Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance (Benedetti Brothers Book 2)

by Natasha Knight

  I felt her struggle to stop moving, and I knew what she was afraid of. I knew exactly what she was afraid of.

  “Still.” My voice came as a low, dark warning.

  She shuddered in my grasp and hung her head, her breathing loud and uneven.

  That was when my thumb rubbed against a thick scabbing of skin. It was about two inches all around and when I pressed against it, she sucked in a breath. I leaned down to have a closer look. The circular scar stood on the side of her left hip. It was an intentional marking, a burn.

  “What’s this?”

  She just made a sound.

  “What is it?” I asked again after smacking her other hip.

  “He didn’t exactly bother telling me when he fucking branded me.” She swallowed a loud sobbing breath.

  I straightened. It couldn’t have been more than a few days, maybe a week old. I’d see what it was once the scab healed. In the meantime, I had work to do.

  When I didn’t hold her steady, she wobbled from foot to foot, unable to get any sort of a foothold considering her height. She couldn’t be more than five feet five. She’d barely come to the middle of my chest when she’d stood on flat feet. I walked around her a few times, just circling, taking my time as she tried to follow my movements, her eyes watching me closely.

  “You really do stink,” I said, stopping to face her. “Did you piss yourself, or did they piss on you?” I couldn’t help it. One corner of my mouth lifted at the question. At the callousness of it.

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. A brief look of shame flashed through them.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asked finally. “If you are, just do it. Just get it over with.”

  She wasn’t begging for her freedom, or her life, for that matter. Hadn’t offered a single bribe—they usually did. Offered all the money they had. Their families had. They didn’t have a clue that what I’d be paid would far exceed what most families of these lost girls could earn in a year.

  Lost girls. I’d come to call them that. This one, though, this Gia—she was no lost girl. No. She was different, and I wanted to know what it was that made her so.

  “You’re not here to die. You’re here to train. We only have two weeks, which is less than my usual. And given your…unpleasant disposition”—I let my gaze travel over her—“it’d take anyone else double that time.” I looked her in the eye and winked. “But I’m a professional. I’ll make it work.”

  “Train?”

  “Teach you how to behave—for the auction, at least. After that, you’re not my problem anymore.”

  “What auction?”

  “Slave auction. There’s one in two weeks. You’ll be there. Guest of honor. At least, one of the guests of honor. Let’s get you cleaned up, so I can see what I’ve got to work with.”

  I reached up to free her cuffs from the hook, and she sighed in relief when her feet stood flat on the floor again. Holding her by one arm, I wrapped the other around the back of her neck and pulled her close. She planted her hands on my chest, keeping as much distance as she could between us.

  “You want the cuffs off?”

  She searched my masked face, focusing on my eyes, then nodded.

  I reached into my pocket and took out two pills. “Open up.”

  She eyed them. “What are they?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “They’ll help you relax.”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t want them.”

  “I don’t recall asking you if you wanted them.”

  She slowly turned her gaze up to mine and gave me a one-sided grin, then opened her mouth.

  “Ahhh.”

  Piece of work, this one. I would administer the sedative a different way next time, and when I did, she’d be begging me to take it orally again. But for now, I brought my hand to her mouth and tilted it. But before the pills could slide in, she opened wide and bit hard into the flesh of my palm, breaking the skin.

  “Fuck!” I yanked her off but only after she’d drawn blood. My hand automatically rose to slap her, and she cringed, cowering before me.

  In the moment I hesitated, she backed up against the wall, eyes huge, hands up, palms to me.

  I lowered my hand and took hold of her arm instead, shoving her to the floor. “Down!”

  My blood streaked her skin where I held her. She made a sound when her knees hit the hardwood.

  “Pick them up.”

  She whimpered, muttering something senseless. I squatted beside her and gripped the hair at the back of her neck to force her to look at me.

  “Pick. Them. Up.”

