by C. M. Steele
“You can trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“I know you won’t.” A look of fear crosses her face, misunderstanding my meaning, but I’m not going to correct her just yet because I need that control until I can get her in my home where she can’t escape. Call me a monster, but this isn’t the worst thing I’ve done and technically she’ll be a lot better off in my home.
I hop on the expressway and drive toward home. We live on the north side just between the border of Chicago and Arlington Heights. My estate isn’t as grand as Domani’s but it’s nothing to sneeze at, so she’ll be happy with it. Or so I hope.
She refuses to look at me directly, but every once in a while, I catch her stealing glances. “So tell me why you’re at the shelter. Hiding from me?” I ask, testing her responses.
Her eyes widen in fear. I hate it, but it’s a necessary evil. “No. I swear I wasn’t.”
“Then why were you there?” I challenge, hoping she’ll tell me what’s going on with those fucks.
“Um, I was getting evicted.”
“In such a hurry that you left half your things? Don’t lie to me, Mariana. How can I trust you if you lie to me?”
Her mouth falls open in disbelief and irritation. The irony of my question isn’t lost on me. “Says the man who kidnapped me and did what you did the other day.” She wags her finger, but she doesn’t mention exactly what I did, which is good and bad. I don’t know if she’s repulsed or just keeping to her promise to stay silent on the matter.
“Well, I’m a bad man, there’s no doubt, but sometimes things are necessary. So, tell me what made you speed out of your apartment like a bat out of hell if it wasn’t because of me.”
She looks out the window and when she looks back at the rearview mirror, her eyes are watery. “I was told if I didn’t get a sale yesterday, my boss would make me earn my money another way. He just messaged saying he’s found out where I am, so I ran away from the shelter.”
I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles are white, and I can almost hear the steering wheel crack under the pressure. “Don’t worry about him.”
“Thanks,” she remarks sardonically. I want to spank her, but I’ll save that for later. “I’ll save all my worries for you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m all good.” I wink at her through the rearview.
“Asshole,” she mutters, glaring at me when she really wants to flip me off.
“Are you hungry? I know I get cranky when I’m hungry.”
“The fuck is wrong with you? You abduct me and have the nerve to act like I don’t have a right to be upset.”
“Well, there’s that, but I told you to relax.”
She raises her eyebrows at me and then decides to ignore what I said. “How long am I your captive?”
“Until I can trust that you won’t snitch.” I think that should take the next seventy-years.
“Great. Well, in that case, I’m going to take a nap. It’s been a rough night, and I didn’t get much sleep.”
“What happened? Did someone fuck with you in there?” I snarl, hearing the leather on the wheel crack some more. Shit, I’m going to need to take my vehicle into the shop.
There goes that look of surprise on her face again. “No. Nothing happened. If you didn’t notice, I had one hell of a shocking day yesterday.” She gives me one final glare before closing her eyes and resting.
A few minutes later, I can tell she’s fallen asleep. When we arrive at my home just down the road from Dom’s, I pull through the gates and then down the path into my garage and let the large door close behind me. Still, Mariana remains asleep, so I decide to let her. She doesn’t startle when I pick her up, so I carry my little captive to the bedroom across from mine.
“Rest,” I whisper, placing a kiss on her temple before unlocking the cuffs. I take them with me and then walk out of the room, making sure to lock the door.
Chapter Four
Mariana
I wake up in a bed much more comfortable than any bed I have slept on before and panic sets in, but not for the normal reason. I feared that this was a dream. From the looks of the bedroom, it wasn’t.
I’m a prisoner in what looks to be a very nice home. I get out of the bed and find my bag set on the dresser. I open the drawers one by one, curious as to who the room belongs to, but they’re empty. Needing to pee, I enter the en suite to find it barely stocked. Great. At least there’s toilet paper and soap.
This man is seriously confusing the hell out of me. His concern sets my body aflame with lust, while he’s confessing to making me his prisoner. I don’t understand his motivation other than the damn fact that I saw something I shouldn’t have, and he’s probably worried I’ll trick off to someone. I have no intention of doing anything like that because I hate dealing with the police.
When my parents died, they acted like I had something to do with it. They fucking drove off a cliff like how could I have had something to do with it? It was a freaking accident. They bought a used RV with faulty steering and brakes. I hadn’t even seen them in two months when it happened and hadn’t spoken to them in over a month.
A knock at the door startles me and before I can go to it, it opens. “You’re back. Do I at least get your name, or is that off limits?”
“No, I want to hear my name off your lips. It’s Nero.”
“Why?”
“Because that is what my parents named me.”
I roll my eyes. Why do you want me to say your name?”
He smirks at me and then looks at me with that wicked stare that makes me want to climb him or onto the bed and spread my legs wide open. “Simple. I want to fuck you until you’re creaming and shouting my name so loud it shakes the house.”
How to I not give myself away? Arching my brow with my hands on my hips, I sneer at him and then say, “So that’s why I’m here… are you going to force me?”
“Never, but enough discussing this. There’s only so many times I can beat off in a day.”
“You were beating off to me.”
