I’ve only ever kneeled at his feet, but the power in his voice makes my knees weak and I drop to the floor where I am, feet away from him in the hall, although I’m afraid he wanted me next to him. Fear. Fear commands these so carefully taken steps.
A moment passes and then another before he glances my way, through the doorway to the kitchen. “Here, songbird. Come kneel here.” There’s an edge of annoyance in his voice and I nearly cry. It’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous that his reprimand would upset me to that extent, but as I crawl the last few feet to sit beside him in a kneeling position, my body nearly buckles, and I realize why this morning Carter seems different. Harder and less interested.
“You have her trained well.” The man’s voice sparks anger in my blood. It mixes with the fear, confusing me and I have a difficult time managing my expression, my movements. Everything in me is screaming to look at Romano, to stare into his cold dark eyes and tell him to go fuck himself.
“There’s still plenty for her to learn,” Carter speaks absently, swiping the screen of the iPad and focusing his attention on it. He doesn’t touch me. Not like he does around his brothers.
My head hangs low, so low it nearly hurts my neck, but I don’t want Romano to see my face. I have to bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds to keep from speaking up.
Be smart, I remind myself although it doesn’t soothe a damn thing I’m feeling.
“How’s—”
Carter cuts Romano off and states, “I’m happy with it. Let’s move forward.”
With his simple words, Carter leaves my side to walk the few feet across the kitchen, passing the iPad back to Romano and I chance a peek up. In his crisp dress shirt and dark gray slacks, Carter’s expensive, dominating appearance is at odds with Romano’s mien. His shirt hangs baggy in the front, not tailored to be fitted, I’d suspect because of his weight.
“When does it begin?” Carter asks with his back to Romano as he stalks toward me. He catches my stare and holds it until he reaches me, forcing me to pull my chin up so I don’t break his gaze.
He only looks away when his hand reaches my hair and he cups the back of my head. The satisfaction and thrill of having him hold me so gently and possessively are undeniably fucked up. But still, I nearly smile.
The more comfortable I get, the more I grow to crave his small touches and the warmth of his body.
It’s not supposed to be this way, but I can feel myself slipping into this new reality.
“Next week,” Romano answers him and I can practically hear his grin. “We’ll start taking them out all at once. As many as we can.”
Adrenaline pumps in my veins, remembering the conversation from weeks ago. He’s going to kill my father’s men and all I can think about is Nikolai, my first kiss and only true friend in this world. My family and everyone I grew up with.
I know, and yet I can do nothing. The air around me is suffocating as I sit there silently, remembering how easily some of them have killed before, how I’ve wished that those men would die so many times. But not all of them. Not my family. Not Nikolai.
Inside I scream at myself to beg for answers, to beg for mercy. But on the surface I stay calm and wait for Romano to leave. There has to be a way for me to spare some of the people I love. The only people I love. The only family I have.
Please, show mercy. I nearly whisper the words as Carter leaves me yet again, walking Romano to the door and leaving me lonely and pathetic on the floor of the kitchen.
I don’t make a sound. I stay silent.
But I will beg. I will fight. I will do anything. I won’t let them kill my family.
There has to be a way.
If he cares anything for me, he’ll show mercy. My gaze drops to the shadows of the two of them in the hall. The saddest part of the last thought is that I already know he won’t show mercy. I’m only his whore.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carter
The fire crackles. I’ve always found comfort in the soothing sound. My songbird’s humming is the only thing that’s come close and whether or not she knows it, she’s been humming every so often since I left her in the den.
Gripping the back of the tufted sofa, I watch the glow of the fire play across her face. The shadows only make her look more beautiful. Even though she’s drawing near the hearth, she hasn’t turned on the lights. The sun set hours ago, taking the daylight that filled this room with it. But she’s stayed by the fire, consumed with her art.
“Aria.” I attempt to keep my voice calm and gentle, so I don’t startle her. But I achieve the opposite and the black charcoal in her hand leaves a mar across the center of the piece she’s drawing. Surprise and fear are evident from her parted lips but she shifts her expression quickly, leaving her pad and the charcoal on the hearth to kneel for me.
She doesn’t address me any other way, simply waiting for a command. Her submission is beautiful, but there’s a twisting in my gut. She’s faking it. It’s only because of yesterday. She’s only being good because I caught her searching through my room. She doesn’t fool me.
“You did well this morning,” I compliment her as I round the large sofa. Her eyes watch me; they watch every movement I make.
As much as I see her, I know she sees me. It’s one of the things that’s pulling me to her every second of every day.
I don’t want to miss the little hints of honesty that she can’t hide from me.
“I don’t like that man,” she says under her breath, daring to raise her eyes to me. “Romano.” A grin pulls at my lips. “I couldn’t tell,” I say, toying with her.
She did perfectly. Submitting to me and showing him how I have her under my thumb. That I’ve gained control of her, even when she couldn’t contain her contempt for him.
She’s helping me set him up for his own demise, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask her as I sink into the sofa, relaxing against it as she nods once and then whispers, “Yes.”
