The Fall (House of Sin Book 2)

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Salvatici House…

  Orgies…

  Blackmail…

  Power…

  Control…

  Entente…

  His words tumbled through my mind, spinning faster with every passing second.

  I didn’t know what was truth. I didn’t know what was lies. Out of nowhere, the memory of that fanatic who’d attacked me in Rome filled my head. Luc had thought he’d been trying to hurt me, but I’d sensed he was trying to save me in some way.

  Save me from Luc? Save me from the Salvatici family? Save me from this entente he’d said shaped borders?

  My hands grew damp, and a hard lump wedged its way into my throat. I needed answers. I needed confirmation that any of what Luc had told me was real.

  Pushing to my feet, I rushed across the room, tugged open the wardrobe closet, and grabbed my purse. I found my cell phone in the front pocket, turned it on, and checked my signal.

  There were just enough bars for me to pull up the Internet. I decided to start with the most pressing lie—or truth. I typed in the words sex kitten.

  The first few pages brought up links for porn movies and articles about how to make your wife crave sex. I went back to the search bar and added the words leopard-print tattoo. This time I got Twitter links and articles about women who were addicted to sex. I scrolled through the first two pages, thinking this search was a bust too, but stopped on the third page when I spotted a link about sex-kitten programming.

  My fingers shook as I clicked the link. And what I read turned my stomach in a way that made me cover my mouth with my hand to keep from vomiting.

  The term sex kitten was used interchangeably with the words beta slave or beta kitten—a sexually programmed female trained to ignore her moral convictions and inhibitions and unleash her most primitive, erotic instincts. The article discussed the scenarios these women endured in their training, the way their minds learned to swap pain for pleasure, their “programmers” who groomed them in how to dress and act seductive and serve any number of men at any time when called upon. My stomach swirled as I scrolled down and pictures appeared on my screen—symbols and colors associated with sex-kitten programming.

  Leopard print was a big one. Several images of women with leopard-print tattoos on different parts of their bodies, just like on the woman I’d seen in the trees, flashed on my screen. Purple dresses, shoes, clothing…

  The color purple seemed to represent the disassociation of the mind in kitten programming. Cat or kitten masks, like the ones I’d seen on those women at the masquerade party on Long Island and in that clearing in the woods, appeared in front of my eyes.

  And butterflies—in tattoos, fabrics, hair clips. According to this article, the butterfly was the symbol of Monarch Programming, the method used by numerous organizations to create mind-controlled slaves of all kinds, including sex-kitten slaves, who could be triggered at any time to perform any task or action by a handler.

  Horror rushed through me when I read that Monarch Programming was a continuation of the MK-ULTRA program developed by the CIA and tested on both military and civilians in the United States.

  My pulse beat hard and fast. With shaking fingers, I opened another tab and typed in Monarch Programming Organizations. Several pages about the CIA came up. I ignored those and kept searching. Halfway down, I spotted an article with the title: Entente.

  A looming sense of doom I couldn’t shake pressed hard against my shoulders. I clicked the link with a trembling hand. It was in Italian. I pulled up a translation page and began reading in English.

  To my distress, the Salvatici name was right at the top, and just as Luc had said, his family’s lineage ran all the way back to Augustus—the first emperor of Rome.

  I continued to read. The article listed thirteen main bloodlines, or Houses, all linked in some way to someone important in ancient Rome. The families had constantly fought for power, but in AD 476, after the fall of the Roman Empire, the thirteen Houses finally met in Venice to discuss the creation of an alliance. There, they signed the Treaty of Entente and decided that instead of bickering amongst themselves, they had the opportunity for great wealth and power if they could find a way to work together.

  From that day on, the Houses worked behind the scenes to direct the future of Europe. They were responsible for the rise of popes, for the fall of great leaders, for conquests, revolutions, industrialization, and even wars that—as Luc had said—shaped the boundaries of what was today modern Europe.