“More times than appropriate in the past twenty-four hours. Now, enough sharing. Are you hungry? You didn’t eat at the restaurant, and you slept through the night.”
“How did you know I went… never mind. It’s probably the same way you knew where to find me.”
“No, it’s not exactly the same. Again, are you hungry?” My stomach answers for me with a loud rumble. “Okay. I’ll take that as a yes. You can sit in here and I’ll bring your food, or you can come downstairs while I finish it.”
“I’ll have it up here. I suppose you don’t plan on returning my phone?” I challenge.
“You don’t need it right now, and I can’t trust you to behave, so I’ll let you know when you can have it.”
“I have a job, you know?” I lie.
“No you don’t.”
“I did until you kidnapped me.”
“Liar. See, and you expect me to trust that you won’t say a word.” He shakes his head. “I’ll have someone bring up your food. I have work to go do.”
“Whatever. What am I supposed to do while you’re working?”
“Watch TV, shower. One moment. He steps back to the door and grabs two large bags. “I don’t know what’s in here, but these are for you. I had my cousin’s wife pick up the supplies you would need, and I can have a couple of books brought up for you.” I like to pick my own books to read.
“No, the TV is fine.” He leaves with a smirk. I listen as his footsteps fade and then I test the door. It’s locked. Just like I expected—because I’m a prisoner.
I plop on the bed and grab the remote. Maybe I can find a movie to pass the time. As soon as I turn it on, Beauty and the Beast is playing and a rolling laugh bursts through me. Did he plan this? No. It’s on the Disney Channel. A knock at the door startles me, and I jump up off the bed.
“Miss Conlon?” a man’s voice calls through the door, and I can tell it’s not my captor.
�
��Yes?” You fucking lackey.
“Your breakfast, ma’am.”
An idea crosses my mind as I open the door to see a man in a suit. “So hello,” I say with a purr, arching my back and popping my chest out to show off my large breasts.
“Ma’am, here’s your food, and that’s not going to work on me.”
Can he tell what I’m doing? “What?”
“That flirty act. I’m not trying to die no matter how pretty you are, so please behave while Nero’s out.” Shit. He’s on to me, and apparently Nero has all claims on his prisoner.
Scowling, I snatch the tray out of his hands like a bitch. “Fine. Get lost and lock it back up,” I huff, slamming the door in his face. If that’s the way they’re going to treat me, I won’t be grateful for the food even if it looks better than what I had planned to eat in my car. Damn it, all my snacks are going to waste. What about my car? It’s not anything special, but it has all my clothes in it, and it’s mine.
I’ll have to ask him about getting my things. I set my food on the empty dresser and then examine what he actually gave me: a bottle of orange juice with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon with buttered toast. What the hell? Is this the Hilton?
I snag a piece of toast between my teeth and then pull up a chair to sit near my food while watching the movie. I look at my plate and stare. “Well, aren’t you going to dance?” It doesn’t move. I think I got screwed in this deal. There aren’t even talking dishes. I need to file a complaint.
Still, as I eat, I know one thing: this prison food is good. It’s so tasty that I polish off my entire meal and feel like a glutton afterward.
****
I don’t know when I passed out, but I think it was somewhere in the middle of The Holiday because I started dreaming of my sexy, growling captor. I wake up and find my tray gone. Scanning the room, I don’t see anyone in here, but the damned sun is nearly setting. I’m trying to think of how soon the sun sets in May. Maybe six or seven? I check the TV and see it’s seven-thirty.
“I need some water,” I grumble.
“Coming,” Nero’s deep timber comes from somewhere in the room. I look, and there’s an intercom on the nightstand. That wasn’t there earlier. What the hell?
A minute later, my cell door is opened by the sexy brute in just a plain white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, revealing a tattoo on each arm. Fuck, could he be any hotter? I hate him so damned much.
Okay, I don’t hate him.
I do hate him. What am I thinking? He kidnapped me, but I am in a better situation than I was.
“Here you go.” He hands me the water and turns on his heel, only to stop at the open door. “I’m cooking dinner. Do you want to come out now, or would you like to keep up this petulant attitude?”
“Petulant? You fucking kidnapped me, you asshole,” I shout, crossing my arms.
“Okay, I guess that’s my answer. Dinner will be brought up,” he says with a shrug, closing the door.
I jump off the bed and call out before he can finish closing it. “Wait. You cook?”
He steps back in the room and cracks a killer smile that nearly has me on my ass or my knees. What the hell is going on with my libido? Did they spike my food? “Not all the time, but since it’s just the two of us in here, someone had to cook.”
“It’s just you and me?” I question. Where are his servants that took care of my food today? Hell, I didn’t even touch the lunch the one dude brought up because I was too sleepy from the breakfast that I inhaled to do more than take a bite of my sandwich.
He crosses the distance, closing in to within a foot of me. Arching his brow, he warns, “Yes, but don’t think of running. I’ll catch you and bend you over, spanking that cute ass of yours.” I try to hide the lust circling my nervous system.
“Fine. Lead me to the food. I’m starving.”
“Wow, was that so hard?” he questions, like I don’t have a reason to be upset by this whole thing.