“Come here.” I pat the seat next to me and watch her debate on whether she should crawl or stand to get here. Glancing at her right hand, covered in charcoal, she chooses to stand and reach for the towel on the coffee table. She’s deliberate in her motions as she quickly cleans her hands and then walks quietly to sit beside me. Only the crackling of the fire occupies the silence.
As she sits, I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her closer, lowering my lips to her ear then nipping her lobe before moving to her neck.
When I’m touching her, she knows exactly how to behave. She loses that constant inner questioning and gives herself to me completely. Letting her breathing quicken and her head fall to the side. She can’t hide from me when my hands are on her.
It’s a heady feeling I’ve grown addicted to.
I imagine she doesn’t realize how often she touches me. Like now, how she reaches out to my shoulder as I rake my teeth up and down her neck.
Nipping her ear once more and feeling the thrill of her ragged moans deep in my chest, I whisper to her, “I want the man dead.”
Her lashes flutter open and as they do, Jase enters the doorway. He hesitates and nearly turns around, but I gesture for him to enter. Time and time again, she seizes up when another person is added to the equation. She forgets how to react and becomes a lost little bird with a broken wing. Stiff in my embrace, she struggles to know where to look as Jase enters.
Slowly she pulls her legs up onto the sofa and bows her head. I know Jase is watching me, but I can’t take my eyes away from her.
“You’re mine,” I tell her in a voice that commands her to look back at me. “You will hold your head up high.” Her eyes widen slightly and then follow my fingers as I trace them from her collar down the center of her chest. “How else will they see this?” My pointer intertwines with the necklace and she nods in understanding.
I can feel her heart racing just beyond my touch, but I let the necklace fall into place and turn back to my bro
ther. The judgment and disgust that lingered in his eyes only days ago are gone, replaced now only by curiosity. It’s all going better than I’d hoped, even if it has taken longer than I’d planned.
“It’s set for next week.” As the words register with Jase and he tells me the shipments are coming in early for Romano, I notice how Aria’s demeanor changes again.
She already knows too much. As much as I enjoy her presence, she shouldn’t be privy to the knowledge of how her father’s empire will fall.
“You look lovely tonight,” Jase speaks directly to her. Surprise lights up her face as the fire continues to cast shadows over her.
“Thank you,” she says, but her voice is soft, too soft and she clears her throat to repeat herself. “Thank you.”
“I admire your art,” he adds, and I glance down at the scattering of papers on the floor. Three new ones today, and each more stunning than the last. She’s not rushed anymore. She takes her time, and the beauty she creates is captivating. I never expected to feel proud of what I thought was only a distraction.
The thrill rings in my blood. She craves acceptance, protection, and a tenderness that I can’t always give her. But my brothers can. Even now as she worries and struggles, his kindness makes her weaker toward me. Each small gesture of acceptance makes her more willing to obey me.
“She’s talented.” I compliment her as well, although I speak to Jase.
“Thank you,” she says again, and the fidgeting stops momentarily, replaced by a calmer demeanor.
“We’ll go over the rest tonight,” I tell Jase and he takes the cue to leave easily enough. No more of this in front of her. She needs to be perfect for the dinner.
And then everything will change.
“Tonight then,” Jase says and nods a goodnight to Aria. A gentle smile flickers on her lips, but she struggles to speak to him in return.
“You’re doing so well,” I speak to her gently as Jase leaves us. Her hair is soft under my fingers as I push the locks from her face. “Apart from yesterday morning, I mean.”
The reminder makes her stiffen, but only until I trail my fingers back to the necklace, the mix of pearls and diamonds strung together on a thin platinum chain. So delicate and breakable, just like her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again.
“No, you’re not.” The words come out with a sternness that’s irrefutable. “I expected as much, but you aren’t sorry.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she says, and the statement sounds genuine, even as she closes her eyes and swallows noticeably. I take in every hint of her features, seeing nothing but sincerity.
“Aria,” I tell her as I slip my hand to the nape of her neck, “you haven’t disappointed me.” My voice is deeper than I intended, laced with the lust I still have for her.
I thought I would grow tired of her but having Aria and playing with her has become my favorite game.
She only sighs at my statement, a soft sound that’s a mix of want and need and something else.
I whisper at the shell of her ear, “I can spoil you; this doesn’t have to be something you hate.”
“I will give you anything,” she whispers and those beautiful eyes peer into mine, searching for mercy, “Please don’t kill my family.”
“I had to pick a side, but they’ll both die, Aria. There’s no changing that.” If I could steal the pain from her, I would.
“You said you wanted him dead. Romano. Why not side with my father?”
“Do you think your father would spare me, Aria? Do you think he’d allow me to live?” My voice comes out harder with each word, remembering how my life was almost snuffed out by his hands. Her gorgeous eyes turn to dark wells of sadness. She knows the truth about her father, but still, she continues.
“He would,” she whispers with hopefulness.
“He wouldn’t,” I tell her, expecting to be angered by her naivety, but it’s only pity for her that I feel. “You need to stay out of this, Aria,” I command her, and she nods once, but I can see the pleas written on her face.