  My head swam as I paged down. Over time, the Houses intermarried. They spread across the continents. And as civilization grew, so did the Entente’s reach. Today, according to the article, only five Houses remained—the five strongest in each powerhouse of Western Europe—one in England, one in France, the others in Germany, Spain, and Italy.

  But those five houses were no longer concerned with shaping Europe. They were reportedly involved in all kinds of illicit activities all over the globe, ranging from illegal drugs, prostitution, arms trafficking, gambling rings, human trafficking, and black market trade of every kind—gems, gold, animals, art and artifacts…

  My pulse sped up as I scanned the never-ending list. It was organized crime at a level I couldn’t comprehend.

  Swallowing hard, I continued to page down. Various symbols I didn’t understand filled the screen—an all-seeing eye that looked like a sun, a dragon in the shape of a fleur-de-lis, a triangular ornament of three interlocking arcs surrounded by a serpent, a triple spiral with tips like claws and lines resembling snakeskin. I also saw images of black capes and white bauta masks like the ones I’d witnessed in that clearing, and in every picture, one man in a red cape with a gold mask and tricorn hat, and the words Grande Cavaliere beneath.

  An uncontrollable tremor claimed me, not because the men were doing anything deviant in the photos—they weren’t, they were simply standing still, staring at the camera—but because of what I saw in their eyes.

  Power. Control. Domination. As if they were gods. As if they knew they lorded ultimate supremacy over every living thing on the planet. And the Grande Cavaliere’s coal black eyes behind his gold mask absolutely chilled me to my core because they were different. They weren’t smug like the others. They were blank. Unreadable. Empty. Dead.

  I swallowed hard and scrolled down again, not wanting to look at those eyes a moment longer, but stopped when I saw an image I recognized well.

  The website called it an ouroboros and said it was a symbol of eternity and continual renewal, but I knew it as a circular serpent with wings, consuming its tail. I knew it because Luc had a tribal tattoo on the inside of his left calf of the exact same serpent with the exact same words in the middle of the circle.

  La vita eterna.

  Eternal life.

  It wasn’t just a simple tattoo. It was a signet. In a rush, I realized the symbols I’d seen earlier were all signets of different Houses.

  I forced myself to continue reading and learned that the House bearing the ouroboros signet was responsible for heroin smuggling into postcommunist countries, high-end prostitution throughout Europe, human trafficking of girls and women, and the creation of beta slaves used in the rituals each House in the Entente still practiced today to blackmail their subjects into doing what they wanted them to do.

  I dropped my phone as if it had burned me and shot to my feet. My hands clenched and unclenched as if the simple act would rid the horrific feeling those pictures had stirred inside me, but it didn’t.

  Luc had the ouroboros tattoo. Luc had left me only moments ago, wearing that black cape and bauta mask. Luc was the eldest son of the head of the Salvatici House. Luc liked control. He’d told me he would dominate me. At the time, I’d thought he was only talking about sex, but this…

  Luc had called me gattina.

  Kitten.

  Sickness surged up my throat, and I sprinted to the bathroom just before it overwhelmed me.

  I retched into the toilet until there was
nothing left in my stomach. Until every inch of my body hurt from the spasms. Until my heart shattered into a million pieces.

  When it passed, I grabbed a towel from the bar with trembling fingers and wiped my mouth as I sagged back against the wall. The shakes rushed in, taking control of my muscles.

  Wrapping my arms around my updrawn knees, I rocked forward and back and tried to think. Tried to plan. Tried to figure out what the hell I could do.

  I was surrounded by a sea of depravity and evil power I still didn’t completely understand. All I knew for certain was that I was alone. I was in the middle of nowhere. In a foreign country. With no ability to speak the language. I couldn’t trust Luc. I couldn’t trust his family. I had no one to turn to.

  One thought echoed in my brain, growing louder with every passing second.

  Run.

  I had to get out of this nightmare. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t wait around to be turned into Maricella. I’d seen too much tonight. If I stayed… If they found out what I knew, they’d find a way to get rid of me like—

  My whole body jerked, and my eyes flew wide.