“Not as hard as your head,” I mutter, following behind him. The other guy isn’t there anymore, so we must really be alone. My pulse picks up a couple of notches.
“Either one of them,” he says with a chuckle, which resonates through me as if he’s strumming my clit like a guitar. Why am I attracted to a killer?
“So what is it that you do?” I ask, changing the subject and not taking the bait. After all, this place is a mansion and since I witnessed him take someone out… or did I? Now that I think about it, he wasn’t there when I woke up. No. He was most certainly dead.
“What I do?” he repeats as he turns and looks back at me as we walk through the entryway down to another corridor. I see the front door, but I ignore the urge to even take a more sparing glance. I reason that I can’t escape before he catches me.
“I’m the second-in-command for the Bianchi family.”
“Second-in-command? So you take orders from someone else? Don’t you want to be… what do you call it? The Don?”
He spins on his heel, glaring down at me like I hit a sore spot. Gripping me around my biceps without squeezing hard, he clears his throat and says, “No. Not now, not ever. That spot belongs to my cousin, and I’d never do anything to hurt him or his family. Why? Does that bother you that I don’t run his empire?”
“No. Just testing your loyalty.”
“And did I pass?”
“It’s not a pass or fail.”
We finally reach a large double-door entryway and he opens it, stepping in first. “Well, come on through here and don’t think about the knives. I’d hate for you to cut yourself.”
Snapping my fingers at the missed opportunity, I sneer and remark, “Damn, you’re on top of it. Do you normally kidnap people?”
There’s a smug expression on his chiseled face that turns to lust in those penetrative eyes. “Not normally, but I never bring them home.” I blush, knowing he wants to fuck me. I’m starting to believe that’s the only reason he hasn’t offed me.
“So what are you making?” I ask, taking a seat on a stool in front of the kitchen island, which is full of food being prepped.
“I’m making homemade ravioli,” he says as he slips on an apron. How is that even sexy? It’s a light gray one that says Great Cooks are Italian. A pang of jealousy hits me as I consider who bought that for him, which is crazy because I’m his prisoner. I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome seeping into my brain, making its home there. I’m betting it’s because of the movie and has nothing to do with the fact that he’s gorgeous and my life here is better than where it was heading.
“Wow, and you said you don’t cook often, but you got a fancy apron?”
“Well, I am Italian, and my zia bought it for me for Christmas.” I watch him as he rubs an egg wash over the puffy pasta.
“Sorry—zia?”
“Yes, it means aunt.”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I’m Irish and whatever mix my parents had.” He’s listening while pressing the fork to the pasta, sealing it closed in a smooth flowing pace. “You make it look easy.”
“The trick is practice. Would you like something to drink?” he asks, taking a drink from a glass with red wine in it.
“I’m not old enough to drink.” He ducks his head, scowling at me. “Okay, so you’re not above breaking the law.”
“I do have non-alcoholic drinks, but with the food, I do have the perfect wine.”
“Juice would be good. I need something other than water.” He turns around and goes to the fridge. I think about running, but my feet remain planted. I should dash as fast as I can away from here, and yet here I am, sitting like a good girl. It’s not like I know where I am or how to get out of here before he could find me, I keep reasoning to myself.
“We have apple or orange juice.”
“I’ll take apple.” I had orange juice for breakfast. He pours a glass and then hands it to me. Our fingers touch, and a little gasp passes my lips with a pleasurable shock. Nero quickly takes his hand away and goes back to cooki
ng as if he didn’t feel that, but his hand is a little unsteady on the last of the raviolis.
His phone rings, and he sets everything down to answer it. “Hello, Aria.” That’s all I get because he goes into speaking Italian to her, which pisses me off. I get out of my seat, feeling an insane amount of jealousy. He ends the call just as I make it to the kitchen door and is on me before I get two more steps. Nero’s thick, muscular arms wrap around my waist and he spins me to face the wall outside the kitchen.
“Nice try,” he growls in my ear as his body presses into my back. “You’re a very bad girl. Just when I thought things were going well. I hope you got enough to drink because it’s time to go back to your room.”
“Why—are you worried your girlfriend will find me here?”
A deep, rumbling laugh rips through him. “I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend or anyone. That woman I was talking to is Dom’s wife, Aria. She wants to hang out with you, but I can’t trust you to behave and Domani won’t let you hurt his wife.”
“Why would she want to hang out with me?”
“Because you’re close in age, and she only has her son to hang out with most days unless her family stops by.”
“Oh—I don’t want to go back to my room yet.”
“I’m only going to give you one more chance.” His tongue dips out, licking my pulse while his cock grinds against my ass. I can’t bite back the moan as pleasure floods my pussy. “Don’t try that shit again, or I’ll forget my manners.” He nips at my ear, then pulls away and leads me into the kitchen.
I sit back in my chair and don’t say another word. My face is hot from both embarrassment and his touch. “So you’re barely nineteen. Where are your parents?”
“They died.”
“I’m sorry. When was this?”
“A year ago. What about yours?”
“My father was a piece of shit and died years ago. My mother lives in Italy, and we haven’t spoken in twenty years and she’s no better.”
“Wow. That’s rough. I thought most boys loved their mothers.”