Forbidden: House of Sin

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “It’s not what you think,” he said quickly.

  I struggled to find my voice as a searing pain stabbed at my foolish heart with the force of a thousand tiny daggers. “You’re wearing that cape. I saw your…mask.”

  Occult images I’d seen on the Internet hit me full force, making my stomach pitch. Bracing my hands on the mattress at my sides, I rocked forward and back, fighting the pain, the nausea, fighting to keep both at bay.

  “Natalie.” His fingers dug into my thighs. “Listen to me. That’s not me. I didn’t want to go tonight. I didn’t want to come here because I was afraid they’d call a meeting. I hate all this. I only went tonight to keep you safe. I went—”

  My eyes shot open, and revulsion swirled inside me like a tornado. “You went to keep me safe?” I shoved at his hands, unable to bear his touch anymore. He fell back on his heels. “What about that woman? Does she even know what they’re doing to her? Even from where I was hiding, I could tell she was high.”

  He rested his hands on his thighs and watched me carefully, but he didn’t try to touch me again. “If she was high, that was her choice.”

  My stomach rolled all over again.

  “Listen to me. I know you think you saw some kind of satanic ritual, but you didn’t. You saw a sex party, nothing more. It was consensual. She agreed to it. All the women agreed to it.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he added, “They were paid to be there, Natalie. They were paid very well.”

  My mouth drifted closed, and I stared at him in utter disbelief.

  “You saw the tattoo up her side, right?” Luc asked. “The leopard print? You’ve seen it before. When you were with Giovanni.”

  My mind shot back to that party on Long Island. I swallowed hard at the memory of those two women with Gio removing their clothing. Both of their bodies had been marked with the same kind of leopard-print tattoo. One woman’s had run from her thigh up to her breast. The other’s had spread across her lower spine and between the cheeks of her ass.

  “They’re sex kittens, Natalie. Women who get paid to participate in parties exactly like the one you saw in the woods. Exactly like that one on Long Island.”

  My head swam. Was he telling the truth? I pushed to my feet, unable to sit still, and paced the dark room. Did it really matter? Bile pushed up my throat either way. “No.” I shook my head. “If that’s what you’re into, then—”

  “It’s not what I’m into.” He rose and faced me. “I told you, I hate this part of my family.”

  I stopped and stared at him, waiting for more. Waiting for something that would explain all this.

  “Cazzo.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time. They’re going to notice I’m gone soon, and if that happens, we’ll really be in trouble. So I’m going to explain this to you as simply as I can.”

  He moved toward me and stopped inches away. His heat and familiar scent surrounded me, bringing a rush of emotion followed by a surge of disgust. I fought the urge to move back, because I sensed if I did, he wouldn’t tell me what I needed to hear. And I did need it. I needed something true to hold on to, because I felt like I was on the verge of going insane.

  “I told you before that my family is very powerful. They’re incredibly powerful. Not just here but around the globe. With that power comes a responsibility to contain and command. The early founders of my family’s House learned long ago that the important leaders they needed on their side could be manipulated through the most basic human urge: sex. They’ve used that. They set up these events—that scene you saw in the woods, that orgy Gio took you to in New York—and they give those leaders a taste of the forbidden. It’s not satanic. It’s just sex. And it’s blackmail. They record everything. Someone was out in those woods videotaping that scene. They use it to keep those leaders in line. It’s a give and take. Those men get what they want, and in turn, they make the financial, political, or social decisions that benefit our House. That woman knew what was going on. She’s loyal to the Salvatici House. She’s being paid handsomely for her time.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was laying it all out there as if it were no big deal. Sex rituals. Blackmail. Describing his family like some crazy world dynasty. I pressed a hand to my head, unable to sift truth from lie. The only thing I knew for certain was that if there was any truth in his words, he was omitting an awful lot.

  “Are...” I swallowed hard because I was almost afraid to ask what was suddenly spinning in my mind. “Are you talking about the Mafia?”

  “No. The Mafia is made up of thugs and low-life criminals looking to make a quick buck.”

  I breathed a little easier.

  “My family’s roots run back thousands of years. To an entente whose alliances and conflicts have shaped more than just history, they’ve shaped entire maps. The Salvatici reach extends past that of any Mafia. And trust me when I say their vengeance is a hell of a lot more dangerous.”

  I didn’t understand what he was saying. But the chilling way in which he said it made the blood drain from my face. I dropped my hand and stared at him as fear shot right back through my belly.

  He took my cold hand and wrapped his strong fingers around mine. “You were not supposed to see what you did tonight. If they find out you were there…” He squeezed my hand. “If they find out, we’re both in danger. I didn’t want to bring you here. I didn’t want you to see any of this. But I promise you, I will keep you safe. It’s just very, very important that you do exactly what I say from now on. I have to go back before someone realizes I’m missing. I need you to stay in this room with the doors and windows locked. Do not let anyone in. Do not turn on any lights. Let them think you’ve been sleeping all night. In the morning, we’re free to go. It’s extremely important that you act normal in front of my family before we leave. Can you do that?”

  My tongue was so dry, I couldn’t form words. He kept using ominous terms like danger, safe, free… Words I didn’t understand. And as I stood in front of him, I had a sudden memory flash of him pinning me to the forest floor and whispering haunting words in my ears. Words that now sent a tremble of terror through my whole body. “If they find us, they’ll kill us both.”

  “Natalie?”

  He squeezed my hand, and the pressure jolted me out of the memory. Somehow, I found the strength to nod, but…oh God…

  He breathed a sigh that sounded full of relief and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, tugging me into the warmth of his chest. I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t lift my hands and hug him back either. I couldn’t do anything but stand completely still as my brain skipped over everything he’d just told me.

  “I’ll keep you safe, angioletto,” he whispered into my hair. “Trust me. I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.” His lips brushed my temple. “Lock the doors after me. I’ll come for you as soon as I can. I promise, in a matter of hours, all this will be a memory.”

  He let go of me and crossed to the balcony doors. Still too dazed to speak, I watched his cape rustle behind him as he turned and smiled sadly at me in a way that did nothing to alleviate my fear. He closed the doors at his back, and a scraping sound echoed outside. I knew he was climbing down the trellis, but I didn’t move to the window to watch. I didn’t feel anything but confused and numb.

  As the sounds dissipated, I crossed back to the bed and lowered myself to the edge.

  Sex kittens…

  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 wi
th 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.

  Chapter Twenty

  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.