, standing right in front of her. Only he wasn’t dressed in black anymore. He wore off-white linen pants and a light peach shirt. It was the perfect compliment to his sun-kissed skin. He pulled his sunglasses lower down his nose and fixed her with a cold stare. He called out to the bartender in Italian. The bartender paid attention only to him.

“Are you…?” She crossed her arms. “Twice in two days, must be a coincidence.”

He steeled his gaze on her, “It’s not a coincidence, happy twenty-ninth birthday, Roxanne. May the coming year be the best in your life.” He said gently, his words caressing her ear. He placed a delicate kiss on his cheek.

How did he know her age? How did he find her on the other side of the resort? Wasn’t he the restaurant manager?

“Mi scusi,” the bartender broached.

Roxy turned around, in front of her was a vodka cranberry, a bottle of top shelf vodka next to it, and a small vanilla cupcake with a single candle on the counter.

She spun around again to face the mystery man, who had vanished. Again.

“Well, well,” Kathy said with a smile, approaching the bar. “You were supposed to have a glass of wine, and now you’re ordering a bottle of vodka. I haven’t seen Vodka-Rox since spring break junior year.”

“I didn’t order this,” Roxy said, scanning her surroundings nervously for the mystery Italian. When she didn’t see him, she pulled out her credit card and offered it to the bartender. In mangled English he refused the payment, assuring her the tab had been paid. Kathy gave her a curious look, and took the vodka with a couple of cups and went back to the pool. Roxy snubbed the candle out and followed her friend.

She was irritated to say the least. There were dozens of different scenarios playing out in her head, the least of which involved the mysterious manager. The only thing that had come to her mind was that he was some Italian Perv that tried to sleep with certain guests as part of a back of house betting pool. There had been a couple of former workers at the hotel that had been like that at her hotel. They were irritating, but mostly harmless. Judging by his expensive clothes and shoes, (and good looks) he was probably a frequent winner. As she and Kathy passed the bottle of vodka she got more focused and more irritated that Marty had chosen work over her. On her birthday .

When they finished the bottle and Roxy had finished the cupcake, Marty and Mike arrived, looking happy.

“So how about that lunch?” Marty asked with a nervous grin.

“Is that all you want to say,” Vodka-Rox slurred.

“Roxy, there was an emergency, I–” he started.

“I don’t care,” her voice was high, “It’s my f*cking birthday. You should have been inside me this morning, kissing me by the pool, and drinking with me today.”

“Rox,” he started again.

“Lunch was hours ago-” she continued her rant, swaying slightly, “-by the way. And where the f*ck were you?” She wrapped her arms around herself.

He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she swatted him off. Stumbling, she took off to the lobby. She didn’t care as she crossed the hall and found herself on the street. Her eyes watering and the alcohol numbing she continued walking.

The streets of Giardini, the trees speckled with flowers growing along the pavement, were distorted as tears and alcohol blurred her vision. For the first time in 11 years with Marty she felt insecure and alone.

When the sun was setting, and the alcohol had mostly worn off, she found a small café and scanned a menu. Vino meant wine, and she needed wine. To face the rest of the worst birthday she’d ever had.

Before she could order, an old Italian woman placed a glass in front of her and said something in Italian while gently stroking her hand. Though she didn’t understand Italian, she’d pretended that the old woman was saying that all men were bastards unworthy of tears, even if they were a great partner for 11 years. She sat at the table drinking glass after glass and staring at the sea until it got dark.

The old woman placed a tiramisu in front of her and Roxy ate it thinking of how this was the closest thing she’d had to a birthday cake today. Well, second thing. She reminded herself thinking of the cupcake she’d eaten early.

When she felt ready to return and face the scene she’d made, and hopefully get consoled by Beni and Kathy, she stood up and tried to pay, but the old woman shrugged her off. Drunk and still sad she walked the mostly deserted winding streets to Albergo di Rossi. Two black SUVs passed by, along with a refreshing breeze.

The night was hot, she was drunk, her birthday was ending, and everything felt…wrong. She felt light, not in a comforting way, but in the way where she couldn’t feel her joints. Her body felt weird, nauseous and dizzy. Not a drunk dizzy either. And tired. She felt as if she closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and she'd fall asleep where she was.

She looked around panic building quickly in her body. Her breathing labored. The last thing she saw before it went black were the lights of approaching cars.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Text

When she opened her eyes, she had to vomit. Bile and burn filled her throat. Her stomach lurched and before she could stop herself she spewed the remnants of half-digested tiramisu and alcohol on the floor next to her. She retched at the smell, spilling more bile onto the pile on the floor. Coughing and sputtering as her head, heavy and dizzy, pounded angrily at her abrupt movement. Her body felt weighted down. Her eyes were squeezed so tightly from exhaustion and even if they were open she couldn’t see, from the tears that welled in her eyes from the painful excretion. She fell back into the bed, vaguely registering she was in a bed, before darkness overtook her again.

When she woke up again, it was dark; it smelled like rose potpourri, the kind her Grandmother had all throughout the apartment. She pushed herself to sit up, but it turned out to be a mistake and she placed her head in her hands while she waited for the room to stop spinning.

Eventually she was able to find the bedside lamp, and when she turned it on she realized she was not in her hotel at the Giardini Rossi, but in some old Italian house. Was this Beni’s residence on the property?

“So good to see you awake.”

She turned her head quickly, too quickly, at the noise.

The Italian man, with dark hair flowing feely on over his shoulders, placed a bucket in her lap, His delicate features tight and large lips twisted into a frown. “If you’re going to vomit, do not do it on the rug again.”

He dusted invisible debris off of his immaculate suit.

“Where am I?” Her voice was scratchy and weak.

“Why don’t you have a shower.” He ordered, “I’ll be back when you’re done and I’ll explain everything.”

Before she could respond, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind.

Even though her head was pounding, she slipped out of the large bed she was in, ignoring the heaviness in her body and the throbbing in her head.

She tried to open the door, but it was locked. Damn bastard. She thought to herself.

There was another door by the fireplace, maybe another exit? It opened to reveal a spectacularly large bathroom, with an equally large shower in the middle, a dressing table in the corner, right next to a sink with a full mirror, and a bathtub big enough for four on the other side. The shower could probably fit an entire basketball team. There was no shower caddy or walls except the one mosaic tiled wall where the shower heads and an array of taps protruded, the entire floor was marble. Next to the shower were shelves built into the wall, with towels and bathrobes. She felt a pang, Marty. Even though they had their fight, he must have been worried sick. Hell, she was worried sick.

She walked up to the mirror looking for anything to give her a clue. And when she saw herself she flinched. She looked awful; tired eyes, knotted hair, a slight sunburn across her cheeks. She was still dressed in her bikini and coverup. Was she really expected to shower when she had no idea where she was? Her mouth tasted disgusting and she was sure she smelled.

Convincing herself she was in Beni’s residence and the mysterious man was one of Beni’s on-again-off-again boyfriends she disrobed and turned one of the taps.

Water jettisoned from one of the overhead shower heads, thoroughly soaking her with warm water. She tried to detangle her hair with her fingers, but was unsuccessful. Hesitantly, she twisted a tap, pearlescent gel dispensed on the mosaic on the floor. She tried again, this time with her hand ready. She caught the gel and sniffed it hesitantly. It smelled distinctly male. Some sort of cedar and soft musk. Shampoo she realized quickly and massaged it into her hair. It helped her hair detangle a little. She tried another tap, conditioner this time and it smelled like tea. She used it, smoothing the knots from her hair. Hair clean, she tried the third tap in the row. This tap released a fancy body wash. Scrubbing the grime and sweat from her body until she was slightly pink.

When she finished, she took a towel and dried off and put the clothes she came in with back on. When she walked back into the room she woke up in, the young Italian was there again. With a wide gesture he showed her out. He guided down her a long corridor decorated with flower pots. Engulfed in darkness, she could barely see where they were. The only light was from street lamps that shone through the many windows.

Her mysterious guide led her through a labyrinth of corridors until he stopped in front of a door and opened it. He shut it behind her, staying outside.

The room she was in was a library, the walls lined with books some so old their bindings were coming apart. The portraits that decorated the walls were in heavy, ornate, dark frames.

There was a stone fireplace in the middle, with a fire burning brightly within. Around it stood dark velvet sofas with a few scattered metallic colored pillows. There was a small table next to one of the sofas, with a champagne cooler perched on top. Her stomach involuntarily flexed. Alcohol was the last thing she wanted to see.

“Please, have a seat. You didn’t react well to the pills. I had no idea you were on medication.” She heard a man say, and when she whirled around she was a silhouette in the balcony, facing away from her.

She flinched.

“Have a seat, Roxanne. I will use force if you don’t comply and I will not ask again.”

Blood pounded in her head. She felt faint.

“Why are you not listening to me, goddamn you?”

The silhouette leaped from the balcony into the room and gently pushed her into an armchair pushing an ice cube in her mouth.

“Suck it.” he ordered, “You’ve been asleep for nearly two days. The doctor gave you an IV so you wouldn’t dehydrate, but you may feel thirsty and dizzy.”

She knew that voice.

It was the same man she had met in the hotel, in the restaurant… and in the airport! He was dressed the same way he had been when she had almost walked into his bodyguard. He was wearing a black suit with a black shirt with the top button undone. She spat the ice cube in his face.

“Who are you? Where am I?” She rasped. Her throat still raw from vomiting.

He swept the water off his face with the back of his hand.

She tried to stand, but he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back into the armchair.

“I told you to sit down. I will not tolerate any insubordination,” he growled, leaning over her with his fingers digging into the fabric of the armrests. His eyes blazed wild with fury.

She shrank in terror.

He rose, very slowly, straightened out, and inhaled loudly through his nose. She stayed down, frozen, and unwilling to move again. He headed toward the fireplace, stopped with his back to her, and put his hands on the wall over the mantel, leaning on it heavily. Time was passing, and he stood there, utterly quiet. She didn’t dare move.

“Are you so disobedient, Roxanne? I have difficulty believing you are not Italian.”

He turned back and looked at her. His eyes still blazing.

The door opened and the same young man that had brought her there entered.

“Don Massimo…” he stammered.

Don Massimo shot him a warning glance, making his subordinate freeze. Then he walked over to the younger man and stopped only a few inches short of touching him. He needed to bend down, being a lot taller than Domenico.

Their conversation was in Italian, Domenico spoke, and her captor stood perfectly still–listening intently to what was being said. He replied with a single utterance and then Domenico disappeared. Massimo paced the room for a while, then left for the balcony. He leaned over the railing and started to repeat some phrase in a soft whisper.

“Don?” She asked quietly, “Is it just the one name?”

He turned around and walked towards her with a confident stride.

“You do not understand?” He asked, reclining on the sofa across from the chair.

She blinked at him in response.

“Don is my title,” he explained, more relaxed. “My name is Massimo.”

She recoiled into the back of the chair, drawing her legs in.

He smiled slightly, “I imagine you would like some sort of explanation. Nevertheless, I do not know how you will react to what I am going to say. Better have a drink first.”

He stood up and poured two glasses of champagne. He took one and passed the second to her. When she didn’t reach for it, he placed it back on the table, before taking his seat on the sofa again.

He sipped from his glass. “A few years ago, I had a…what’s the English word? Ah, an accident. It’s part of the risk you need to take when you’re part of my family. As I lay dying, I saw…,” He trailed off and got up. After walking to the fireplace, he placed the glass down on top of the stone mantle and sighed heavily, “I am not sure I would believe it, if it did not happen to me. Before I saw you at the airport, I hoped in vain to meet you in person. Please, look at the painting over the fireplace.”

Her eyes trailed upward, and she stiffened. It was a portrait of her. She gasped.

Seemingly satisfied, Massimo continued.

“I was in a coma for a month, and in that month I dreamed of you. I dreamed of us. Our life, our love–” he took another sip of champagne, “--our children. I dreamed of you, for a month. It was so real. I could smell your perfume, hear your voice, your laugh, touch you, see you, taste your puss* on my tongue. For a month, I had you. And then I regained consciousness. And you were gone. I could not get you out of my mind. As soon as I was able to communicate the image I had before my eyes the whole time–the image of you–I called an artist to paint the goddess I saw in my dreams. And slowly, to my exact specification. He painted you.”

Roxy looked from Massimo to the painting and back to him.

“I looked for you everywhere. Well, that might be an overstatement. I searched all of Italy and Sicily for you. I knew you would come here though. Someday, you would find me, just as you had in the dream. And here you are. The first moment I saw you I wanted to grab you and never let you go again. But that was too much of a risk. So I had my people keep an eye on you.

Fate was smiling down on me. The Albergo di Rossi, that is mine. Tortuga, is mine as well. When you were inside, I could not resist. I had to talk to you. And then Fate intervened again, and you went through the door you should not have. Providence seems to favor me.”

That’s where all the alcohol and deserts had come from, she realized. Why she felt she had been watched.

“That’s Benedetta Rossi’s property,” she interrupted him softly, with the only rebuttal she had.

“In part. They could not afford to keep their little sh*thole on the beach without me. My money, my hotel, my protection, their name. I have so many properties on this island, it is nearly impossible for it not being mine. You must be mine too, Roxanne.”

She shook her head.

“You will be mine, Roxanne.” He assured her.

“I’m not a thing to own!” She stopped shaking her head.

“I know. That is why I am giving you a chance to fall in love with me and stay on your own choice, rather than any force.”

“I have a boyfriend,” She told Massimo, “A boyfriend who I love very much. And friends, and family,” She pleaded, her raspy voice squeaking, “I have a life. I’m so close to finishing my degree. I won’t say anything about being here, or how I got here. I’m not her .”

Massimo walked over to the opposite side of the room. He opened a cabinet and took out two envelopes before returning and stopping right next to Roxy. He was close enough for her to smell him. He smelled like the same soap she had used and a spiced cologne.

He passed the first envelope, “A boyfriend who will not f*ck you.”

She gave him an insulted look, and opened the envelope. Pictures tumbled onto the floor.

Her heart cramped and tears flowed like waterfalls. Marty f*cking another woman. A beautiful blonde woman with bolt on tit*, being f*cked by Marty with his thick glasses askew. The pictures looked like they had been secretly taken. But there was no doubt it was her Marty.

“Roxanne…” Massimo said softly, he was kneeling on the carpeted floor, his hands gently on her knees, “I will explain what you are seeing now, so listen, please. When I tell you to do something, and you decide to do the opposite, it will always… always end up badly for you. Please understand that and stop fighting me. You’ve already lost every battle.”

She raised her teary eyes and looked at him, her mouth twisted several times in a whimper.

“I-I-I have to-to find-find him. I-I need to t-t-talk to him,” she stood up, and tried to move around him.

Still on his knees, Massimo shot a hand out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her towards him as she toppled to the floor.

She braced herself as she fell, taking the brunt of the impact on her hands. He pulled her across the rug and twisted her until she was under him. Her hair was a small halo of waves. As she moved to sit up, he straddled her. She pushed against him and he caught her wrists.

“Let me go,” she begged through tears, waving her arms wildly as he did his best to steady her, “I need-I need, please, I need to talk to-to Marty.”

He shook her, “Stop!” he ordered, and a gun slipped from beneath his belt tumbling to the floor. She froze, but Massimo didn’t seem to care at all, keeping his eye solely focused on her. His hands gripped her wrists harder. She was helpless and crying. His cold eyes pierced her. His dark eyes trailing down her body. In their struggle the buttons of her Cuban shirt had popped off exposing her barely covered body. Massimo inhaled through his teeth, biting his lower lip. He moved his mouth near hers. She froze, tears now falling silently, and her heart pounding in her chest. Then his mouth moved. His lips touched her cheek and trailed a line down it.

“I will not do anything without your consent. Even if I think I have it, I will wait for you to want me, to need me, to come to me out of your own free will. But don’t think that does not mean I do not want to f*ck you until you cannot walk, until you cannot come without without thinking of me. Until my name becomes a prayer in our bed.” He spoke softly.