  Her terrified eyes shifted from mine to the two pills lying on the floor and back. Holding my gaze, she felt for them and closed her fist around them.

  “Hold them out to me.”

  She did, her hand trembling, her eyes locked on mine.

  “You want to swallow these, or do you want me to shove them up your ass?” I sounded calm, as if I had full control of myself. Little did she know that was when I was at my worst. When rage owned me.

  She studied me, perhaps unable to speak.

  “Ass it is,” I said, making to rise and dragging her with me. But by the time we were standing, those pills had disappeared down her throat, and she gripped my forearm, trying to relieve the pressure on her hair. “Open.”

  She did, and I turned her head this way and that to make sure she’d swallowed. She had.

  I released her, and she stumbled backward.

  “I owe you one,” I said, referring to a punishment, but from the look on her face, she didn’t get it. I headed to the door.

  “Wait.”

  I unlocked it and pulled it open. I’d bandage my hand while the pills did their work.

  Gia moved toward me and then stopped.

  “Go lay down,” I told her.

  She’d be out soon. The dosage was probably too high. She was a little thing. I’d guess maybe 115 pounds soaking wet.

  “Please let me go,” she managed.

  I took her by the arm and walked her to the bed, picked her up, and placed her on top of it.

  She pulled her knees into her chest, and my eyes fell again on the scab that had formed on her hip. Something about that worried me. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what I found once the wound fully healed.

  I met her gaze again. Our eyes locked, hers searching, uncertain.

  She reached for the blanket, pulling it toward her. Her fingertips touched mine when I took hold of it and dragged it away.

  Warmth was a privilege earned, and she had in no way earned it.

  She shivered. “Please. I’m so cold.”

  I looked at her and shook my head.

  “Don’t fight me, Gia,” I whispered. “You won’t win.”

  2

  Gia

  I drifted in and out of sleep. There were moments of lucidity, and it seemed I’d just be gone for a while, as if I’d stepped away from the conversation, then picked it up again like it hadn’t happened at all, like I hadn’t just nodded off. How long did this go on?

  I recalled my last night with Victor. I’d sworn to myself that I would not be a victim. I wouldn’t allow him to make me one. The memory of it made me shudder.

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Did they think I couldn’t hear them? Did they think I couldn’t hear the fucking fire crackling?

  Mateo had fucked up. God, he’d fucked up so big, and he’d paid. He’d paid big. He was gone. And he’d saved me—he’d made sure I’d live.

  They’d made me watch. Victor, fucking Victor, had made me watch. I glared at him sitting there now, all smug, in his perfect three-piece suit, adjusting his perfect cuffs, turning the gold links, that smirk on his face, the one I wanted to permanently wipe off. His hands were the bloodiest of all, even if he never raised a freaking finger to do the actual work of killing.

  “Ready, boss,” one of his masked soldiers said. I never did see their faces.

  A whimper escaped me.
I didn’t want to make a sound. I didn’t want to scream. To give him the satisfaction. But I pulled as far back as I could even though the chains made it impossible to move more than a few inches.

  Victor stood.

  “Last chance, Gia.”

  I glanced at the steaming branding iron—I wouldn’t let my gaze linger, wouldn’t let fear paralyze me. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. But the orange glow, the smell, the heat—it scared the fuck out of me.

  I turned frantic eyes on Victor. Could I pass out first? Could I piss them off enough that they’d hit me? Knock me out before they did it?

  “What do you say?” Victor asked, standing close enough now to lift my face to his.

  “Last chance to fuck you?” I asked, a slight tremor to my voice as the man holding the iron came so close I could smell it. And I could imagine the scent of flesh burned away by it. My flesh.

  I would be strong. For Mateo. He’d been strong right up until the end.

  Victor squatted down beside me and wrapped a tendril of hair around his finger, tugging. “What do you say?” His tone teased. He loved this. The fucking bastard lived for this.

  “What do I say?”