“I can’t just do nothing,” she whispers.
“You must, or you’ll leave me with no choice.” It’s not a threat, but it’s full of truth and I pray she behaves. “You’re smarter than this. You know how to survive.”
“I’ll always be a prisoner,” she murmurs, and her voice is soft but desperate. Her eyes open and she almost says something. She almost begs or pleads or questions. But she doesn’t.
“I want to steal the fight from you,” I say the words without thinking, without realizing how honest they are. “I will have all of you, Aria.”
It takes a moment for her to respond, and when she does, it’s with her eyes closed and her words are laced with pain. “I know you will.”
She holds on to that pain so well. Gripping it chaotically, just to hold on to something. In a way, that enrages the very core of my being. But soon all she’ll hold on to is me. So soon. I have to be patient with her. If nothing else, time will dull her pain and then all she’ll have is me.
“Lie back,” I give her the command and she obeys instantly, falling onto the sofa and resting her head on the decorative pillow. Brushing my hand against her inner thigh, she parts her legs for me. The cotton slips up higher, but I have to lift her ass up and push the dress up to her waist to see all of her.
“You’re always wet for me,” I utter the words beneath my breath as my cock hardens. My fingers trail up and down her shaved pussy. Her lips glisten with arousal and her breathing hitches.
I unbutton my collar and pull my shirt off first, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Every second that passes, Aria’s breathing gets heavier. The sofa groans under me as I shift my weight to move my shoulders between her thighs.
Gripping her ass to hold her in place, I start with a single languid lick of her tempting cunt. When I look up and find her lips parted, her eyes wide and her cheeks that beautiful hue of pink, I decide I won’t stop licking, sucking and tongue fucking her cunt until she can’t fight me any longer.
And then I’ll have her writhing under me, cumming on my cock like she was made to do.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aria
This isn’t what life is supposed to be like. Not for someone like me. Surrounded by luxury and chained to a gilded cage, I shouldn’t wake up feeling at ease.
But that’s how I feel. I know that so long as I obey Carter, I’ll be all right. I’ll be safe and pampered even.
While my family is murdered, and I do nothing.
I can’t allow it. I won’t.
I have to remind myself with each kindness he offers me.
Like last night. I was holding onto a deadly combination of hate and hope. Desperate for a way out of here so I could warn my family, or a way to convince Carter to be on my father’s side to present itself.
And I slipped into sleep knowing I needed to do something. That today I would act and find a way. But each kindness makes me weaker.
I’ll never forget the way he held me. Gripping me to him as I lay on my side. My heart raced, and fear was real in my veins. As real as anything else. Sleep still held my eyes tightly shut until I heard his voice, recognized the deep measure of his determined words. “Come back to me.” His breath was hot on my neck, his hand strong as it splayed across my belly. He held me so close and so tightly, I couldn’t move when I woke up.
I could still feel the drum of my racing heart as he flipped me onto my back and buried his head in the crook of my neck, kissing me ravenously, as if he’d been deprived of it. And I pined for his lips on mine, but he didn’t give them to me. I was still blinking away sleep when he whispered, “If you’re going to scream a name in your sleep, it’ll be my name.”
I woke up wondering if it was a dream if he hadn’t really taken me from a nightmare and fucked me into a deep sleep of desire. But he was still holding me the way he had when I woke up and there was no denying it was real.
“You st
opped humming.” Carter’s deep voice pierces through my thoughts and I look up at him from the ground beneath his feet. Rolling the black charcoal between my fingers I lie to him, something I know I shouldn’t do.
“I’m just thinking about what I’d like to draw next.”
He knows my response is a lie. His eyes narrow, but he allows it. I don’t think he wants me to go back to the cell any more than I do. Although part of me wonders if one day he’ll start fucking me on that mattress and I’ll be confined there.
The only thing that relieves that thought is the knowledge that Carter enjoys others seeing how I’ve become his. How I obey him while he gives me this freedom. If you can call it that.
My gaze wanders across Carter’s office and lands yet again on a bench that doesn’t belong. It peeks out from under the bookshelf across from me and it simply isn’t supposed to be there.
The wood is old and unfinished, at odds with the dark polished shelves housing beautifully covered books.
The hinges have a hint of rust. I tap the charcoal in my hand against the paper and stare at it. Wondering why Carter would allow it to stay.
“Where did the bench come from?” I ask him on a whim. I haven’t asked him anything. Not for a single thing. Nor have I initiated conversation. But if I have any hope of changing his mind about my father, I have to be able to speak up. And it starts right now, with that bench. Craning my neck to look at him over the desk, from where I’m seated on the floor in front of him, I wait for his reaction.
“Bench?” he questions, although I already know that he knows what I’m referring to.
Pointing straight in front of me, I answer him, “It doesn’t look like it belongs.”
I can hear his chair creak as he leans back, and I know he’s debating on telling me something, although I don’t know what. It’s only an old, beat-up bench.
“Do you want to see what it can do?” he asks me, and the tone of his words catches me off guard. He must sense the hesitation because as he rises and makes his way to the bench, he adds, “It’s a safe box.”
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