“Please,” she begged desperately. “I need to talk to him.”

His hands gripped her wrists like shackles, “Stop begging for him and listen. I have a hard night ahead of me. The previous ones have not been any easier. I am not used to tolerating insubordination. I do not want to hurt you, but I will not be delicate either. So either I strap you to the chair and gag you, or I let you go, and you starting doing what I tell you. Your choice.”

She waited to see if he’d move, when he didn’t she said, “Get off me and I’ll listen.”

He was off her in an instant, pulling his gun with him and placing it back in his pants. Then he took her by the hands and positioned her back in the armchair. Then he positioned himself on the sofa.

“This way, it is easier for the both of us, believe me.” he said, “Back to the photos…on your birthday I witnessed a quarrel between you and your man –” he sneered as if he didn’t believe Marty was a man, “-at the pool. When you left, I knew today was the day I would bring you into my life. After he did not even move a muscle to go after you, I knew he was unworthy. He would not grieve, not like you are now. After you disappeared your friends took him to lunch, as if nothing happened. That is when my people took your things from your room and left a letter in which you wrote to Martin that you were leaving him and returning to New York, moving out of his apartment and disappearing from his life. There is no possibility that he did not read it when he returned to the room. In the evening, when they went to dinner, I had a staff member recommend a club–my club– Toro. This way I could control the situation. When you look through those photos, you see the whole story play out. He drank, he had fun, he f*cked a woman that was not you.”

In her heart, she thought she knew Marty really knew him. She knew that his father cheated on his mother and when they divorced it made him feel so alone. She knew that he was not a club-goer or a partier. But in her hands were pictures of Marty drinking in excess, partying at one of the resort clubs, and f*cking another woman. Her whole life had been turned upside down.

“Marty would never cheat on me,” she whispered, mostly to herself.

“When you are mine, I would never be seduced by this common whor*. But he is not me. The pictures speak for themselves.”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, “I want to go back to New York.”

Massimo got up from the sofa again and walked over to the fireplace. The dying fire bathed the room in half-light. He propped his hand on the wall and said something in Italian. With a sigh he turned back to Roxy, “No, not for the next three hundred and sixty-five days. I sacrificed five years without you, you will sacrifice a year for me. I will do everything in my power to make you love me. If I fail by your next birthday, I will set you free. Do not get this wrong, this is not a negotiation. You are mine for one year. I will not touch you, or rape you, if that is what you are afraid of. Because you are my treasure, I will show you the world. I value your life above mine. Everything in my residence will be at your disposal. I will pick your bodyguards, for your safety not control. I will not keep you locked up. If you want to go to a club or anywhere else, I have nothing against it–”

“Marty would never believe I’d just up and leave him, even after a fight! You can’t play with my life like this! I have work and school and family. If you think my family won’t be looking for me, you’re on drugs. I will not be your property!”

Massimo closed the distance between them, and handed her the second envelope.

She ripped it open, terrified to see what was inside, maybe it was Marty being tortured and the only way she could free him–free them both–was…

“What the hell is this?” She asked, flipping through the papers.

“Insurance.” He said as she stared down at candids, pictures of them working, sleeping, eating, driving, of her parents and brother (of whom she had limited contact with), her beloved Grandmother, her friends. All the people most important in her life. “Maybe you do not care for many of them. Maybe you only care for one of them. But why risk it? I know where they live, what they do and where they do. I know what they eat, drink, and f*ck. You may try to leave, but I can live knowing there is no left for you. Can you?”

“So I give you a year?”

“And they remain safe.” He was calm. “If you think you can kill me while I sleep, know that many have tried and I am still here. DOMENICO! ”

The young Italian immediately appeared at the door.

“Take Roxanne to her room, but keep the door unlocked.” He spoke in English wanting her to understand, “She has a choice to make.”

Domenico gestured to the door and led her down the same labyrinth of corridors, until they reached the room when she had awoken a few hours ago. Then he left.

After a few minutes she tried the door handle, it wasn’t locked. Still unwilling to test him, she sat on the bed. Thoughts swirled around her mind like a tornado:

Was he being serious? Was he telling the truth? Did he really mean for her to love him? Was that really Marty? Did he cheat on her?

A new wave of tears drenched her cheeks, she wasn’t sure how long she cried until she eventually fell asleep.

She woke up curled in a ball at the edge of the bed, still wearing her bikini and cover up. It was dark outside, either it was later in the night or she’d slept until the next one. She didn’t know.

She heard hushed male voices from the garden, the door was still unlocked, and followed them. She had no idea where she was going, no idea how the labyrinth worked. She was lost quickly. No thread to lead her back to her room, only the voices that she occasionally got louder with each step. The house was dark and calm, and she wondered if the walls could talk if they would be warning her or egging her on.

Passing through a half-open door, she found herself in a solarium with windows that took up the entire wall, and thankfully overlooking the driveway.

She looked through the windows and saw nothing; no lights, no cars, no men.

There was a small windowed door to her right, and she tested it. Opening smoothly she slipped out. Maybe just maybe, she could sneak away to the closest Italian Police station and they could take her to the American Consulate, and her family would be protected.

Before she could change her mind, she took off. Her knee screaming in pain, but she didn’t care, she was close.

She was halfway across the large driveway, when a flash of light and a crack peeled through the quiet night. She stumbled to a stop with a cry, flinching and throwing her hands in front of her face. She was breathing heavy, her knee in agony.

“Tesoro!” she heard Massimo swear.

She looked to see where his voice was. He stood a few feet away from her, a steaming gun in his hand. He was flanked by a several of his own men. At his feet was a body, half of its head was gone and bits of brain and blood painted the driveway like a Jackson Pollock. Blood pooled near his feet.

He looked into her fearful wild eyes, “You were looking for me. You should not have–” he passed the gun to one of the men, as if killing a man meant nothing to him.

She couldn’t breathe, and gasped for air. She looked from the body to him, and to the gate.

She had one chance.

Fueled by adrenaline and fear she bolted to the gate.

“NO!” Massimo roared, chasing after her.

She moved quickly, even with her bum knee. If this were a track race she would have won. Her pace and breathing were easy for her. What she wasn’t counting on was Massimo launching himself at her.

With his tackle he leaned heavily on top of her. Her chin and left arm scraped the cobblestone and she let out a pained yelp, gasping as all the breath was knocked out of her.

“Do not be afraid, tesoro ,” he said, getting off her, allowing her to curl into a ball, “You will not be harmed,” he lifted her in his arms and shouted something in Italian. To her he said, “You were not supposed to see that.”

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Her cheek was inflamed, her shoulder was steadied in a sling, her swollen knee was in a new brace. And she had bruises where Massimo had tackled her. He had a doctor arrive after she had accidentally witnessed him murdering someone.

The doctor had made a house visit, entering the room she was staying in and spoke no English. Massimo translated some of what he said. Informing her that she had no broken bones, but would need to wear a sling and her brace for at least three days. The doctor gave Massimo some pain medication and something to help her sleep and then left. Leaving her alone with a murderer. It wasn’t for long. He had some dark haired woman help her change from her cover up into a t-shirt and some briefs.

Still her mind kept replaying all the events of the previous night. Marty’s betrayal, Massimo’s threats and ultimatum. The dead man on the cobblestone driveway. Mostly the dead man on the cobblestone driveway.

“I am sorry you saw that part of the business, tesoro,” he said.

She turned her head and he was sitting in a grand armchair by the bed. This time, he was wearing grey joggers and a white tank top. He seemed unbothered that his hair was in disarray. And from the way he was sitting he seemed to want to showcase his broad shoulders and muscles.

With some difficulty, she sat up against the wooden headboard. Massimo smiled roguishly at her, reclined in the chair and crossed his legs.

“You killed someone last night.” It was the only thing she could think of, “You shot a man in the head.”

His smile vanished.

“He betrayed the family. I am in its head. He betrayed me.” Massimo leaned closer. “I told you. I do not tolerate defiance and insubordination, Roxanne. There is nothing more important than loyalty. You are not ready, yet, for all this. I see that. But I swear it to you, tesoro, you will never see it again.” He walked over to the bed and combed his fingers through her hair.

“I want to have you, tesoro. I need to have you whole…” his fingers trailed from her hair down her cheek, curling around her chin and lifting her face so she had to look him in the eye. “When you’re so…fragile and helpless…I want you even more. I want to f*ck you like nobody ever did before. I want you to feel pain and rapture. I want to be your last lover…”

His voice was soft, a low growl, his gaze steeled on her. And she knew her options were limited, she could spend the next 365 days fighting the man until he let her go, or she could give him the fantasy, pretend to be the loving, doting girlfriend and until he got tired of her…the more she thought the more she realized her only option, the only reasonable option was to resist.

His fingers traveled back up her face, gently touching the bruise. She recoiled at the pain.

“You want me.”

“Every second of every minute of every hour, and every day and every night. For the last 5 years.”

“So this is what you do to me?” She demanded of him, “Put me in a sling with cuts and bruises? If I don’t do what you say, what are you going to do? Kill me?”

He withdrew his hand and stared at her, then he rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“How are you not Italian?” he asked. “This is not like any American temperament I have come across.”

“How many Americans do you know that aren’t afraid of you?”

“Oh, one is enough,” he replied, mirthful, “This is going to be a great year.”

He headed to the door, but before he crossed the threshold, he stopped and shot her another look. As she glowered at him.

“Your things are here. Domenico arranged them in the clothes. Not many of them. For someone who was supposed to be here five days, you packed a surprising amount of panties. Not enough clothes though. We will need to do something with that. I will be back later, and we will get you some new, nicer things. Sexier underwear as well. The room is yours. The servants know who you are. Call Domenico if you need anything. The cars and drivers will not accommodate you without me. As a precaution. I do apologize for last night. You were looking for me and you should not have seen what I did. I will give you your phone and laptop computer in the evening, but we have to discuss some terms before I do that.”

She turned her head away and hoped she made no reaction to his erection. Talking about her underwear got him hard.

Massimo continued, not caring that she wasn’t looking at him, “I understand you are in pain. Domenico will show you around when the swelling in your knee goes down. He will also be your personal translation if it comes to that. Some people do not know English around here. He’s about your age, as well.”

“How old even are you?” She interrupted, her head still turned from him. “Shouldn’t godfathers be old, grey, and wrinkled?”

“I am not a capo di tutti capi . They are older, you are right. I am a capofamiglia , or a don. But that is a long story. If you’re interested, I’ll tell you later.”

“I’m not.” She said acidly.

He turned and walked down the hallway until he vanished through one of the dozens of doors in the estate.

Massimo had been right, she was in pain, and tired. And the only thing she wanted to do was sleep.

She avoided Massimo for three days, spending time in her room, while her bruises and swelling went away, he didn’t push except to eat meals with her. Sometimes he tried to talk, but mostly he didn’t. She never spoke back. Nudging at the food on her plate, barely eating.

At one point while hiding, she decided to explore the room he’d placed her in. It was huge, probably the size of her entire apartment back in New York. The walk in closet was cavernous, and meagerly filled with the clothes she brought with her to Sicily.

Aside from the walk-in closet, there was the enormous bathroom–the one she had used earlier. The huge open shower had a steam sauna function and was lined with massage jets that looked like towel hangers. The taps were labeled with gold lettering: shampoo, balsamo, gel corpo, olio corpo, detergente viso, detergente corpo, lubrificante . She knew what shampoo meant, not so much the others.

Her cosmetics were organized on the counter, along with bottles of perfume–her favorite perfume–an expensive sephora brand vanilla scent that she usually got as a birthday and holiday present. How did he know about that? How did he know everything about her? She didn’t bring the perfume with her to Sicily, she had a mostly empty bottle in her apartment. It was too precious to bring across the Atlantic.

When the swelling went down and the sling came off she took a shower, a long hot shower, and washed her hair. The first luxury she’d had in three days. Then went to the closet and selected a pair of jean shorts, a tank top, and her huaraches. Finally well and brave enough to explore the mansion.

It was gigantic and impressive, old world marble and high ceilings. Throughout each room she passed through she saw more portraits of the woman from Massimo’s visions. Each presenting a version of her in various poses. Some were more…provocative than others. But even the g-rated ones made her uncomfortable. The explicit ones made her feel worse than uncomfortable. She couldn’t understand how he was able to depict her nipple size without even seeing her breasts.

She went down to the garden, the house strangely empty. The garden was as meticulously grand as the house. Hedges pruned in various animal and hedge shapes, flowering bushes and cobblestone walkways pruned of thrones and pebbles, even a couple of grand stone fountains that looked like they were carved centuries ago. The cobblestone path diverted two ways, one towards a gazebo, and the other way led to a small private beach. There was a little dock there, with a white motorboat and several Jet Skis floating on the quay.

“You found the beach.”

She spun around, and saw Domenico.

“If you want to take a little trip on the boat, we can arrange it after breakfast.”

Yeah, right, she thought. There was no way she was getting on a boat with these people.

“I allowed myself to prepare you breakfast in the garden. It’s not that hot today and I thought you'd enjoy it.”

Domenico led her back up the bath to the garden, and up to a grand terrace on the other side of the mansion. The view was similar to the view she had in her room. There was a makeshift pergola on the stone floor.The sail cloth tied to the thick wooden supports reminded her of the only night she had spent in Beni’s restaurant, Tortuga. A pang hit her and coiled in her stomach. It was Massimo’s restaurant. Massimo’s hotel.

The breakfast was worthy of a queen, but any appetite she had, disappeared, as disgust at her naivety curled in her stomach. The platters of cheese, olives, pancakes, fruit, and eggs mocked her. Domenico put an assortment of food on her plate and then took his own and sat next to her. They said nothing. A while later, he got up and disappeared. When he returned moments later he was carrying a bundle of newspapers.

“I thought you might like to read the paper while you eat.” He said, handing her the assortment.

The New York Times, Washington Post, and USA Today were folded neatly in front of her. All newspapers from her hotel that she’d steal and do the crosswords of when it was slow. For the next year, she could do them. Domenico seemed to know that, because he’d provided a pencil with the papers.

Sometime later, after she’d finished nibbling what she could stomach. She went to a remote corner of the garden. She had seen a large breach sofa under a canopy, during her earlier exploration.

She crawled onto the couch, making herself comfortable while she did the Times crossword. Behind the newspaper, she’d peek at the small boats floating lazily on the sea, motorboats towing people kneeboarding and doing other kinds of those sports, the azure water foaming as it crashed against monumental rock formations jutting from waves. With the cool breeze casting a slight chill she allowed herself to sink deeper into the soft pillows.

“Are you going to sleep through another day?” A quiet whisper tore her from her puzzle.

She looked up, startled, to see Massimo observing her.

“I missed you,” he said, lifting her hand in his and placing a kiss on her knuckles. “I have never said that to anyone. I never felt this way. I have been thinking about you the whole day. That you are finally here.”

She moved to sit up, her back tight from the position and involuntarily stretched. Her chest jutting forward and her back curving. The motion made Massimo step back with a gasp. His eyes full of animalistic lust.

“Can you stop that?” He glared. “If you keep being so provocative, you may regret it.”

She snapped into a slouch, “I was just stretching.”

“I think you know perfectly well what you did,” Massimo retorted his fingers coming to touch her face and lift her chin,

She jutted her face away.

“Since you are up, we can go now. You need a few more things bought before we can leave.”

“Leave?” She crossed her arms, “You’re letting me go?”

“No. You are leaving, with me. I have a couple of things to do on the mainland, you will join me. After all, I only have you for three hundred and fifty nine days left.”

Massimo was clearly amused.

“We need to talk.” She glowered.

“I know. Not now. There will be a time for that during dinner. You have to be patient. Come with me.”

He took her by the hand, and led her towards the villa. He led her through a long hallway and out the front door. She froze–her hand going limp–his hand still tight around hers. The horror of that night. The place where the man had been murdered in cold blood. Where Massimo had tackled her.