  He waited.

  I looked him straight in the face, knowing I sealed my own fate but drawing all of my courage anyway. I spat. I spat right on his smug killer’s face.

  “I say, no, thanks. You’ll kill me either way.”

  The back of his hand slammed across my face so hard, stars danced before my eyes, but it wasn’t hard enough to render me unconscious.

  He stood. “Stupid, arrogant bitch.” He nodded to the man holding the iron, and two other sets of hands turned me onto my side.

  White-hot pain burned through me, and I opened my mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream. The sound of the iron sizzling, the scent of charring flesh, were too much to bear.

  I never did pass out, not during, not after, not once until Victor slapped me again.

  “I’ll see you on your knees, Gia. God help me.”

  The mad grin on his face was the last thing I saw, his words a mystery as I processed pain like I’d never felt before, welcoming the blackness the back of Victor’s hand across my cheek finally, thankfully, delivered.

  I’d been sure Victor would kill me. Why hadn’t he? Did I still have Angus Scava’s protection? Angus Scava was the boss of the Scava family. I’d been engaged to his son. I may not have been his first choice for a daughter-in-law, but he’d accepted me, been kind to me even, for his son.

  But would he have had me branded and sent me here? To this psychopath? To do what? What had he said? That he would train me. Train me for the slave auction.

  Slave auction.

  No. Angus Scava would not have ordered this. This was Victor acting alone.

  I blinked, trying to turn onto my back but unable to. It was like I was too heavy to move. The pills must have been some sort of muscle relaxer and the dosage too high. I guessed that was his intention, though. To incapacitate me. It would be easier to control me if I couldn’t fight back.

  I thought of my captor, the man in the mask. That horrible mask. I couldn’t even see his eyes apart from a hint of them, a glint of color. Blue or gray. I couldn’t tell for sure. I hadn’t needed to see them to know the wickedness there, the cruelty. But there was more. When he’d raised his hand to slap me and then had stopped—that was when I’d felt it. Then, and when he’d seen the mark on my hip. A momentary reprieve, a pause in the middle of madness.

  I mentally shook my head at myself. I was grasping at straws, needing to hope. The man who had me, he was no better than Victor or any of his soldiers. He was readying me to be sold as a fucking slave. I had no doubt what that entailed.

  I’d been afraid he’d rape me. When he’d pulled my panties off, I’d thought that was it. He was going to do it. Victor hadn’t. He hadn’t let his men do it either. Why? Why not let them? Wasn’t that what he wanted? To break me? To—what had he said—“see me on my knees?”

  Maybe it was his deal with Mateo before he’d killed him that saved me from the horror of rape.

  I closed my eyes against the image of Mateo before he’d died, forcing it away. I didn’t want to remember my brother that way. I needed to hold on to him as he’d been before—in life. Before he’d ever met Victor. Before everything had happened.

  Why hadn’t Victor let his men rape me? Why hadn’t he done it himself? It made no sense. He wanted me. That was obvious. Had been for the two years I’d had the displeasure of knowing him.

  Auction.

  Slave.

  When I woke next, I could roll onto my back and raise heavy arms just inches off the bed on which I still lay naked.

  I had to figure out where I was. Who the man was who currently had me. He was going to train me, so he’d probably been hired by Victor. Train me for what, though? To not fight? I’d never stop. I’d never let them win. I’d never let Victor win.

  I wondered if Angus Scava knew what he’d done. He’d kill Victor if he knew, I was sure of it. I’d almost been his daughter-in-law, after all. I’d been engaged to James, his son. James had loved me. No way Angus Scava would ever allow this to happen to me.

  I thought back to James. To how good things had been two years ago. Before he’d been killed. Before Victor had come into the picture. I wondered about my mom. Did she know about Mateo yet? Did she know we were missing at least, even if she didn’t know he was dead? She was in Palermo, and although we weren’t particularly close, surely she’d try to phone.