  Like they’d gotten rid of Elena.

  I sprang to my feet, splashed water on my face, and rinsed my mouth. Rushing into the bedroom, I tore through the wardrobe closet and found my purse.

  My fingers fumbled for my passport, which was—thankfully—in the exact spot I’d left it, and I checked my wallet to see how much cash remained. Since Luc had paid for almost everything since we’d arrived in Italy, I still had nearly two thousand dollars in cash and traveler’s checks. Enough to get me out of this country. But first I had to get out of this horrific villa.

  I snapped my wallet closed and shoved it and my passport back inside my purse. Grabbing a fresh pair of jeans and a new T-shirt, I dressed quickly, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shoved my feet into my Skechers. I didn’t have any clue where Luc had left the keys to his car, but I wasn’t stupid enough to steal it and risk someone hearing the engine. Luc wasn’t coming back until dawn. I had time to get out of this hellhole on foot.

  I tossed the strap of my bag over my head so it fell crisscross over my chest and back, then I pulled the balcony doors open and softly tugged them shut behind me. One quick glance outside told me everything was just as quiet as it had been before. Without a second thought, I grasped the trellis and began to climb.

  The second my feet hit the cobblestones in the courtyard, I ran.

  I ran, and I didn’t once look back.

  12

  Luc

  I was frantic to get back to Natalie.

  By the time I was released, dawn was already rising over the eastern mountains. My whole body ached with a combination of stress and exertion and disgust.

  Luckily, no one had seemed to notice my absence. As I’d hoped, they’d all been too engrossed in the ritual to pay much attention to me. But we weren’t in the clear yet.

  I needed to coach Natalie on what she should or shouldn’t say or do when we said goodbye to my parents in a matter of hours. If she gave any indication in voice or tone or expression that she’d seen what had happened in those woods, we’d never make it out of here alive.

  Since the light was already rising, I couldn’t risk climbing back up the trellis to her balcony. The servants were stirring, and I knew Rosabel would already be up, making her famous breakfast pastries in the main kitchen. Free of that fucking cloak, I skirted the edge of the courtyard, slipped inside the north wing, and held still in the stairwell, listening for the sound of footsteps.

  When I didn’t hear any, I moved up the steps. Halfway to the second level, the sound of a woman’s scream met my ears, stilling my movement.

  Panic and fear ignited a fury in my blood, and I flew up the rest of the steps to the second floor and sprinted down the corridor, slowing as I approached Natalie’s closed door. My pulse thundered and my adrenaline surged as I reached for the door handle and turned to find it locked.

  I stepped back, ready to break the door down with my body, when I heard another feminine scream. Only this one hadn’t come from Natalie’s room. It came from farther down the hall, in a suite three doors down. And it was followed by a deep, male, very familiar voice growling “Again” in Italian.

  Terror grabbed me by the throat and squeezed because I knew that voice as Dante’s. I rushed down the hall as quietly as I could and stopped outside the door.

  The scream echoed in my ears again, ramping up my adrenaline, but this close, I could tell it wasn’t Natalie’s scream. It was different. Higher pitched. I reached for the handle only to discover the door wasn’t closed. It was ajar, pushed open five inches. Enough for me to see inside.

  If Natalie wasn’t in there, I didn’t want to alert Dante to my presence. Sickness gathered in my gut. If she was in there, I needed to know who else was with him before I went barreling in.

  I stepped to the side so I could see better. A naked woman was bent over the footboard of the bed, her legs tied to the corners of the posts and spread wide, her arms secured with rope to the ends of the footboard and pulled in opposite directions. Blonde hair fell over her face, telling me she wasn’t Natalie, and my immediate relief was all-consuming. But when she whimpered, when I saw the red welts and lines across the backs of her thighs and all along her ass, that relief turned to bubbling rage.