He half turned, confusion on his face for a moment, then realization. Without hesitation he bent, wrapping an arm around her knees he raised slowly to ease her into his other arm. She acted on instinct, wrapped her arms against his neck. Her heart beating in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them quickly. He carried her to the SVU a few feet away. That night still repeating in her head. She squeezed her eyes closed again.

“I will have my people replace the whole driveway,” Massimo said matter-of-factly, keeping his eyes forward. His slightly graveled voice soft.

Once in his car, he sat her on his lap, bringing her head against his chest, stroking her hair.

“My mother did this to calm me when I was little,” he explained, “in most cases it worked wonders.” His voice was gentle, and his hand didn’t stop its rhythmic movement.

Dangerous, imperious, intolerant, but why…why was he so gentle and caring to her. The mixture of all those things was terrifying.

Massimo said something to the driver in Italian and pushed a button on a panel, which caused a darkened window to rise between them and the man. The car accelerated, Massimo didn’t stop stroking her head. Once the drive was behind her, she was able to be calm again.

She slipped from his knees and sat down next to him.

He studied her intently, she turned to look away. Out the window she saw they were going uphill.

His villa built on the rocky slopes of Taormina, the vista stretching before them.

“Where are we going?” she said.

“Into town. You will like it,” he said, she could still feel his eyes on her.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Giardini Albergo di Rossi where she had stayed with Martin, Mike, and Kathy, was located a few miles away from Taormina. The Town on the Rock was practically visible from everywhere in Giardini. Were they sightseeing there? What if Marty, Mikey, and Kathy were there, waiting for her…looking for her. She dragged her nervous palms across her palms.

Massimo noticed, “They left the island yesterday.”

She turned to look at him with a questioning look, but he turned away.

When they reached their destination, the sun was already setting, tourists and locals were swarming the streets of Taormina. The town brimming with life; the narrow, picturesque streets were lined with hundreds of small cafés and restaurants. Signboards of expensive boutiques glowed. Armani, Louis Vuitton, Bvlgari, Van Cleef & Arpels, Jimmy Choo, La Perla, Fleur of England, and other luxury brands that Roxy recognized from 5th Avenue. But what were they doing in the middle of nowhere Sicily, Roxy wondered for a moment, and then realized. They were not in the middle of nowhere Sicily, they were in a tourist area in Italy, where rich people vacationed. Where rich people shopped. The car stopped and the driver stepped out to open the door. Massimo stepped out first, turned and offered his hand to help her out of the large SUV.

Two men dressed in black, his bodyguards, emerged from an SUV behind them. Massimo took Roxy’s hand, pulling her out of the SUV and led her to one of the main streets. His people followed at a distance that was supposed to be inconspicuous.

If he really wanted his people to be unseen, Roxy thought, they should be wearing shorts and flip-flops not undertaker suits. They’re probably strapped up to their necks.

The first shop he brought her to was Louis Vuitton . The shop assistant greeted them instantly, sprinted behind her desk to the backroom. A well-dressed man appeared instantly. He walked across the threshold, kissed Massimo on both cheeks, saying something in Italian, before turning his attention to Roxy.

“ Bella ,” he said, reaching for her hands.

She shook her head, “I’m not Bella.”

“It is a compliment,” he explained in accented English, “My name is Antonio. I shall help you chose some more…appropriate attire,” he looked up and down at her jean shorts and tank top. “Size 36, I presume.”

“I don’t-I don’t know what that means.”

“Size 36 sometimes 34 depending on the bra she chooses.” Massimo confirmed.

“Louis loves all breasts! Don Massimo sit here and wait for the show, please.”

Massimo released her hand and took a seat on the silvery satin couch. A shop assistant handed him a glass and bottle of Dom Pérignon, as he smoldered at Roxy’s ass as she disappeared into a dressing room. Antonio hauled dozens of dresses, sets, and all other clothes to the dressing room.

She marched out as soon as he tried to help her into them. Massimo, reading a newspaper, looked up, seemingly uninterested.

“Take me back to your stupid house.” She demanded when she stopped in front of him.

He inhaled deeply, “I am reading the paper.”

“I do not want, nor do I need new clothes.”

“You do.”

“Take me back to your stupid house or let me go back to my home in New York.”

“No,” he exhaled. “Go back to the dressing room.”

“No.” She said, braver than she felt.

“Then walk around my estate naked.” He folded the paper, reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, “ Domenico –” he spoke in Italian, raising an eyebrow. Turning back to Roxy he spoke, “I have instructed Domenico to burn your horrible clothes, if you do not get back in the change room.”

“What!”

“Hold on, Domenico,” he said into the phone, “I will spare your garbage clothes, if you get in the change room. Now.”

“He wants me to change in front of him.”

Massimo spoke something in Italian, and Roxy hoped it was a ceasefire.

“Who? Antonio?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the change room and tell him you do not need his help. He is, what is the American phrase? Eager Woodchuck? Do it or I tell Domenico to burn your clothes.”

He watched as she retreated back into the dressing room. When the curtain closed, he put his phone in his pocket. His silly little tesoro had not called his bluff, he hadn’t even dialed. Her body was only for his eyes.

Antonio waited from behind the curtain for Roxy to emerge, he clicked his tongue in appreciation for the corseted clothes that made her breasts look larger, the plunging necklines, the sets that showed off her stomach, the pants that were tight around her ass. An hour later, Antonio had chosen his favorite things to purchase into a little heap. Roxy checked the price. The entire thing was enough to stay a week in the hotel she looked at or pay her rent and utilities for three years, including a cleaning service and regular nights out to restaurants. Massimo paid and all the clothes were packed neatly into decorative boxes.

The story repeated in other boutiques: an enthusiastic welcome followed by an expensive shopping spree at Prada, Chanel, Louboutin, Jimmy Choo, Bvlgari, Van Cleef & Arpels, and Fleur of England.

Each time Massimo would sit down and patiently wait for her, reading his paper, talking on the phone, scrolling on an iPad. He seemed completely disinterested in what she was doing. One the one hand, it gave her a chance to relax and breathe out from his watchful eye. On the other hand, he was spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on her…did he expect…he must expect something. Was she nothing more than a f*ck to win? Did he expect her to open her legs as a thank you? Maybe… he was looking for her ass too. Did he expect her to just relax into his abduction like a frog getting used to hotter and hotter water?

Fleur of England was a lingerie store she realized as soon as he led her there. Blush pink carpet, brass hardware, and racks upon racks of undergarments and nighties in lace, satin, and silk.

Massimo had been watching her reaction.

“This is the last stop. We have no more time. Take that into account when choosing outfits here,” he said nonchalantly, turning his back to her and taking a seat.

“I have enough underwear.”

“Tragically, it is all very ugly.”

She grimaced, glaring at him with disapproval.

“Signora,” the shop female assistant called out, inviting her to a waiting room with a gesture.

As she entered the cubicle, her eyes were drawn to the heap of embroidered lace, thongs, g-strings, and suspender belt.

“You don’t have to try on everything. Just one set will be enough. I’ll make sure the size I’ve chosen is good.” the woman said, and disappeared, drawing the pale pink curtain behind her.

Roxy rifled through the pile, looking for the least offensive set. Preferably cotton granny panties.

Seeing none she stuck her head out of the curtain and asked, “Who picked all these?”

The ship assistant was next to her immediately, “Don Massimo asked me to prepare all those specific styles.” she spoke in a small voice.

“Oh.” Roxy replied, retreating into the cubicle.

Some of the lace was thin, some of it was thick, some of it was embroidered. The underwear was similar, though there were more satin and silk options. Some thongs and g-strings, but a fair amount of cheeky briefs.

The least offensive option was a beige and black embroidered set to get the entire thing over with.

The expensive bra was a push up, covered her small breasts well and defined her cleavage. She pulled up the matching cheeky briefs, then stood back and looked in the mirror.

He was standing behind her, leaving against the wall, with his hands in his pockets taking in the view.

She yelped and tried to cover herself with her hands as she spun around, “What the hell–” She managed before his arm shot out. He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the mirror.

He stepped closer, his body pressed against hers as he delicately trailed his thumb along her lips. His grip wasn’t too tight, but even if he released her his taut, muscled body caged her in. He took his thumb away and lowered it to her neck. His message was clear–he was in charge.

“Do not move,” he purred. His eyes dropped and he moaned softly, “You look pretty.”

She could feel his erection growing against her stomach.

“Massimo,” she whispered.

He hummed and moved against her. His domineering height, his domineering hold on her throat, his domineering erection. She could feel it twitch through his pants as it seared her exposed skin.

He flexed his hips, rocking slowly on her. She was paralyzed as his breathing got louder and heavier, his torso heaved faster and faster. She squeezed her eyes shut waiting for this to be over.

“Look me in the eyes,” he ordered.

She opened her eyes, and he grunted, rolling his hips down. His hand loosened around her neck.

“Stop.” she whispered, as he grunted and moved shallowly against her.

“Say my name again.” His eyes flared with lust.

“Massimo stop.”

He stopped and let go of her, “I picked out everything for you. I will decide when you wear that again.” He turned and left without another word.

She put her clothes on, shame and anger and fear, swirling just under her skin. What if he didn’t stop, what if he kept going. He said he wasn’t going to touch her without permission. She took the heap of lingerie from the small table and stormed out of the changing room. The shop assistant sprang to her feet. Roxy marched past her. Massimo was back on the couch, on his iPad like he didn’t just…she didn’t want to think about what he had just done.

“Since you like it so much, here!” She yelled, dumping the underwear on his, non-longer erect, lap. She stormed out of the boutique.

The security detail didn’t follow her as she passed them. They sent Massimo weary looks instead.

She ran along the streets, thinking about the horrible situation she’d found herself in. Another woman in her position might just sit back and enjoy it, might relish being treated to designer shopping sprees and lavish Italian mansions and food. Hell, maybe another version of her would enjoy the alcohol and Massimo’s touch. She sped through the crowded streets, she couldn’t enjoy the year all that his wealth had to offer when it was all about winning her over. She may have been a complainer in her past life. But she’d loved her life. She liked fighting for a degree, and gossiping with the maids in broken jokes and stealing the complimentary co*ke Zero’s they put in the minibars. She turned down a narrow street which led her up some stairs. She climbed up another set of stairs, her knee complaining lightly. How had she ended up in this mess? She leaned against the wall, and shut her eyes tightly, she was a runner once upon a time, and now she could barely climb two sets of stairs without her knee feeling throbbing, stabbing pains.

I can’t go on like this , she thought, biting her lip to keep from wailing in pain. She ground her teeth and her eyes filled with tears as she turned to face the sky. The grand castle loomed over Taormina.

“It used to be a fortress,” she heard someone say. “You want to run all the way up there or will you spare my boys the exertion? They’re not as fit as I am.” She turned, it was Massimo. Standing at the top of the stairs. He had followed her in a run–his hair was disheveled, but he hadn’t broken a sweat. Had she really gone that fast? Is that why her knee hurt so much? “You are in pain.” He leaned next to her against the wall, hands in his pockets.

“I can bring back the doctor,” he offered, “Or let you soak in the jacuzzi. There is many options at the villa.”

She frowned, her lower lip quivering. Massimo extended his hand, “If you cannot walk, I will carry you.”

Not wanting to be carried, she steeled herself and walked the few feet to the parked SUV, then slammed the door behind her.

A moment later, Massimo joined her. He took the seat next to her and put his phone to his ear, talking all the way, until they reached the driveway. He spoke Italian the entire time and she had no idea what he was saying. His voice was even and so was his body language. She couldn’t reason.

At the mansion she reached for the handle, Massimo finished his call, and tucked the phone into his breast pocket, “Dinner will be served in an hour. Domenico will come for you.” He said with a fixed stare.

The door opened, and she saw Domenico with her brace. He outstretched his arm, and she took it.

Wrapping the brace tightly around her knee, she took Domenico’s still outstretched hand and let herself brace against him and hobbled past the nightmare spot.

“We’re turning right,” he said quietly, as she started slowing down.

“This place is too big,” she grumbled.

When Domenico dropped her off in her room, he promised that all her new clothes would be brought to her and offered to bring her a drink. She declined and he disappeared into the darkness.

Without any other option, limped to the bathroom, took off her clothes, and stepped into the bathtub. She turned the cold tap. It was freezing–but in the heat of Sicily and the pain in her leg it was soothing. When the tub was satisfyingly full, she leaned her head back over the lip, and let the cold water work its soothing magic.

Out of the heat of the sun, out of Massimo’s fashion show, she was able to think. She had a year, she had to give him a year. Or everyone she loved would die. Marty, Kathy, Beni, Grandmother… she may not have liked her parents, but that didn’t mean she wanted them dead. And it struck her–there was nothing to fight, nothing to run away from. Nothing for her back in New York. Because at any moment he could change his mind and take everything away. It’s time to accept your situation, Roxy . The only thing left to do was be nothing that he wanted. He wanted the dream, she wasn’t his dream.

When her knee quieted, she got out of the tub.

Her bedroom was filled with dozens of boxes, and she felt irritated all over again. Why did he have to buy her so much? Didn’t he understand that she couldn’t be bought? Nothing was going to stop her now, she went over to the fireplace and turned the iron switch. It roared to life. The flames lapping the hot air and blowing smoke up the chimney.

She took each box, each expensive shoe, fabric, and whatever else Massio had purchased for her earlier and threw it into the fire. He would have a heart attack, but at least he would know she couldn’t be bought.

As the fire burned all the expensive clothes and shoes to ash, she went to the closet and changed out of her towel into a pair of linen shorts and a tank top.

Dominico knocked, “Dinner’s rea–”

She pulled the door open, cutting him off.

“Why did you turn on the fire? Are you too cold–what did you do with all the clothes?”

Domenico raced into the room, his eyes wide with understanding.

“I’ll tell him at dinner.” She said, walking past him.

Domenico led her to the terrace she had breakfast on. The pergola glowed with small lanterns and fairy lights, and candles; small tea lights flickering and illuminating the night sky. Massimo stood next to it.

His eyes trailed over every inch of her. Then he turned around, walked over to the table and picked up a glass with amber liquid in it. He nodded at his brother, who slipped into darkness. Massimo took a deep sip, then steadied his burning eyes on Roxy. Even if she’d been born blind, she’d have been able to feel the heat behind his gaze. The hell fire that devoured her as she stepped closer and closer to him.

“Did Domenico not help you with choosing a dress?” He asked, holding out his hand for her.

“How could he find a dress amongst all the ash?” She said walking past him to take a seat.

He was lighting as he grabbed her hand and spun her that she was facing him.

“Are you aware,” he rasped, “that if you keep provoking me, I might not be able to control myself.”

She placed a hand on his stone torso and delicately pushed him away, he didn’t resist her touch. He took a seat and watched her with curiosity, still devouring with his eyes.

“You smell like honey, yet you act like calabria ,” he took another deep sip of his scotch, finishing the alcohol, “I want to lay you on your stomach right here, and f*ck you.”

She flinched at his audacity.

He went on, “Your smell…just as I had dreamed it, five years ago. I am sure–” he stood and walked over to her, “that you taste like honey as well.”

He broke off and kissed her, mashing his teeth against hers, using his hands to hold her face so she couldn’t turn away. He was so much taller than her, so domineering over her, his hands were so large they could crush her. She could only jerk her head back and pant at his abrupt assault.

“You see, Roxanne. You do desire me.” She felt his hands smoothe down her neck. “Remember it is my game. I make the rules.” He kissed her forehead, pulled out a chair for her, and took a seat next to it.

She sat down.

“I will have Domenico reorder the clothes, they will be here in the morning. Next time,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his light grey sweater, “You decide to burn my clothing you shall find yourself naked. Which I will enjoy, very much.”

He was triumphant. She knew it, he knew it. There was no way around it, as much as he’d spent the first time around on the clothes, shoes, cosmetics, and lingerie; it was probably a drop in the ocean to what he’d made in an hour.