  The deadbolt slid, the sound calling my attention.

  For the first time in a very long time, I thought of the man who had promised my father he would protect my family. The man my father had worked for, and for whom he had died. He’d vowed to keep me and Mateo safe. Could he save me from this?

  But that was years ago. And a promise to a foot soldier couldn’t have meant a whole lot to a crime boss.

  The door creaked open.

  I blinked, lifting my head as much as I could, and watched as my captor filled the doorway. He was a foot taller than me and strong. I’d never physically be able to take him down. And if he kept me drugged, I wouldn’t be able to do much at all.

  Light outlined his body from the outside room, creating a sort of halo around his head. I squinted, used to the dark now, and when he closed the door, I saw his face again—saw that mask. A skull. Death. As if he were death.

  I made a small sound, and my body instinctively tried to pull back. Tried. Nothing much happened, though. Nothing but him stepping closer, chuckling. He must have seen the attempt. He seemed to see everything.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, and when I saw the bottle of water in his hand, I opened my mouth, realizing how dry it was, how thirsty I was.

  I couldn’t pull away or cover myself when his gaze raked over me, but when he reached into his pocket and produced a key that he used to unbind my wrists, all I felt was grateful.

  “Really need to get you washed.”

  He twisted the lid off the bottle, and I swallowed in anticipation. But then he brought the bottle to his lips and took a long sip, emptying half of it. I wanted to cry. I may have even, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “Thirsty?” he asked.

  I blinked.

  “I like you like this, you know? You’re kind of sweet when you’re not talking.”

  Then he raised my head and held it as he brought the water to my lips and gave me two small sips before setting the bottle aside and standing.

  “All right.”

  He tugged his shirt off. It looked strange, his chest bare but him wearing that mask covering his face. In the dimly lit room, I saw he had a tattoo on part of his chest and down one arm. I couldn’t make out the shape, though. It was just shadow.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  I barely had a chance to look at him before he hauled me up and carried me into the bathroom. My face bobbed against his muscular chest as he carried me, the skin s
oft, his scent clean, enticing even—or it would be if I wasn’t being held against my will. There was something else too. The scent was almost familiar. Was it an aftershave someone I knew wore? I couldn’t place it.

  “This is probably going to be a little cold at first.”

  I gasped when he set me into the freezing tub, but my head lolled to the side, and I lay there, shivering, unable to move. He pulled up a chair from the corner and sat. I watched his eyes as he took me in, traveling over the length of me. I tried to cover myself, managing to place a hand over my mound—or close enough to it I could pretend I shielded myself.

  “Now, now.”

  He turned on the taps. I tried to pull back at the rush of icy water that gurgled out. It sounded like no one had bathed here in a very long time.

  “None of that,” he finished, pushing my hand away. “We’re going to get very intimate, you and I.”

  I groaned and half turned on my side. I watched as his gaze again fell on the scab at my hip where Victor had branded me.

  The water warmed, and he closed the drain to let the tub fill up. He then picked up a washcloth and a bar of soap that sat on the edge of the tub.

  I made some sound of rebellion.

  “It’s clean,” he said, holding up the square of cloth. “Relatively.”

  I must have made a face because he laughed outright.

  “Just kidding. Christ, lighten up, princess.”

  Princess. Victor had called me that a few times. He’d picked it up from Mateo. But the way he said it made my skin crawl.

  “Stop,” I said, the word coming out slurred.

  “Look at you, got your voice back.”

  He lathered up the washcloth and started to rub me down. I had to admit the water filling the tub felt good. Warm, almost hot. It was so cold in the other room. Although it made me hiss when it reached the tender wound on my hip.

  He raised each arm and scrubbed each finger, not leaving even a tiny square inch of skin untouched, paying special attention to my breasts until my nipples hardened.

  “Pretty,” he said.

  I tried to slap away the cloth but he took my hand and shook his head as if he were chastising a child.