  My little brother, the one who’d been an innocent kid when I’d left home twelve years ago and nothing more than an insolent university student when I’d last visited Italy, walked around behind her holding a cane, dressed in nothing but his jeans. I knew people were into all kinds of kinks. I knew all about the line between pleasure and pain and how it enhanced arousal. But the tears I saw welling in Maricella’s eyes and the fear tightening her features told me she wasn’t enjoying this.

  This wasn’t about pleasure. This was about my sick-as-fuck brother taking out his frustrations on Maricella because he hadn’t been able to take them out on those beta slaves in the woods.

  I pushed the door open hard. The wood cracked against the stucco wall with a thwack.

  Maricella jerked at the sound but was unable to move more than a few muscles. Her eyes grew wide as they focused on me.

  Dante whipped his head my way and stared at me with both shock and superiority. So much my temper shot straight through the roof.

  The fucker knew this kind of play was forbidden during daylight hours or when outsiders visited. He also knew if our father caught him, he’d be punished. But he’d done it anyway because he liked the mind fuck more than the actual act of fucking. And he’d done it here in this wing because he’d wanted Natalie to hear it.

  “Put the cane down,” I said calmly in English.

  “Vaffanculo,” he sneered at me. “She likes it.” He looked back at Maricella and lifted the cane in the air.

  The whirring sound caused her whole body to tense and her eyes to slam shut in anticipation of the blow.

  I was on him in two strides, catching his arm at the wrist before he could strike her. I wrenched it behind his back.

  “Che cazzo, pompinara!” he cried.

  I shoved him face-first into the wall. He grunted and let go of the cane. It clattered against the ground at our feet.

  “You wanna call me a cocksucker again?” I twisted his arm harder, and he cried out in pain. “Or tell me to fuck off? You worthless piece of shit. I should beat the crap out of you like you’re doing to that poor girl.”

  On the bed, Maricella pressed her face into the comforter and whimpered. The sound only amplified my need for blood.

  Dante’s mismatched eyes widened, but with my hand against the back of his head, shoving his face into the plaster, and my other hand pinning him to the wall with a twist of his arm, he couldn’t move. “She’s my kitten, you fucking asshole. I can do whatever the hell I want to her.”

  “Not here you can’t. And you damn well know that.”

  “You think you’re all high and mighty, don’t you? You think you�
��re better than me? You’re not. You’re a fucking disappointment to our House. If you weren’t a Salvatici, you’d already be dead.”

  His words reeked with truth. I knew I was alive only because of my family name. I also knew that name would mean nothing if anyone found out what Natalie had seen.

  Thirty-two years of frustration and disgust and fury over what I’d been born into coiled in my veins, begging to be unleashed.

  I’d loved Dante once. I’d loved the innocent boy and the goofy teen he’d been not long ago. But I didn’t know this man. And I wanted nothing to do with the sick perversions he’d learned from our so-called House.

  I shoved his face harder into the plaster, then released him. He stumbled back and rubbed his bruised cheek where I’d held him against the wall.

  “You fucking untie that girl right now,” I said. “She’s sobbing, you piece of shit. Newsflash, asshole. When they’re crying like that, they’re not enjoying it.”

  I expected Dante to lash out at me. I expected him to tell me to fuck off again. What I didn’t expect was for his gaze to shoot toward Maricella bent over the bed and for panic to fill his eyes when he took a good look at her shaking in her restraints.

  He pushed past me and quickly untied her legs and then her hands. She slumped back into him, still shaking. Dante picked her up gently, cradled her in his arms, and carried her to the side of the bed, where he sat and held her against him, tenderly whispering reassurances in her ear in Italian as he smoothed her hair and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  I was sure I was seeing an act. That he was putting on a show for my benefit so I wouldn’t tell our father what I’d seen. But the way Maricella responded to him, instantly relaxing and clinging to his shoulders as he rocked her, told me it wasn’t. And the expression on Dante’s face—more pained than the one on Maricella’s—made me think… Maybe the depraved pieces of our House hadn’t consumed him yet.

  My need for blood waned, and my thoughts immediately shot to Natalie.

  Urgency resurged inside me to get her out of this wretched castle as quickly as humanly possible.