“What do you do?” She asked, as two young men showed up and served appetizers.

Massimo shot a figure in the doorway a warning glare.

She turned to where he was looking to see Domenico nod and disappear.

“Business,” he replied smoothly, and took a fork to his dish.

“I’m asking for real. I’ll share what I do for money.”

He caught her in his gaze, “You work as a front end clerk at a five star hotel in Manhattan, New York. You occasionally work shifts as a maid. It helps you pay for your schooling, of which you have two classes left to finish your degree in–what was it– ah, yes, Communication for Technical Writing.”

Another dish arrived.

“So you get to know everything about me and for a year I get nothing?”

He thought for a while, his face turned serious.They ate in silence.

“You are entitled to some explanation. I will tell you as much as you need to know now.” He took a sip of wine. “When you are my wife I will tell you more.”

Another dish arrived, when the servers left he continued.

“After my parents died, I was chosen as the next head of the family. That is why people call me ‘Don’. I own several companies, clubs, restaurants, and hotels. Just like any regular corporation. I am the head. But all that is just a small part of a bigger picture. If you need a list, I will provide you one, though I believe the saying is ‘the less the better’.” He kept his eyes trained on her, a deathly serious threat hanging in the air.

“What do you want to know specifically? You want me to tell you I have a consigliere? Yes, I do. You will meet him soon enough. You already know I have a gun and I am dangerous. That I tackle my problems head-on. What else? Ask.”

Her head swirled with questions: Why did you kill that man? How many people have you killed before? Would you really kill my family and friends to keep me? Even though it means I’d hate you forever? Why do you know so much about me? How do you know so much about me? She wanted none of the answers, each one would bring newfound terror and shame. Here she was being spoiled with food, shopping, and alcohol while the tyrannical don could change his mind at any second, decide she was not worth it, and shoot her like he’d shot that man a few days ago. She only had his word that he would not touch her, and he didn’t follow that in the lingerie store. His word about killing her family and friends would mean next to nothing if he decided she needed to learn a lesson.

“When will I get my phone?”

Massimo calmly leaned back and crossed his legs, “Whenever you want. We only have to agree on what you are going to say to the people you will like to contact.”

She opened her mouth to protest.

He held a hand up, “Before you start. Let me tell you where we stand. You can call your mother and father, and if you think necessary I will return you to New York.”

She brightened.

“You will tell them you received job offer for very lucrative work proposition in one of the hotels on Sicily and that you will be taking it. There is a one year probation period. This way you will not lie to your relatives if you feel like talking to them. We have taken your things from Martin’s apartment before he returned. They arrived the day after you woke up. I consider the entire subject of that man closed. Permanently. You will not talk to or see him again. Am I making myself clear?”

She remained silent, if she spoke about Marty she would cry. His betrayal too recent, and their relationship was so long. She decided to focus.

“You have my laptop? My clothes? Everything? Then why did you take me shopping?”

A large fire lit up in the middle of his massive grounds.

Massimo inhaled deeply; his eyes closed, his adam's apple bobbing slightly. “You burn my clothes. I burn your clothes.”

Her eyes were swimming again, as the fire grew larger and larger.

“If you chose to go back to New York,” he carried on as if he hadn’t destroyed her, “I will be happy to see your beautiful city with you.”

The sweater Grandmother knitted for her, gone. The burgundy dress she wore to every holiday party, gone. The NYU shirt she got for free at the student union, gone. Her favorite pair of jeans, gone. Her lucky underwear, gone. All the clothes she loved, all the clothes she didn’t, gone.

“I am not making a proposition with you, Roxanne. You are free to disagree with me. But I have told you the way things are and will be. You are smart, Roxanne, I have seen your transcripts. Have you not realized that I always get what I want?”

She grimaced, willing tears not to fall.

“Not always. Not me.”

She pushed herself out of the seat, as Massimo watched her every move carefully, and headed towards the garden fire. The air tasted like smoke and salt, and the grass was slick with ocean spray. He followed her, he couldn’t resist going after her. She walked through the darkness, following the only light.

They were burning her clothes near the beach sofa she had been sitting on earlier. Most of her things were ash, some curling under the flame. A man she did not know or recognize used the fire to light a cigarette. Her eyes scanned the pile, hoping she would only see the things she hated, but the lumpy brown cable knit sweater, with the amateurly embroidered flowers was in the pile.

“If you’d like to save it,” his warm breath tickled her ear, “I will save it. But it will cost you.”

She nodded slowly, her lips barely parting as she breathed, “Save it?”

“I would like to be gentle with you.” His hands touched her shoulders, squeezing gently. “It will cost you a kiss.”

She froze, her eyes trained on the sweater, that was getting closer and closer to the top of the pile. “Just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss.” he agreed. He nodded at one of the men, who took the sweater and disappeared into the mansion.

He spun her around in a gentle motion, placing his hands on her cheeks, and staring into her watery blue eyes. With another gentle motion he pulled her closer. As their lips met, Massimo used his tongue to open her mouth. Tasting her, testing her. It was clear he wanted her.

A moment later, he withdrew.

“Baby girl…” he breathed heavily, “When you have been fighting tooth and nail for everything you have. When you’ve been using nothing but violence your whole life… it is difficult to react in another way when someone denies you what you want.”

She understood plainly, he was trying to make her reciprocate his feelings, the one’s he had harbored for five years, and the only way he knew how to do that was by force. If she was going to resist him for the year, she would have to learn to lose sentimental sweaters.

She took quick steps back to the villa. She was tired, disoriented, and full of aching memories that were lit up in smoke. It took her a while, but when she finally reached her room and collapsed on the bed, she fell into an exhausted dreamless sleep.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

From the moment he slid into bed with her, she curled into him. Her arm came across his chest, her hand open against his heart. She loved him, he knew. From the moment she went looking for him that first night. She wanted him, but societal convention or her own stubbornness prevented her from acknowledging it to herself. She wanted to be kissed by him, f*cked by him, loved by him.

Her breathing was steady and deep, her unconscious sharing the truth with him. Her short hair (shorter than he liked, shorter than she would ever have again) fanned across her cheeks. Her skin still exuded honey, her hair smelled like him, but that would change once she began using her own products again. Though, maybe he would delay that. It turned him on more than he thought for her to smell like him. To mark herself with his scent. He wondered fleetingly, as he settled into the bed, adjusting to hold her–a hold she accepted– how she would feel when she learned–if she learned–that he knew so much about her from Benedetta Rossi. Fortune had smiled upon him, when he learned a debtor was her friend. A friend who knew so much. How she would react to seeing that disgusting sweater almost burn. A friend who knew what she liked and didn’t like. A friend who had been her confidant, was his success.

She exhaled against his shoulder, her hot breath reminding him of his fortune. She was so beautiful, when she was full of rage, tears, and even sleeping. He would enjoy her.

It was the sun that streamed onto her face that woke her up from the heavy sleep, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rubbed her tired eyes. She had sweat in her sleep. Goddamn the heat, goddamn the sun. Stripping the clothes off as she made her way to the bathroom, stretching and cracking her sleeping body. She wanted a cool shower.

Goddamn this glorious water pressure.

The cool water flowing from the many overhead taps, beating down on her like heavy rain. She used the shampoo tap, then the conditioner tap, then the body gel tap. No idea that the reason she had sweat in her sleep was because of closeness that her partner shared with her.

For most of the night, she’d been curled into Massimo, sleeping next to his heavy body. Now he was watching her shower, cursing himself for believing that she’d gotten her nipples pierced. Benedetta must have been confused, maybe she only said Roxy had wanted them. The small grey tattoo in the middle of her back was real. So not all she told was false.

As the soap slid down her breasts and stomach, he ached. He wanted that to be his mouth, dick, his come. He knew it would be a long shot, but today could very well be the day she decided to let him f*ck her. Today could very well be the day she decided to acknowledge their love.

“Good morning, baby girl. May I join you?” he asked, smiling happily

She stopped adjusting her towel, and grimaced, “Do whatever you want.”

She stepped out of the shower as he stepped into the expanse. Slowly, he grabbed his shirt from the bottom of his neck and tore it off. She didn’t seem to be paying attention as she went over to the mirror and applied lotion on her skin.

He needed to entice her more. She had to see him this way. He needed her mouth to water, her puss* to wet, for her to desire him just as much as he desired her.

“Before I take my pants off, I have to warn you. I am a man. It is morning, and you are naked under the towel.” He shrugged nonchalantly, spreading his lips in a roguish smile.

Her eyes flicked to him in the mirror, still moving through the motions of dipping her fingers into the lotion and applying it to her skin.

“We are leaving today,” he said impassively, pretending he didn’t notice her eyeing him. “We are going to be away for a couple of days. Maybe weeks. I do not know yet. We will drop by some galas and parties, so take this into account when packing your things. The reorder has been delivered, if you destroy this. You will walk around naked.”

She did her best to listen, as the water flowed freely down his naked body. He was standing with his arm propped against the wall, showcasing himself for her. She started combing her hair, unable to stop herself from examining his toned legs, muscled stomach, and large, thick erect dick. She flicked her eyes back to herself, and he knew he had enticed her. He turned, shutting his eyes and letting her watch him again as if he didn't know.

“Do you want something? Or are you just watching?” He asked, his eyes still shut. “What do you think about, looking at it? You want to touch it?”

He waited for her response.

“I’ll do it with or without your help,” he waited.

He couldn’t resist opening his eyes and searching for her. She was nowhere in the bathroom.

Angrily, he took care of himself and stormed to his library.

She heard him storm out of the room, then she left the closet. Sighing with relief that he had turned and she could leave without being noticed.

Domenico was there in her room, arranging gigantic Louis Vuitton travel bags.

“Where’s Massimo?” She asked, twisting the knot of a bathrobe around her.

Domenico smiled, “The library, I’d wager. Would you like me to take you to him? He’s currently talking to his consigliere, but I’m sure he’d like a visit from you.”

She flinched, “I don’t want that . I’m avoiding him right now.”

“We’re leaving in an hour, so you have to get over whatever it is.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Domenico smiled and nodded, “I thought you could use some help.”

“Where are we going?”

“Napoli, Rome, and Venice, and then the Côte d’Azur,” he replied.

“Is he parading me around?”

Domenico chuckled, “I was told not to spoil it for you. Don Massimo will make everything clear in time. I am just here to help you pack.”

“Did the clothing he ordered come yet? I didn’t see it in the closet.”

Domenico chuckled again, “That’s because you were hiding in his closet. Go to the bathroom, finish drying off and there is an outfit ready for you.”

Domenico had chosen a white Chanel outfit for the trip. Wide palazzo capri pants with slits that went up to her mid thigh, a delicate off white top made out of paper-thin silk embroidered with flowers with wispy tulle straps tied at her shoulders. The peep toe stilettos complemented the outfit, but she did not put them on.

“Your things are packed,” Domenico said.

“I can’t walk in these shoes. Not with my knee.”

Domenico nodded like he knew she’d shattered her knee her freshman year of college and lost her Track and Field scholarship because of it. He took the stilettos and handed her slingback taupe d'orsay shoes with a low heel. Something she could walk in, but still matched the outfit.

“Massimo has requested to see you.” Domenico told her, when she put the shoes on.

The library was one of those rooms whose location she had committed to memory. Though she hadn’t been back since that first terrifying night. She shivered as she opened the door. The last time she had been in this room, he had threatened the life of her family, her friends. Marty’s adultery had been revealed. Massimo had threatened her with a gun.

Massimo was sitting on the couch. Wearing a linen suit and unbuttoned shirt. Next to him sat a man with greying hair– a lot older than Massimo. Longish hair combed back and a well-groomed goatee. Seeing Roxy, both of them jumped to their feet. The first look she got from Massimo was ice cold. Like he had forgotten he had summoned her. As soon as his eyes swept her silhouette, his stare seemed to grow less severe. He said something to the other man, keeping his eyes on her, and started walking her way.

“A pity. I had to cope without you,” he whispered.

“Cope. You should be used to it.”

Her words made him still for an instant. His stare full of passion and anger. He took her hand in his and led her to associate.

“Roxanne, meet Mario–my right hand.” Massimo introduced. Mario swooped in, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed both her cheeks. “My consigliere.”

“Just Mario is all right.” The older man smiled, “It is good to finally see you in the flesh. Alive.”

She blanched. What did he mean… alive? Had he assumed Massimo would kill her? Or did he think that he wouldn’t live to see her arrival?

“There are paintings of you all over the mansion. They’ve been there for years now, but nobody ever believed you were real. You must be as astounded as we are.” Mario explained quickly.

“Astounded is not the word I’d use.” She said, turning her face to Massimo, “In fact, I humbly count every day until this year is over.”

Massimo burst out laughing.

“Humbly,” he repeated to his companion, who joined in the merriment.

“Is there a reason why you summoned me like a child?” She snapped.

“As a matter of fact,” Massimo sat back on his couch and leaned back, “I am offering you a deal. I have decided to offer you your phone–to call your family and tell them the agreed upon story. Or I will not give you those pills for the plane you say you require.”

“Screw you!” She growled, turning her back on them and headed for the door.

Mario turned his Don, holding back his laughter, “Indeed, Massimo, it’s just as if she was Italian.”

Her phone was laying on the back seat, right next to the button that closed the window between driver and passenger. She pressed it quickly and turned on her phone–and her heart leapt in her throat. Dozens of missed calls from her grandmother, Kathy, Marty, and her boss. Her boss had sent her several texts, each one increasing in anger. Marty probably sent her the most texts of all, begging to talk to her.

She dialed Grandmother. Her terrified voice greeted immediately.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve been crying my eyes out! Where have you been? Marty said he hasn’t seen you since you disappeared. He contacted the American Consulate, you know!” Grandmother explained, on the verge of tears. Her thin voice was thick with concern. “Is everything okay, Roxy? What happened?”

She took a deep breath, “I was kidnapped and you have to get everyone to safety! I’m being held captive by the head of the Sicilian mafia who thinks I’m his perfect match! If you don’t hurr–”

Her phone rang, and she took it away from her ear to check… Grandmother? She was just on the phone with her.

She answered again, “Grandmother?”

“I think we got disconnected.” The phone chirped with a message.

Roxy took her phone away from her ear, there was a message from Massimo: stick to the story we agreed on or she dies.

“We must have,” Roxy let out a shaky laugh, “Listen Grandmother, I just called to let you know I got offered a job here, at one of the best hotels on the island. They’re giving me a one year probation, but I’m staying in Sicily for a while.”

“You can’t speak Italian; and what about Marty? Does he know?”

“Marty and I are on a break right now. But, uh, for the job, I don’t need to speak Italian.”

“What about school?”

“It'll still be there, I’m going to defer for the year.”

“I love you, Roxy, but this sounds incredibly short sighted.”

“I know, but how many opportunities like this are there?” Roxy felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She hated lying to her grandmother, but what other option did she have? Massimo had bugged her phone and could remotely end calls. “I love you too, I’ll try and see you soon.”

“You will see me soon. I love you.”

Roxy pressed the red button. It worked, lying to her grandmother, now she had to convince Massimo to let her go back to New York. It was inevitable now. Maybe she could pass a note or secretly alert the police somehow. In the moments she fantasized about ridding herself of Massimo, the car door opened and the Devil himself slipped inside.
He looked at the phone in her hand.

“You spoke with your grandmother.” he asked, waiting for her reaction.

“Yes.”

“You almost got her killed.” He said.

“You almost killed her.”

“Which is why when we visit her, I will not let you out of my sight. The last stop of our trip will be to New York. It will not be as soon as you would like, but I will have Domenico to monitor your phone calls with her. With him, you can call her more frequently.”

That was good news.

“So I can say whatever I want to her?”

“Within reason, after all I would hate to kill her.” Massimo kept his eyes on her for a moment longer. Then he laid his head on the headrest and sighed. “I am not so bad. I do not want to keep you here against your will. I do not want to threaten you. But, tell me: would you stay here of your own free will?”

He fixed her with a searching stare.

She turned away. Would she stay? Of course not.

Massimo didn’t wait for her to reply, he knew she was not ready to admit she would love him forever. He turned to his phone and scrolled as the car started moving.

“Where are we going?” Roxy asked eventually, looking through the window.

“The airport in Catania. If the traffic is light, we should be there in less than an hour.”

She shivered, as much as she hated Massimo she hated flying more.

She fidgeted restless in her seat, and the chill of the air-conditioning felt like arctic winter. Nervously, she rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself. Her arms pricked with goosebumps that wouldn’t vanish. Massimo glanced at her with his cold eyes, but the ice suddenly turned into fire.

“Why are not you wearing a f*cking bra!”

She frowned and sent him a questioning look.

“I can see your nipples.”

She glanced down and saw he was right, her nipples were visible through the delicate fabric.

“I am wearing a bra. It’s not my fault all my underwear is lace now.” She said impassively, “The only padded bra I have caused you to assault me in the lingerie store, so excuse me, for drawing attention.”

He moved slowly, his fingers brushing lightly against her neck as he reached for a tulle knot on her shoulder, unraveling it and then he did the same with the other. He pulled the tulle. Her shirt fell quickly, the light fabric bunched at her waist revealing her breasts.

She covered herself with her hands, still shivering.

Massimo moved his hand from her shoulder and covered her hand with his. His motions were deliberate as he pulled down her hand.

Her heart was pulsated in her ears as he took in her breasts.

Beni had been right, Massimo thought as he marveled at the small rose-gold rods that blended into her pink nipple. The strapless white lace bra doing nothing to cover her.

“Are you cold?” he asked, moving his hand and trailing his thumb over her nipple. His voice was different. Softer.

She jerked in surprise at his touch.

“No,” she breathed heavily, her body buzzing from his touch.

Massimo’s hand was still lazily fiddling with the lace fabric over her nipple, before plucking at the fabric and bringing it down. When his eyes reached their destination, they flared with desire. She had seen that stare before. In the dressing room…and in the driveway.

There was nowhere to run. Massimo rolled her nipple between two fingers and edged closer to her. She leaned her head back, biting the top of her lip to keep from moaning. It had been so long since she’d been touched like this. So long since Marty…

With his free hand, he snatched her by the neck, as if knowing she was thinking about her last love. He dropped his head and gently bit on her nipple, the tip of his tongue swirling around the barreled heads of the rose gold rod and the flat of his tongue swiping at her pebbled nipple.

“This,” he said, lifting his head for an instant, “is mine.”

It had been so long. She moaned as quietly as she could as he began lavishing her nipple.

Her moan was like pushing a big red button in his head. She wanted him. She wanted him, as he felt her hand slide into his hair and her fingers tighten around his scalp. He continued to suck and lick, hoping her arousal had soaked through her panties by now.

She lifted his head by his hair, his eyes still had their lustful flare. He panted, staring daggers into her.

“Stop.” She said, breathing heavy from his ministrations.

He was burning up, his pupils dilated so completely-his eyes were completely black. Before crashing his lips into hers, his tongue lashing against her palate and licking her tongue.

Very delicately she pushed him away. Still, he tried to catch her lips between his teeth.

“Stop,” she said again, as he gently licked her lips.

His fingernails dug into the side of the seat hard, making the leather creak under the pressure. He drilled holes into her with his wild gaze.

“I am going too fast,” he said finally, leaning back into his seat. “The thought of your wet puss* is driving me crazy.”

He adjusted his co*ck, standing to attention under his clothes. Massimo watched for her reaction.

But she wasn’t looking at him, she was retying the tulle straps he’d pulled. When she was finished she looked up at him. Massimo reached into the glove compartment and took out a black paper bag.

“I have something for you,” he said, handing her the package.

The elegant gold filigree lettering on its front spelled out “Patek Philippe”. She knew that name, she knew how expensive those watches were.

“No.” She said, not reaching for the package. “I don’t want that.”

He laughed, sliding on sunglasses.

“Baby girl, this is one of the cheaper gifts I’m going to give you. Besides, you cannot forget that you are mine to give gifts to for another few hundred days. Open it.”

She shook her head again–even though arguing with him didn’t go anywhere. And typically it led to him disregarding her wishes. As it did today. He opened it himself, pulling out a gold and silver watch encrusted with diamonds on the face, and fastening it on her wrist.

“You have been isolated for the last few days. I know I have taken so much from you, you start getting it all back now.”

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Chapter Text

They reached the airport without any problems. The driver opened the door for Massimo, who rounded the car and opened the door for Roxy.

She grimaced as he grabbed her ass and pushed her gently toward the entrance. He smirked back at her, and slid his hand up her back and led her to the terminal.

The airline formalities were quick, and as a golf cart took them through a building and out on the tarmac. She froze.

In her eyes, the charter plane was small–too small. Her stomach turned and her body went rigid.

“Go up the stairs.” He said from behind her. His fingertips digging into her back.

She shook her head.

“I’m not going inside.”

“Go up the stairs, Roxanne.” He sounded bored.

She turned around to face him, “I can’t do it. Please don’t make me go on an airplane.” Panic welled in her eyes.

“Do not make a scene, Roxanne. Get in the plane.”

She shook her head again, “No, no, see I haven’t had my anti-anxiety meds in weeks. I can’t go on the–”

“If you do not go on the plane, I will have to carry you by force.” he hissed, interrupting her panicked plea.

“No, please, I’ll be good! Please don’t make me get on th–!”

Without another word, Massimo took her in his arms. Ignoring her panicked cries, kicking legs, and whacking arms, he carried her up the stairs and through the small entrance. He greeted the pilot and the hatch closed with a hiss.

Her heart pounded in her ears, as he set her down. She rushed to the door and tried to open it.

He was quiet as he walked over to her, “Roxanne,” he started. Placing his hand on the small of her back.

Her shoulders shook, and her panicked cries got louder as the locked door wouldn’t open, “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!”

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her eyes were welling with more panicked tears.

“Let me out!” she cried, panting between each word.

He pressed his lips to hers and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She bit down hard as soon as she felt it. He lept back, pushing her down to one of the leather couches that filled that entire side of the plane.

She fell on her stomach, and curled her body into a ball still crying. She didn’t hear as he pulled his leather belt out of the loops of his pants in one fluid motion. Then, he took off his jacket, hanging it on the backrest of one of the seats.

He sat next to her shaking, crying body, and pinned her between himself and the wall.

“Look at me,” he growled. “Sit up and look at me.”

When she didn’t, he grabbed her arm–she yelped in pain–and forced her to sit up. Then he pinched her chin between his fingers and lifted it so she had to look him in the eyes.

She reacted, before she could think. Jumping to her feet and striking him. Her slap had caught him by surprise and his cheek was reddening as his eyes flared with anger and his jaw clenched.

“You will choose your punishment now, Roxanne. I warned you not to defy me.” His voice was low as he took her wrists and tied them delft with his belt. Then he sat them both down and fastened the seatbelts. The plane took off.

Massimo sat opposite and glared, still boiling with fury.

“So you do no have to think too hard, I’ll tell you what your choices are,” he said slowly, keeping his voice cold and even in between her racked sobs. “Each time you hit me, you show a lack of respect. It is insulting, Roxanne. Therefore, I’ll make you feel what I feel. You do not have to like it. You can pretend you don’t like it. But you chose now: either you blow me or I blow you.”

A new mix of fear doused her like cold water as the plane hit its cruising altitude, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fainted.

When she came to, she was still lying on a couch near the back of the plane–away from the others–her hands were still tied. But someone was stroking her hair. Massimo delicately raking his fingers through her scalp, his face impassive and his eyes soft.

“Do not move, yet,” he said tenderly, “I did not realize how you were… I do not remember the English word…but it’s about how you do with flying.”

She adjusted her head on his lap, to try and see his face; but he just shushed her, told her not to move again, and continued stroking her hair.

“I did not realize how bad with flying,” he stated again, “But you still hit me. You still have to be punished.”

“P-punished?” She sputtered.

“Shh, now. I have decided to change your punishment, given that you are… ah, I still forget the English word,” he flashed her a flippant smirk, “But you will still be punished.”

She waited for him to continue.

“Either,” he spoke softly so only she could hear, “You blow me, or I blow you, or stay tied up… for the rest of the flight and all future flights.”

She jerked up, the sudden movement made her dizzy and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Here,” he placed a glass at her lips, “It’s water. Drink.” and tilted it slowly so she could sip.

When she opened her eyes, he asked softly, “Better?”

She nodded with small movements.

“I do not want to punish you, Roxanne. Which is why you are picking.”

“Why do I have to be punished at all?”

“Because I am head of this Torricelli famiglia and every time you defy me, you make the others doubt my strength. And I am not weak. So you are punished.”

“Keep me tied up, then,” she grimaced, her voice hoarse. She attempted to turn away from him.

He stood up from the couch and instead of leaving her. He lifted her. She blanched and stumbled over words as he brought her to one of the seats nearest the rest of the Torricelli famiglia. He strapped one seat belt over her waist, two over her chest in crossing directions, a single seat belt over her around her and the chair, before taking the belt off her wrists. He replaced the leather belt with a much softer fabric bathrobe belt, and tied the leather around her ankles.

He leaned over her, staring at his work.

“You have no idea how many things I’d like to do to you, baby girl.” he whispered.

She kept still, clenching her jaw to keep from spewing insults. She didn’t want to make it worse for her. But as he turned away a rumble of turbulence shook the plane.

“Please don’t go!” She cried in a panic.

He turned toward her, she was breathing heavily, even though the turbulence was gone.

“Untie me, please! I don’t care, I’ll blow you! I just can’t be tied up and stuck in this coffin!”

He walked toward her slowly. Still making up his mind.

“Massimo, please! Please!” She whined. “I’ll be good! Please untie me!”

“You will be good?” He asked.

“Yes! Please untie me!” She begged, tears streaming down her face.

He sat down slowly in the seat next to her.

“I asked you not to hit me.” He said evenly.

“I won’t ever hit you again! Please untie me!”

He reached over to her, and for a moment she had hope. Hope he would get rid of the belt at her waist, around her torso, her arms, and her ankles. He pressed the release to the belt at her waist. Her heart beat slowed, he was releasing her!

Then she felt him unzipping her pants.

“What are you doing!” She cried, trying to squirm away from his hand.

Massimo's blasé chuckle struck her across the face, “I can make you feel better without letting untying you.”

“No! No! Stop!” She squeezed her legs together as hard as she could. “Massimo please, don’t do this!”

“You agreed to be tied up. You asked me to stay. You have to be punished…” he trailed off, and slipped his hand beneath her pants, beneath her underwear. “I will be gentle.”

Her breath caught, tears a steady river down her cheeks, “Please Massimo,” she whispered.

She felt his breath on her cheek, and then he gently bit her earlobe.

“Don’t be afraid, Tesoro,” he said, stroking her gently with one finger, “I’ll make you forget you’re tied.”

She flinched into his touch, her body reacting to his caresse and filling her with a sweet ache. It had been so long…

He placed his other hand on her leg, spreading it as wide as he could, “You’ll be a good girl, now.”

She released a reedy, whiny breath. Her hips flexing into his touch. She was so wet.

And she hated it. How the sweet ache got more desperate, how her hips bucked slightly at his pace. How close she was, she didn’t care if the other members of Massimo’s henchmen could hear her. She didn’t care that Massimo could hear her. She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t see his reaction as she arched her back as best she could, in her restraints, trying to urge his movements.

He tsk’d at her, adding another finger to his ministrations. His light touch, the way her back was arching, her hips moving against him. She bit her lip, she couldn’t–she wouldn’t–cry out for him.

“I’ve dreamed about this since I first saw you. I want to give you ecstasy.” He breathed.

She peeked at him through one eye. His eyes were on his hand and her hips as he delicately caressed at her cl*t.

In one dynamic movement, he swiped across her cl*t. Her eyes squeezed shut and she couldn’t stop a pleasured gasp escape her throat, as her core clenched, and she tried to flex away from his hand.

“I want you to come, and I want you to look at me, Roxanne.”

She shook her head, keeping her eyes squeezed.

He swiped her cl*t again, not the same pressure as the last time, but enough to make her flex again, and release another pleasured mewl.

“I want you to look at me. I want into your eyes as you come.”

Would he keep doing this to her? Keeping her on the edge of complete satisfaction until she compiled? His fingers dipped down, breeching her and curling in a come hither motion as she clenched around him.

He tsk’d, “Look at me Roxanne. Look at me and I’ll let you come.”

With her eyes still squeezed shut, she bit her lip to keep from moaning, and shook her head.

He moved from inside her to her cl*t, her wetness lubricating her more than she already was. He increased his pace slightly.

She couldn’t stop herself from crying out, she needed him to continue. She needed to come. It had been so long.

She opened her eyes.

Massimo quickened his pace, his eyes bore into hers. Her breathing a mix of pants and cries.

Her core tightening and pulsing with pleasure until it was too much and she came. He stopped as soon as she did, took his hand out of her pants, as she leaned her head back on the headrest.

“Now what do you say?” He asked, his voice soft–only for her.

She turned her head slightly, looking him in the eye and said, “I’m sorry. For hitting you.”

“Apology accepted.” He said, and started untying her from the chair.

When she was finally untied, he took her back to the other end of the plane, placed her in a seat and sat down opposite her, making her watch as he put his still wet fingers in his mouth.

“Suddenly, I’m not so sure if you were the one punished,” He said.

She looked down at her shoes.

“You’re getting adorably insolent.” He smiled and poured himself a glass of champagne. “I can see the size of the plane stopped bothering you.”

She swallowed. The size of the plane had stopped bothering her. But a new fear had replaced it: being stuck in a plane with him.

He chuckled, “If you’re speechless from my fingers, I look forward to your reaction from my tongue. I suppose you want to know what the plan is. And in time you’ll learn. I’ll do some business and you will get to play the mobster’s girl.”

When they landed, a pair of black SUVs and a whole security team were already waiting for them with an open door for her and Massimo. As she made herself comfortable in her seat, she could feel Massimo’s eyes on her.

“I’d like to be inside you,” he whispered in her ear. His hot breath chilled her to the bone. “Deep and brutal. I want to feel your dripping wet puss* squeeze my co*ck.”

Those words filled her with horror. He had promised he wouldn’t touch her without her permission, and he had already done it twice.

Was he going to rape her when they got to where they were going?

He pulled away and said something to the driver in Italian. After a few seconds the car veered off the road and stopped. The driver stepped out, leaving them completely alone.

Was he going to rape her here? Now?

“Sit in the passenger seat in the front,” Massimo ordered, pinning me with his cold, black stare. He didn’t look like he was about to move.

What was he doing?

“Why?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Massimo clenched his jaw and his face morphed with annoyance.

“I’ll repeat one last time: move or I will move you myself?”

She wanted to resist, she wanted to prove to him that she’d never listen to him, never love him. But he was going to punish her if she didn’t. And she couldn’t take another punishment, especially if it was going to be similar to what he did on the plane.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and muttered–to herself–, “I’m not a dog.”

He grabbed her, pulled her out of the car and then threw her into the front seat.

“Not a dog. A bitch.” He hissed.

He took both her hands by the wrist and wrapped them in the same bathrobe belt as he did in the plane. He stormed into the driver's seat.

“Is tying women up your thing?” She asked in a small voice as he adjusted the settings on the dashboard.

“It’s not a question of preference in your case.”

He pressed the ignition button and the GPS directed him as he began to drive.

After a couple of minutes she spoke again, “You tied this too tight. It’s hurting me.”

“Well, I’m hurt too, but for an entirely different reason. Want to compare?”

She wondered what she had done that was so horrible to make him act like this, no idea why he was taking his anger out on her.

“You’re a goddamned egomaniac.”

Massimo slowed to a stop at a traffic light, turning to her and fixing her with a furious glare. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t do anything to you in the backseat and now I’m tied up again! I can barely feel my fingers, because you’re so f*cking vain, not getting into the front seat fast enough is a goddamn reason to restrain me–”

He didn’t move, his glare growing more and more furious by the second. As soon as the light turned green, he stepped on the accelerator.

“–It’s too tight–”

“I’ll get rid of your pain. Or at least take your mind off it,” he said, interrupting her and moved his right hand to her pants again.

She grabbed his hand before he could touch. It fit awkwardly between her tied hands, but she held onto him nonetheless.

“No! Massimo, I’m sorry. I’m not in pain anymore! Please don’t do that again!”

“Not interested in that anymore,” he said, “But if you don’t be quiet, I’ll have to gag you. I’d like to hear the GPS if you don’t mind, so shut up.”

He laced the fingers between hers. His hand warm, his palm somewhat rough, but he didn’t make a move for her again.

“You promised you wouldn’t touch me unless I wanted you to,” she said in a small, soft voice after a while.

“I didn’t do anything against your wishes. I made sure you forgot about your fear on the plane.” His thumb began tracing small circles on the back of her hand.

When the car stopped, some time later, she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or if she was going to be… she stopped that thought, as his hand slipped from hers. He stopped the engine. Her heart beat faster as he leaned towards her. Then her ties loosened.

“We’re here,” he announced.

“Good,” she replied, rubbing at the angry red marks in her wrist. She hoped naively that whatever had been bothering him early had stopped and he left her alone.

His hand shot out and pulled her over him. She sat astride him with her back to the steering wheel. He grabbed the back of her neck and pressed her against his erection.

With his hips undulating lazily, the movement and intense pressure was not something she was prepared for. Her eyes were still wide with shock and she couldn’t–wouldn’t–tear them away from his, lest he do something again to her in the plane.

“What hurts me,” he hissed, his fury, threatening to boil over, “is that I haven’t come inside you yet.”

“You’ll have to live with that, then.” She said, much braver than she was.

He froze, watching her closely, looking for answers she wasn’t sure she had asked. There was a knock on the window. Without looking away from her, Massimo lowered the glass. Roxy turned and saw the not surprised face of Domenico. He must have seen everything.

Domenico and Massimo exchanged a few short sentences in Italian, both ignoring the way Massimo held Roxy. When they were finished, Domenico handed something to Massimo and Massimo opened the door and stepped out, keeping his hold on Roxy. He headed into the lobby of the hotel he had parked in front of. Roxy had no choice but to cling to him, with her legs wrapped around his hips. The surprised stares of tourists and workers burned her back as Massimo passed them with confidence.

“You can put me down.” Roxy whispered.

“No,” Massimo said as they passed the reception desk and entered the elevator. He propped her against the wall. “My co*ck is about to rip through my pants.”

The elevator bell chimed as they reached their floor. Massimo took steps to the double doors and used a card he must have gotten from Domenico at the car, to unlock the doors to their presidential suite. Then he put her down.

She took a step away from him, “I’m going to take a shower.”

He nodded once, “Everything you need is in the bathroom. I need to deal with a few things.” He took out his cellphone and began dialing, making his way into the cavernous living room.

She had changed into in-offensive clothing–designer –thanks to the shopping spree. But in-offensive nonetheless; the simplest pair of black leggings and a beige crop top. She left the expensive watch by the bathroom sink. She wouldn’t accept his bribes. She didn’t dare explore the rest of the suite. So she waited. And waited.

And waited.

…

They spent the next week in Rome, and he left her alone the whole time; she did crosswords, read books, and pretended she was on a real vacation. Domenico took her on a few guided tours of the city with other tourists.

And just when she felt like she could relax, she ended up back in the living room waiting.

She waited for Domenico to yell for her, for Massimo to yell for her. For someone to force her to remember that she wasn’t on an Italian vacation and that she was property for the next year.

…

Sometime later she heard someone call her name. It wasn’t a gentle call, it was a harsh order. She followed the voice, and it led her to a door at the end of one of the long hallways. She opened it and went in, surrounded by darkness.

“Sit,” the voice that called her said.

She did not, not even when her eyes adjusted so she could see Massimo in the gloom. He was drying his hair with a towel. Massimo was standing by a giant bed supported by four monolithic pillars. The bed was strewn with dozens of pillows. The room was dark, furnished with ornate looking furniture. He moved quickly, keeping a predatory stare on her. He was naked, the towel resting around his shoulders, and coming closer and closer to her. He stopped in front of her.

Without tearing his eyes away from her, he began stroking his length, from base to tip. His body flexing into the pleasurable touch, the muscles of his stomach grew taut, his co*ck swelling.

“Will you help me?” Massimo asked without taking his eyes off her. Without relinquishing his touch on himself. “I won’t do anything without your consent. Remember that.”

He said that; he said he wouldn’t touch her without her permission before. And he had, more than once. He’d tried to entice her when she showered. He’d made her kiss him to save her clothes. He had touched her on the plane. And he was still trying to entice, to convince her to f*ck him. As if she’d had any underlying desire that she was denying…and he was just trying to release her inhibitions. He didn’t understand, whether he wanted to or not, that she didn’t want him. Everything in her body and mind screamed that the man masturbating in front of her wanted to kill her family, had done awful things to her including kidnapping her, he was irredeemable in every way.

“No,” she scoffed slightly, “Can I go now?”

She tried to sidestep away from him, but with his free hand he grabbed her by the neck and maneuvered her so that his back was to the door. She couldn’t get to her escape unless he moved.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Roxanne?”

“Yes! Let me go!”

And he did. She ran to the other side of the bed, holding onto one of the monoliths as he chuckled and picked his phone off the nightstand nearest to him. He dialed a number and spoke something in Italian before hanging up.

“Come here.” He ordered.

She shook her head. Her knuckles whitening as she held onto the monolith.

“Come here, Roxanne. I won’t repeat myself,” he his voice was cold. He dropped the wet towel on the bed.

When she shook her head, Massimo let out a deep growl and charged at her. She screamed and tried to move out of his way. But he was fast, and she was scared. He threw her on the bed, muttered something to himself in Italian.

“Get off me!” She cried as he loomed over her.

He grabbed her right hand and handcuffed it to one of the pillars on the bed. She pushed against his chest with her left hand. He grabbed it, squeezed painfully hard, and pulled her toward the other pillar before affixing the hand cuff.

“I’ll do what I want to you,” he snarled.

She kicked out, trying to move him off, as he sat astride her legs. With his back turned to her he pulled out a telescopic tube with straps that he fastened around her ankles. He adjusted himself so that he was sitting on his knees as he gathered a chain from one pillar and connected it to the strap on her right ankle. He did the same thing to the left.

“Get off me!” She cried, jerking her body slightly. The tube elongated and locked her legs swiftly into the spread out position.

Massimo turned, biting his lower lip, “I was hoping you would do that. This is a telescopic bar. It will spread you open more and more, only I know where to push it closed.”

She started hyperventilating. He had her. Spread eagle and willing to stretch her more. He was hard, and she was tied up.

There was a knock at the door and her whole body jumped, spreading her legs out even further.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said with a smirk on his face as he walked to the door.

He opened the door and led a young woman inside.

“HELP ME!” Roxy screamed, her voice raw with tears streaming out of her eyes , “Oh god, please, someone help me!”

The woman turned, her dark hair slicked back and tied in a ponytail, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. Massimo said something to her and she froze. The woman didn’t seem to mind that Roxy was tied up any more. Or that Massimo was naked. Not that she seemed to mind in the first place.

He covered the distance between himself and Roxy, lifting her head and adjusting the pillows so she could see the whole room.

“I’m going to show you something. Something that you are going to miss out,” he whispered, nipping gently at her earlobe.

He turned to the other side of the room and sat in a reclining chair opposite of the bed.

Why didn’t I notice that before? Why didn’t I stay in the living room? She thought.

Keeping his eyes on Roxy, he called out to the woman in Italian. She burst into motion, removing her dress with practiced ease and standing before Massimo in her underwear. Roxy’s heart pounded in her chest, and with an involuntary shake her legs spread out farther. The woman dropped to her knees and took Massimo in her mouth. His hands went to her hair, knotting his fingers and pushing her bobbing head down as she slurped, licked, and sucked. His eyes were fixed on Roxy; greedy, hungry eyes; as he breathed heavily, gulping down air greedily.

He said something in Italian to the woman on her knees, she moaned in response, and then he tightened his grip on her head and flexed his hips. Shoving his co*ck deep down her throat and making her choke. He moved his hips deep and fast.

I don’t care what he does to her! Roxy thought, I won’t watch this! I can’t watch this!

Her heart pounding against her ribs, she turned her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes and look at me right now,” He ordered between pants.

She shook her head. Even though her eyes were shut, she couldn’t close all her senses. She heard the choked moans and Massimo’s savage grunts, she smelled the sex in the air, her body felt like it was on fire.

“If you–” he paused to thrust and the woman let out a strangled cry, “–won’t look at me right now–” he paused again and said something to the other woman in Italian, “–we will finish next to you on the bed.” He threatened. Roxy heard him grunt and the woman slurp.

That was enough to make her open her eyes again.

There was a satisfied smirk that flickered off his face, as his mouth opened and his hips moved to puncture the woman’s throat. He had risen from his seat and moved closer to Roxy, so the woman kneeling before him was at the foot of the bed. She could only see the bob of the woman’s head.

Roxy jerked involuntarily again, her legs spreading further apart.

“Yes, Roxanne, yes!” Massimo moaned, as all the muscles in his body tensed. He came, flooding the woman’s throat.

Massimo’s eyes didn’t waver for a second, as Roxy breathed out slowly, relieved the show was coming to an end. Massimo barked something in Italian and the woman got up, picked up her dress, and left the room. Massimo left, too, disappearing into the bathroom. Roxy could hear the roar of her heartbeat and the shower as Massimo kept her locked on the bed. A few minutes later, he emerged and walked over to her, rubbing his head with a towel.

“I can put you at ease, baby, I’ll lick you slow, make you come. I’ll make it last. Unless you prefer I go fast, or you want me inside you.”

No words came out of her mouth. Her eyes fearful and wild.

With a quick snap, Massimo ripped the leggings off her legs, scraps of fabric littering the bed.

“I like this hotel for two reasons,” he said, taking a seat on the bed, “First, it’s mine, and second, it has this apartment. I’ve been looking for the perfect furniture for a long time.” He was calm, “You see, Roxanne, you’re immobilized now so efficiently that you have no chance of escaping or offering any resistance.” He licked the inside of her thigh, and she cried out, “At the same time, I can enjoy each and every part of your gorgeous body.”

He grabbed her ankles, spreading her legs wide. The telescopic rod clicked a couple of times and locked into place, holding her completely spread eagle.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Are you asking me to start? Or stop?”

It was a simple question, and each consequence of the two potential answers ran through her mind. Would he stop? What if I like it? How much longer will I be trapped here? If I say no will he kill me? He crawled over her, locking his eyes with hers. His lower lip brushed against her mouth.

“I’ll f*ck you so hard, all of Sicily will hear you scream.”

“No, please!” She croaked, closing her eyes tightly. She was too afraid to open her eyes. What if he didn’t care? She heard a click, then another, and then her right hand was free. She heard more clicks, and then she was completely released.

“Put some clothes on. We need to be one of my clubs in an hour.” Massimo said, leaving the bedroom, still naked.

She rolled off the bed, anxiety rising in her throat. She made it back to her room, just in time. Not enough time to make it to the toilet, but enough time that she was able to cover her mouth with her hand while she started dry heaving.

When she reached the toilet she retched and retched until vomit ceased spilling out of her mouth, and only tears spilled out of her eyes.

“She’s nothing but a whor*,” she heard someone say between her heaves. “I own a few brothels and you did not want to help me blow off some steam. The bed and the toys on it didn’t seem to be your liking. That doesn’t require further comment does it? Just like Veronica and what she did. Just like your reaction, at least. She means nothing to me, Tesoro.” Massimo moved towards Roxy, kneeling at her side.

He took her face between his hands, and wiped away some hair stuck with sweat to her check. “I won’t force myself on you. Not before you give me your consent. I promised.” He said with as much sincerity he could muster. “It is hard for me to control myself fully, but I won’t rape you.” He turned away.

At the door he spoke again, “Take a shower, wash your face. And think about how it’d be the best sex of our lives. And that you would be for me when it ended. We’ll wait for you.”

As she showered, she couldn’t help but think how he wanted to devour her. Sticking his co*ck inside her wasn’t enough. He was manipulative and devious. He wanted to destroy her and build her back up, a statue of what he wanted her to be. She needed to convince him, whomever he dreamed about. Whatever she was like. That it was not her. And it would never be her.

When she left the bathroom, Domenico was in the room, with a glass of vodka cranberry in his hand for her.

“I’m surprised you’re so sick of him,” he said, trying to hand the liquor to her.

She shook her head, “What is this place I’m being forced to go to?”

“It’s called Nostro. Massimo’s favorite club. He keeps an eye on all the comings and goings personally. It’s a pretty classy spot, there’s a VIP section with only politicians, business men, and…” He trailed off.

“And who? Veronica?”

Domenico sent her a probing look, as she crossed her arms over the fluffy bathrobe she was wearing.

“Maybe not exactly like Veronica, but yes. There functionality for people in her business.”

“She blew Massimo in front of me,” she said plainly. “Hopefully he’s tested regularly.”

“You know,” Domenico said smoothly,” It’s not really my business who blows whom. Or who is tested for what, for that matter.”

“So he could have something and spread that to me?”

Domenico raised his brows, and burst out laughing, “Forgive me, Roxanne, but…are you jealous?”

She shivered. That’s not how she wanted to say that. She turned back to the bathroom, and went to the sink. “He wants to f*ck me, and he’s never brought up an interest in using condoms. Besides, you both know I want to go home.” She wet her toothbrush and added toothpaste to it.

Domenico smiled charmingly and turned his head back to the closet. “You shouldn’t be jealous of a whor*. She’s only doing her job. I’ve prepared an outfit for you.”

She spit the toothpaste in the sink and rinsed with mouthwash, and pushed her drying hair back. She jumped, and turned to face him, when she saw his reflection in the mirror.

“Veronica is a prostitute.” Massimo said, piercing her with his eyes–his mouth a sly smirk– “She comes over, sucks my dick, and sometimes I f*ck her if I’m in the mood. She likes the violence and the money. And she works with the most discerning clients–myself included. All the girls working for me–”

“I don’t care if you f*ck her,” Roxy crossed her arms over her chest, “I don’t care if you pay her. I don’t care what you do to get your rocks off.”

His eyes darkened, his smirk vanished, he walked over to her, grabbing her by the waist and lifting her to sit on the sink so when he bent down they were at eye level.

“Everyone is clean,” he growled his eyes boring into her, “I’m in immaculate health.”

He moved his hands from her waist to her head, and held her so she had to look at him, “Everything you see is mine. Everything. You. See.” He hissed, “And I’ll kill anyone who takes what is mine.” He withdrew his hands and left without another word.

She knew what he meant. She knew he considered her to be his. She went into the bedroom and saw the dress Domenico had picked out. It was a maroon cowl-neck mini slip dress, with an exposed back. There were black, leather, strappy, platform block heel sandals for her to wear, gold jewelry, and a note that instructed her on the makeup expectation.

Thirty minutes later when Domenico entered the room, she was sitting in the maroon dress, wearing a simple gold chain, gold mini-hoops, a gold anklet, and two different sets of gold stackable rings on both hands. She was bouncing her foot, not wearing the heels that had been laid out for her.

“f*ck me,” Domenico breathed, nervously closing the door, “He’ll kill you. And then he’ll kill me.”

“You’re the one who laid out the outfit,” she crossed her arms, “I’m more than willing to wear sweatpants and do a crossword puzzle.”

“No, no,” Domenico said quickly, “I only mean he’ll be very pleased to see you like this,”

“Then can I get flats? I can’t walk in those shoes. Not with my knee.”

Domenico shook his head, “He specifically said you are to wear heels tonight–I mean wow, Roxanne. You can’t go out like that.”

“You’re the one that gave me the outfit!” Roxy reminded, buckling the straps of the leather heels.

The outfit was obscene, for her, the outfit begged to be looked at. Her nipple rings drawing attention to breasts. In the backless satin dress, undergarments would cause unseemly lines. She had to wear one of the thongs Massimo had picked. And she knew why he’d picked this dress. Even with the minimum makeup; black eyeliner, mascara, pink eye shadow, and glossy natural lips. Even with her hair slicked back, per his instructions. He wanted her to be seen.

“You’re going to have to help me walk, Domenico,” she hobbled over to him, her knee keeping her leg unstable. “Please, tell me you’re going with us.”

Domenico stood immobile, his chest heaving, “I’m going with you, because Massimo has some other business to attend first.” Domenico reached for her, “Do you realize I’ll be in big trouble if he sees you like that?”

“He’s the one who bought the f*cking dress, and is making me go out with you!” She wrapped her arm around his torso and leaned into him.

Domenico mumbled something in Italian, held on to her waist, so she could rely on him as they walked.

Domenico led her out of the hotel and to a limo parked close by the entrance. He helped her in so that she didn’t reveal anything underneath the dress and then got in himself.

As the limo drove them to the club, Domenico opened a bottle of whisky and poured himself a glass. “This is the day I die.” He swallowed the glass in one gulp, and then poured himself another, “Why are you doing this to me?” He swallowed his second glass in one gulp.

“He’s the one who picked out the stupid dress and is making me go to the stupid club,” Roxy exasperated.

Domenico helped himself to a third drink, but didn’t sip. He was dressed conservatively in light grey pants, charcoal loafers, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Around his wrist was a golden Rolex and several other bracelets–some wooden, some gold, and one platinum.

“Sexy for sure,” Domenico corrected her, “I sincerely doubt Massimo knew what he was getting when he had you wear this.”

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

The club’s entrance was down a flight of stairs, and they were let in immediately by a large intimidating bouncer. Roxy had to lean so much on Domenico when they descended, she thought they were going to fall down.

Nostro was dark. The interior was black with heavy drapes and dim candles on the wall. Massimo pumped in scented oxygen that smelled vaguely like leather and vanilla. There were two platforms; the highest one where the DJ played house music, and the second slightly lower where women in revealing corsets and shorts writhed against each other with the thrum of the music. Dimmed orange, red, white, and yellow lights flashed the dancers with each beat.

The bar was long and upholstered with quilted leather. The bartenders were men and women in tight-fitting body suits with leather straps around their wrists like manacles. Clearly, some decorator had a fetish.

Two bouncers stood guard by the VIP entrance, and let them in without asking for ID.

Domenico led them to a private booth in an alcove separated by transparent curtains. It was larger and more private than the other booths in the VIP room.

Domenico helped Roxy sit down on the satin sofa. Before he sat down, he was presented with alcohol and a stainless-steel cloche dish by bottle girl with manacles and a leather corset.

Roxy reached for the handle of the silver dome, interested piqued. Domenico caught her hand before she could touch it, shaking his head. He handed her another vodka cranberry.

“We will not be alone today,” he said cautiously, “We’ll be joined today by several people with whom we have to tend to some business.”

Roxy rolled her eyes, and sipped the co*cktail, “Sure. Some people, some business. You get to play Sopranos and I get to sit here like an object.”

“We’ll be doing business. Best get used to it.” He said calmly, as his eyes widened. He was staring to the distance at the large outline behind the curtain.

“sh*t is going to hit the fan now,” he breathed, running his hand through his hair.

She turned to see several men entering their alcove. Massimo marching among them. Seeing her, he stopped—his chest heaving.

She swallowed, he had chosen this dress, Domenico had told her he was very particular about her look tonight. What was he going to do to her—seeing her like this?

“What the f*ck are you wearing?” He growled, pulling her up by her elbow.

She wobbled unsteadily, leaning into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt, “Y-y-you picked the dress, and Domenico s-s-aid this was you wanted to see me in, and I didn’t think you wanted m-m-me to change it–” she rambled.

He looked from her to Domenico, who was pale. “—Cause tonight is important, right?” she finished.

He looked back at her, “Yes, important. Tesoro, you are–”

One of the men shouted something in Italian at him, Massimo replied in Italian, keeping his eyes on hers.

He let her sit back down and sat next to her, his hand clutched her knee.

She waited for him to pinch, to punish, but his warm hand rubbed gently as he massaged her.

It was the kindest thing he had done for her; she took a large gulp of her drink. As Massimo spoke Italian, his voice smoldered, and the deliberations between him and the other gangsters went long through the night. Her body relaxed as she drank more, his massage on her knee was so gentle, his caress hypnotic. She rested her head against shoulder, as his touch and the alcohol lulled her deeper into his embrace.

It was much later when conversation ended with Massimo and the gangsters smiled jovially and clasped hands. One of the gangsters gestured to the platter and said something.

Her eyes went to the cloche with everyone else’s, but she was the only one who didn’t know what it held. The other man tipped the lid to clatter on the side of the platter. It was cocaine. Domenico choked on his drink when he saw her reaction. Her eyes had widened, her eyebrows raised, she was frozen, and when she looked at Domenico, he refused to look at her as he took out a credit card, dividing the pile into neat little lines.

Massimo was staring at her now, if only to see what she did. Was this a test? Passing using or not using? How far would he take this?

She looked at him, her mouth beginning to curve downward as she attempted to ask.

“Don’t provoke me.” Massimo growled at her.

What did he mean by this? Was he planning on using? Was he planning on making her use? What if she refused?

“I’m going to get some water.” She slid away from him, pressed her hand on her good knee and rose up.

He nodded; moving to get up with her and hold her waist and take her to the VIP bar.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll be right back.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, halfway between

“For real, I promise,” she said in a way that she hoped would convince him she was being truthful. He nodded at her.

She moved past the other VIPs, leaving the curtains open as she left, to the bar, another long leather upholstered piece, house music thrummed against the walls and against her chest. The VIP bar was only a little ways away, but she knew she was still one false step away from shooting pains in her knee.She could wear heels, as long as walked slow and carefully. One false slip would send her careening to the group with shooting pains in her knee would last for a week or more.

The bartenders who noticed her first put a vodka cranberry in front of her, only to look confused when she shook her head.

“Um, water, please?” She pantomimed badly.

The male bartender gave her a confused look and said an unfamiliar word.

“Oh, um,” she shakes her hands and then points at the sink, “that?”

The bartender looked at the sink then at her and asked a clarifying question in Italian, the language she hasn’t picked up. Massimo and the other’s spoke Italian amongst themselves, especially when they didn’t want her to understand, and English to her. Only her.

An Italian man appeared, his voice wasn’t as raspy or as easily understandable as Massimo’s, at her side and stated an order, in Italian, with a slap on the bar top.This new man, with short hair shaved with a fade. He’s wearing a suit without a tie, and his brown eyes sparkled when he smiled at her. His shirt tight, emphasizing his muscles. His eyebrows thick and gold jewelry pierced through his nose and ears. She thought he was handsome in a Jersey Guido kind of way.

“You’re trying to keep a cool head?” The man spoke with a thick Italian accent, rolling his r’s and exaggerating his vowels.

It takes her a moment to process, “Oh, um. No, just, it’s too hot in here.” She said fanning herself with her hand.

“It is hot,” he agreed as the bartender set a glass of ice water in front of her.

She drinks greedily, cleansing her mouth of the three vodka cranberries she had consumed during Massimo’s business meeting. When she finished the first glass she nodded and smiled at the new man, “Thank you,” she said and he ordered her another one.

She reached for it at the same time as the man. He caught her arm instead.

“Dance with me.”

Another song bounced through the room. The bass pulsating through against the walls. Pounding rhythm in her heart. Beyond the bar, she could see dancers and club goers gyrating against each other.

“I have to get back to my table.” She said, this time placing the cool water glass at the base of her neck. Cool relief radiated down her body.

“Dance with me,” he withdrew his hand, “To say thank you for the-a water.”

She shook her head, “No. Thanks, for the water anyway.”

She walked away. She felt exposed…and watched. She turned her head, and he stopped moving. He was a few feet behind her.

“Bella,” he said again, “You can’t come to a club dressed like that and not expect to dance.”

“I can’t dance,” she brushed him off and continued walking towards Massimo’s table.

“Well, then maybe you and I can-a go into one of the booths and do something else.” He said coming closer to her.

“I said no.” She said firmly, keeping her eyes on him. He moved when she did.

“Stay away from me!” Roxy said moving faster to Massimo’s couch.

“It’s just a dance, bella, it won’t kill you.” The music built up, anticipating a loud break.

Massimo turned his head towards her, his eyes alight as he saw her yelling behind her and then he was instantly cold.

“I said get away from me!” She yelled. She was just a few feet away from Massimo’s couch–to whatever safety lay there– when her foot landed wrong, a spasm in her knee took her down and she stumbled to grab the couch and lower herself gently on the floor. The water glass shattered into millions of small pieces, soaking down the front of the dress as she fell into the shards, and Massimo was up within the second. His eyes cold and set on the man following her.

“Don Massimo,” the man said then fell to his knees.

She didn’t hear anything else over the bass drop that blasted in her ears. A red flower bloomed on his shirt; she hadn’t noticed that design earlier. The man on knees slumped on the ground.

Domenico took Massimo’s steaming gun. And Massimo picked her up and said in a gentle tone, “You’re mine. I promise you that.”

She nodded numbly, “Don’t look down?”

“Yes, baby girl, don’t look down. Just look at me.”

And he held her, just held her, letting her hear his heartbeat on the way to the car. He held her and stroked her hair in the limo back to the hotel. He told she looked beautiful with a clenched jaw and stoic eyes. He held in the elevator and her bed in the suite.

“Do you try to provoke me,” he asked, his fingernails gently scratched her arm, bringing goosebumps on her flesh, as her head rested on his shoulder, her warm hand over his heart.

“No.” She curled further into his arms; he could feel the softness of the silk brush his fingertips. It was almost as soft as her skin.

“We were supposed to be having a good time. And you would dance with me.”

“It was fine…”

“Until you saw the cocaine?” He rolled his eyes, “I’m a gangster, I deal cocaine. It’s cliche, but good money.”

“Did you…? It just makes me nervous…is all.”

He chuckled, his chest rumbling like thunder against her. “Oh, so you concerned for me. You want a sober man, is all.” He kissed her forehead. “Then you shall have me sober, Tesoro.”

“Did you…do any tonight?”

Massimo’s chest rumbles again, “No Tesoro, I was too focused on you; to care about cocaine.”

She hums in relief.

He held her until air felt fresh again, then sat up with her, left the bed to kneel in front of her.

He took off one of her shoes, his deft fingers unbuckled the strap with light touches. He did the same with her other shoe. He searched her eyes when he took the anklet off her. He let it fall to the floor. He took her hand in his, kissed her palms as he slid the rings off and let them clatter to the floor. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathed in her scent, as her necklace and her earrings fell to the ground.

He stepped back, unbuttoned his shirt and slid itoff. He watched her as her eyes followed his hands, and he was standing in front of her in his boxers.

He kissed her neck, nipping and sucking as he laid her down and got on top of her. He moved to her other shoulder as he kissed her. His hands traveled down the dress to get to the hem.

“You’re safe now.” He said, before sucking on her neck. She cried out in pleasure.

“I’m safe with you,” she repeated, his hands clutching the thong band and began sliding it down her hips. She waited for him to pull her thong off all the way, to see the wetness. To show how her body betrayed her and for him to accuse her of loving him.But she felt okay with it. Just f*cking him. As long as she was safe with him. As long as he held her.

But he didn’t. He drew his hands back up to her hips and got off her.

“Good night, amore mio,” he said, tucking her in bed and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. He turned the light out on her bed.

She fell asleep after a few moments. He did not bother her for the rest of the night.

She woke up with the golden sunlight in her eyes. She groaned and pulled the blanket up. And just as she was falling back to sleep there was a knock at the door.Domenico opened it and walked in. He moved to open the curtains and opened them wide. She curled into a ball.

“I know you slept well, but it is time to wake up.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said with her head under the duvet.

“Yes, it is,” Domenico insisted. “I know you had a wonderful night with Don Massimo.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t remember last night.” She moved the blankets away from her head and sat up to look at Domenico.

“You don’t remember last night?”

“Well, I remember wearing a red dress and you gave me a drink, but not anything else.”

“Oh, well that’s all of it then. We met him at the club, he took care of some business and we left the club. He held you until you fell asleep and went to the second bedroom to sleep, too.” He shrugged, “We’re family, me and Massimo, and he didn’t look–” Domenico searched for the right word, “–satisfied. He looked more happy. And I believe if you f*cked he’d look satisfied.”

She fell back onto the pillow relieved.

She never went near another night club. He didn’t offer to take her either. The following week, she’d dream of pleasant nothingness and some nights she’d dream of a red flower. But mostly she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to a hazy memory of a club, to a leather bar, and replaying it over and over in her head. Massimo insisted on sharing meals with her, but left her with Domenico most of the days. They toured ancient ruins, visited museums, and did whatever else tourists did in Rome.

“Are we going to be tourists for the rest of the conference circuit?” she asked one day as Domenico massaged her knee. His touch was not as gentle as Massimo’s, but he helped relieve the pain all the same.

“Uh, no,” he said, rolling her brace over her calf. “We’re going to leave Rome.”

She gave him a surprised look, “Where are we going?”

“A boat,” Domenico got up and went to her closet searching for things for her to wear. In the end he chose fabric shorts, a tank top, and her huaraches.

“What are we going on a boat for?” She asked.

“I can’t take you, Claudio will tend to you,” He turned around and she changed into the outfit he’d chosen. He turned back to her.

“Can I call my friends?” She asked.

“Yes, I’m sure you can.”

The next morning, she met her knew bodyguard. A large, tattooed man: Claudio was another bodyguard Massimo had, had driven her down to a marina and “the boat” with little flourish. She had thought about calling Kathy on her way, feeling remarkably normal, when she decided not to risk it, she sent an email instead, a vague e-card for her friend’s birthday. And then another email to her grandmother, an equally vague letter asking her grandmother about her life.

Then she fell back asleep, unsure of how she became immensely tired. And she dreamed, but this wasn’t like the pleasant nothingness she couldn’t remember this morning. She was back at the club. The music was loud in her ears and hammered in her chest. The man in front of her was begging on his knees. Then he wasn’t…his white shirt became redder and redder, and–

“–Welcome to Porto di Fiumicino, Roxanne. I am Fabio and I will take you to your boat.” An older gentleman speaking to her, held the car door open.

She rubbed her eyes as the afternoon sun beat down on her when she got out of the car.

“Where are we?” She asked Claudio.

Her bodyguard grumbled “A port.”

The Porto di Fiumicino was a picturesque marina with water so blue, and boats of all sizes tied to the dock or dotting the ocean.

Fabio and Claudio led her down the dock, past yachts until they stopped in front of the Tesoro Mio.

The other boats in the marina were white, the Tesoro Mio was grey with tinted windows.

“The Tesoro Mio is nearly three hundred feet long. It has twelve guest cabins, a jacuzzi, a cinema, spa, gym, as well as a large pool and a helicopter pad.” Fabio explained, “There is a full-time crew to make sure it runs as beautifully as it did when it was purchased four and a half years ago.”

Fabio took her on a tour of the deck, showing her the expensive accessories and minimalistic furniture. The only things that weren’t minimalistic were the flowers, red, like the pattern on that man’s shirt in the club. And alcohol, at nearly every chance Fabio could brag about the yacht’s extensive alcohol he’d offer her some.

She wondered, as she was brought back to the deck, if he thought she was an alcoholic, or if drinking was the only thing to do on the boat.

“What do you want to do before we set sail?” Fabio asked, as he led her to sit on one of the cushions on the deck. “A tour of the rest of the yacht? Sunbathing? Maybe you would like a drink or something to eat.”

“I’m fine, I just want to be left alone.” Why was he so insistent on giving her a drink? Why was everyone focused on plying her with alcohol, even Claudio had offered her own in a clipped tone on the drive over.

Fabio nodded once and left her. She drew her legs up, wrapped her arms around them and laid her head on her knees, watching the horizon as the Tesoro Mio left port. Italy faded behind her, and all she could think about was how she never should have come here.

She should have known it was too good to be true. An extremely generous discounted vacation? She was smarter than that. She knew good things like that never lasted. Her mind wandered to Beni, how her best friend must be doing, probably confused and scared when she disappeared. Probably spending her free time searching for her. It made sense since Beni hadn’t attempted to call or message her, she had to be looking across the island for Roxy. What would Beni’s life have been if Roxy had canceled the vacation? Roxy wondered if Beni would have agreed a flight to New York was cheaper than four seats to Sicily. They could have gone to Central Park and people watched like they did in school, they could have gone to Marty’s favorite coffee shop and listened to amateur jazz. Her heart panged, she and Marty would still be in a relationship. He probably would be f*cking her again. She probably would have said yes to his most recent proposal, if he still was proposing to her, despite knowing she didn’t want a ring until she finished school. Was she even going to do that when she returned home? Was school something she wanted to continue with? She had wanted to be a technical editor for a textbook publisher, but was that what she wanted now? She could have had a normal life in her normal world, but she was sitting on a boat, her mind continuing to wander to the red flower that had bloomed on the club guy’s shirt.

“What the hell are you wearing this time?” A familiar voice behind her growled, “You look like—”

She turned her head and saw Massimo, standing behind her. She didn’t want to speak with him, to be admonished for wearing jean shorts, a granny square crocheted cropped tank, and the stupid Hermes Oran sandals.

“You killed someone in front of me,” she interrupted.

“Yes.” He said, “I wouldn’t have to kill him if he had left you alone.”

“You shot him.”

“Yes.”

“In front of me.”

“Roxanne, how many times am I going to agree I killed him?”

She stood up clumsily, the bottoms of the sandals were not made for being on a boat. She needed traction. She walked clumsily away from Massimo, going to the other side of the ship’s bow. The starboard side did not have any seating, just expensive glass railings that she held onto and looked out at the horizon. Massimo took a place next to her without a word.

“Roxanne,” he sighed, “I never want you to see that side of the business. I am trying to be gentle with you, but I do not know how to be gentle. You’re–”

“You should let me go.” She interrupted. “I’m not made for this life–your life. Whoever she is, she should be able to handle your business.”

He grabbed her arm, twisting it as he caged her between himself and the open ocean. She held on to the banister as he wrapped both his hands around her biceps, his fingers biting into her skin.

“There is no one else,” he growled, “There is no letting you go. I get one year with you.” He shook her, “Why don’t you understand–” he shook her again as water splashed onto the deck “–that nothing will stop me from loving you?”

She slipped, maybe from the water splashing on the deck, maybe from the way he was shaking her, either way, she tried to grab his shirt or the banister behind her as her back hit it, as he shook her and abruptly let go. As she careened into the ocean below, she thought about how she’d never been interested in swimming lessons.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Text

“Breathe!” He pressed on her chest, “Breathe, Roxanne! Can you hear me?”

Her stomach cramped, and she pushed him away and turned as she sputtered and vomited salty water.

“Grazie a Dio sopra . Can you hear me, amore mio ?” Massimo asked, stroking her hair.

She vomited on the deck again, and again, and again. Until there was nothing in her stomach; not sea water, not her meager breakfast. Massimo picked her up and carried her across the yacht, through the labyrinth of decks, until they reached a bedroom and he put her down on the bed. She lay still on her back, with her head against the pillows, shivering from the air conditioning freezing the water on her skin.

“What happened?” She asked her throat raw with salt, cracking her eyes open slightly. He was soaking wet too, though he wore no shoes, his linen outfit wet and clung to his skin, defining the muscles she had seen once before in the bathroom many weeks ago.

“You fell from the deck. Thank god we were not going faster and that you fell off the side. Still, you nearly drowned.” Massimo knelt by her side, took her cold clammy hand in his. His skin was still warm from the sun, “Goddamn it, Roxanne, I’m so happy you’re alive, at the same time, I feel like killing you myself now.”

Had he pushed her or had she fallen? Did he save her because he loved her or because he wanted to be the one to kill her?

He squeezed her hand, “Why did you not grab onto me? Or the railing? Tesoro, how could you have been so stupid? How could you not know how to swim?”

His eyes scoured hers as he waited for her response.

“Why are you wet?” She asked, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

He cradled her cheek with his free hand, “I saved you.”

She shook her head slightly, “No.”

“Just five minutes ago you were not even breathing and now you don’t believe me,” he licked his lips, tasting the salt on them, “Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t…I don’t think so…”

What did she even think? Had she slipped or had he pushed her? Did he save her because…she shut that thought out. He had killed two people in front of her. He had touched her when he said he wouldn’t. He burned her memories and drugged her. And he had pushed her…or maybe she slipped… Maybe all her resistance finally finally made him understand that she didn’t want him, and meant he was over her…and he had killed two people in front of her… maybe he’d tried to kill her. Maybe…she knew too much and the only thing he needed to do was…

“You called me Roxanne,” she decided on.

“That’s your name, Tesoro, do you remember your name?” His face changed, his mouth slightly down-turned and his eyebrows knit together in concern, “Do you remember me?”

“No one calls me Roxanne, I…I want you to call me Roxy,–” she licked her lips, her heart pounding in her chest “–and I want you to kiss me.”

He relaxed immediately, his features softened, and he smiled slightly.

Roxy sat up and reached for him. Catching his wet shirt, she pulled on it, until he leaned down. His lids were half closed–his eyes on her lips–his mouth opened slightly. He didn’t move, waiting for her lips to touch his. She swallowed, was she really going to do this? Give her body to him even after promising she wouldn’t? Would he even let her go after this; or was he never going to in the first place. Was it better to give herself to him, then allow him to take?

She moved her hands to the buttons on his linen shirt, his eyes opened, flicked to her face then to her hands. Her skin was still cold and wet from the water, her fingers stiff, but she undid the first button.

“Baby girl,” he growled.

She shushed him; undoing the next button.

Had he pushed her or had she fallen?

She pressed her lips to his, his warm wet hands covered hers.

“I got this,” he whispered, moving her hands away from his shirt, to deftly free himself from the wet linen.

She ran her hands through his hair.

He moaned and leaned his head back, closing his eyes, when she kissed and sucked on his neck. She pulled his lips back to hers, her tongue sliding into his mouth. Then her hands went to his linen trousers.

He pushed her back, his shirt mostly unbuttoned. His erection strained, with every vein visible, against the soaked pants he wore.

“Is that how you say thank you for saving your life, baby girl? If it is, I will not accept,” His eyes wide as he stared at her looking for some truth to be behind her touch. “I will not f*ck you, until you absolutely want me to.”

She swallowed and looked up at him, “I want to,” she said, her voice very quiet.

She lowered her eyes, her cold stiff fingers unbuttoning his trousers, lowering them and his boxers.

“If we do it now, I won’t be able to stop. You know that, right?” he asked in a serious voice, “If we cross this line now, making you writhe in pleasure as you scream out my name will be my goal, whether you can handle it or not.”

He said it like a promise. But he had promised her all sorts of things previously. And she didn’t know if he intended to keep this one.

“My hands are cold,” she said instead, looking down his length, “So I’ll have to use my mouth.”

She took his swollen co*ck in her mouth, he exhaled loudly and his fingers tangled in her hair, relaxing her throat as his hips rocked back and forth.

“If you stop enjoying this, tell me.” He said, keeping his hips moving steady.

She flexed her hands together, hoping to bring them some warmth.

She withdrew a bit and sucked on his tip, licking the frenulum, as she rolled his foreskin back with her slightly warmer fingers.

He groaned as she took him deeper. Her tongue flicked at the underside of his shaft.

He detangled one of his hands from her hair and began pumping. He was panting, the hand tangled in her hair balled into a fist.

He gasped, as she took him out of her mouth, and kissed the underside of his co*ck. She sucked his balls and his hips shook. When she took him back in her mouth, she focused on his frenulum. His co*ck twitching and beads of pre-come slid out, while her warm mouth sucked.

“Slow down,” he hissed, but she ignored him.

She took him deeper in her mouth, his tip touching her throat. His stomach taut with pleasure. Then she took him out, kissed his tip, and ran the flat of her tongue against the slit. He came with a grunt, his fingers in her hair squeezing hard at her scalp.

She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Are you trying to prove something to me?” He asked, licking two fingers. “Lay back and relax, Roxy.”

Then he reached for her, and she jerked back without thinking. She was wet, her body ached to be touched; but not by him. She didn’t want him to touch her. She didn’t want to have sucked his dick. She wanted to be back in her sh*tty apartment, kissing Marty on their old mattress, as the noise of the city drowned out her cries.

Massimo didn’t seem angry. His face, his body for that matter, was peaceful. He sat down next to her.

“The first night, that first night where all you did was sleep. I watched you until the sun came up. I smelled the sun on your skin, I could feel the heat of your body. You were alive. You were there, real, next to me. I couldn’t believe it. I had this… this English word always gives me struggle. Irr-rat…no, that's not it. Un-rate – it’s the word that means ‘not with logic’. I had this non-logical fear that you would be gone when I came back.” His voice was sad and apologetic, as he wanted her to know that he feared her disappearance, as if he knew the only way he could see her staying with him willingly after the year was to get her to worship his co*ck, his fingers, and his tongue. “I am sorry, if I am trying to go faster than you are ready, baby. I have just been waiting for this moment, for the last 5 years.”

Had he pushed her or had she slipped?

“I’m wet.”

He raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

“I’m going to shower.”

He nodded, “I will join you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she said, watching as he peeled the rest of the wet linen off his thighs.

“I am not about to leave you alone; you almost drowned.”

“So?”

“So?" He mocked, “So I am not going to leave your side for the rest of the night.”

“Okay, then wait in here and if you hear me fall then feel free to rescue me.”

“How does that help?”

She shrugged, “It’ll make me feel more comfortable.”

“Baby, you are mine. I am Italian, your naked body is nothing to be uncomfortable with.”

He adjusted the tap on the shower and the rain head dripped with pleasant warmth and steam. He pulled her in the glass cubicle (big enough for two).

“Turn around,” he said.

Had he pushed her or had she slipped?

She did as she was told. He reached around her and buttoned her jean shorts, moved his hands to the hem of her shirt and lifted it off her, he let it fall to the ground. Then he unclasped her bra and let it fall on top of her shirt. When he reached down to her shorts again; her hands covered his. She was mostly naked, only her underwear and her shorts preventing her from bearing all her skin to him.

Had he pushed her or had she slipped?

“Do you trust me, baby girl?” He whispered in her ear, barely over the drops of water.

Had he pushed her or had she slipped?

She nodded.

He slid her shorts and underwear down her legs. His check resting on her mid back as she stepped out of the soaking denim.

He lifted his head and kicked the wet pile of clothes to the side of the shower. His hand went to a tap on the side of the wall–similar to his estate in Sicily–and when he had a palmful of a pearlescent liquid he began massaging it through her hair. His touch was gentle, sensual, and he said nothing as he showered with her. He was careful with her body, giving her a washcloth that smelled like the same soap he used and let her scrub the salt and the sea from her skin.

His fingers glided across her tattoo, and when she shivered she hoped he was just wiping soap from her back.

She forced herself to remain still as his hands moved lower and lower down her body. He made no move f*ck her.

What was his game? Why was he being so delicate, now?

When he finished washing her, he wrapped her in a towel, took her back to the bed. He brushed her hair. He was gentle detangling the knots, his fingertips gently brushing against her neck and ears.

When he finished, he picked up a remote control and pressed a button. The shutters rolled half down the windows. He placed a kiss on her forehead and left.

The dim glow and the gentle rocking. She was asleep, atop the covers, within moments of his departure.

…

She woke up with golden light casting shining rippling shadows on the ceiling. Warm pleasure slid down her thighs and she let out a breathy grunt. Before she could catch her breath, she choked back another cry.

Then she heard the slurps and wet kisses; she felt hands on her hips and as his tongue penetrated her. She shivered and clenched as more pleasure burned and coiled inside her. She cried out again, unable to stop herself, unable to do anything, but clutch the blankets beneath her.

The towel she had fallen asleep in was half crumpled off the bed. Massimo’s head was in-between her legs, his hands on her hips keeping her akimbo as he kept even ministrations. His eyes flicked up to hers as the sweet ache inside her burned with intensity and she rubbed against his mouth to get relief.

She cried out as his tongue flicked against her sensitive cl*t.

She rubbed against his mouth, when he started massaging her labia with his thumbs, desperately chasing the pleasure he was giving her. She felt herself grow tighter and tighter, pleasure leaking out of her, her legs shaking.

She was so close and bit her lip to keep from crying out; and just as she was about to come he moved his head and sucked hard on her thigh.

She cried a frustrated whine.

His eyes flicked to hers. He adjusted himself and curled two fingers inside her.

“Do you want to come?” He asked.

She pressed her lips together, her hips keeping pace with his fingers. His delicate touch with firm pressure leaving her aching as she got wetter and wetter. She nodded.

“Tesoro,” the bottom of his face slick and shiny. She was so sensitive and her body clenched around his fingers as he spoke.

She let out a quick cry.

His head bent down and his tongue rolled a lazy circle around her cl*t.

Impossibly tight, she somehow clenched more. Her legs shaking and something akin to molten pleasure burned and coiled inside her.

He lifted his head up, pulled out his fingers, and put his mouth on her again.

Desperately, as she clenched tighter and tighter, tighter than she thought was possible, she rubbed against his mouth. Her whole body shaking now.

He rolled his tongue inside her and she came–pulsating and twitching with pleasure as he slurped and kissed. Her cries impossibly loud.

He wiped his slicked mouth on the back of his hand, climbed on top of her, and impaled himself in her.

She let out a shaky breath; as he slipped in easily–she was soaking wet–and as she stopped twitching through her org*sm.

He pushed into her, his pace slow as he pushed in further. He let out a shaky groan as she constricted against him.

“Not yet,Tesoro, I’m not ready to come yet,” he purred as he slid out of her.

She swallowed a scream as his hips rolled into her, a deeper pleasure than she’d ever felt before coiled inside her. He rocked deeper into her still, slid out, and then back in. And again, and again. And again, and again.

She whimpered as she clenched and clenched impossibly tight around him. She felt herself come again, and bit her lip as it did nothing to relieve the tightly pulled cord inside her.

Then he started touching her cl*t.

She cried out, as he speared her, and the cord inside her snapped.

His pace didn’t change and neither did the intensity of his fingers on her cl*t as she squirted on his chest.

She heard him choke back a groan and felt him come inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, sweating and satisfied. Her mind was blissfully empty, for a few moments at least.

Had she? Had he? Why did she come so much? Had he pushed her or had she –

–He lifted his head, kissing her jaw and neck, as she panted. “When I saw your face for the first time, I didn’t desire you. I was terrified by that vision. But with time, when your portraits were all around my house, I began to notice the details of your soul. You and I are so alike, Roxy.”

When she said nothing he continued, “I am all yours.” He pulled out of her and laid on his back next to her, his chest rising and falling.

“We have two more days on the boat; then we will be home.” He told her, pulling her rest on his chest.

“I can’t feel my legs.” She said.

He laughed.