Beautiful Monster : A Dark Stalker Mafia Romance (Dark Lies Duet Book 2) Page 3

  Siân thinks I’m a monster, but she hasn’t met the man who raised me, the man who ordered her family be murdered—who ordered she be murdered. I stare at her again, sucking in a breath as I contemplate the reaction my father will have when he lays eyes on her. Or better yet, how Siân would behave when she meets the man who’s responsible for every horrible thing that’s happened to her.

  Fifteen years ago, I told him she’d died in that fire with her family. That’s something I would only know because it was my duty to end her life the same way I had Marco Giuliani. But I couldn’t, she was meant to be mine, and my father’s greed wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

  “Buonasera signor Russo, tra venti minuti arriveremo a Milano.” Good evening, Mr. Russo. We will be arriving in Milan in twenty minutes. The pilot’s voice blares over the intercom, pulling me from my thoughts.

  With a heavy sigh, I sit up in my seat and lean over to fasten the seat belt around my topolina’s tiny waist. Inhaling her scent, I brush the tattered strands of hair from her face before fastening my own belt into place.

  Tony pokes his head into the aisle and glances back at me. “The car is already there. Your father wants to see you immediately once we get back to the estate,” Tony rambles on, then darts his gaze to Siân. Heat builds in my chest, but I manage to keep from slapping him for daring to look at my woman. “What do you plan to do about her?”

  I stare at him, my face void of all emotion. “She’s none of your concern,” I deadpan, boring my eyes into him, silently challenging him to combat me.

  “Your father isn’t—” Tony continues, but I cut him short.

  “Mi occuperò di mio padre,” I snip. I’ll handle my father.

  Tony raises his hand in surrender and faces forward again. I shouldn’t have snapped. Tony may work for my father, but he’s the closest to a brother I’ve ever had. We fight and debate, but in the end, he always has my back. So I know when he questions me about Siân, it’s not done maliciously. But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever allow him or any man to question me where she is concerned.

  She belongs to me. Her safety, her happiness and pleasure, and even her fear is mine and mine alone. Tony, my father, and whoever the fuck else will do good to remember that. I’m easily tempered and deadly when I’m angered. For months, I’ve hidden that side of myself from Siân, and now that she knows the truth, I no longer have to live in the shadows.

  I’ll still need to practice patience, though. The mission never changes, only the circumstances in how I will win her over—mind, body, and soul. It’ll come in time. She thinks she hates it, but soon enough, she’ll be begging to be a part of this world.

  The plane jerks as the wheels underneath are released to prepare us for landing. We begin to slow, our descent from the air only moments away. When the tires hit the pavement of our private airstrip, the cabin rattles as the pilot floors the brakes, bringing us to a complete stop.

  Once the overhead lighting comes on, I unfasten both my seat belt and Siân’s. The action startles her from her sleep.

  “What are you doing?” she cowers into the corner, attempting to put space between us.

  “Come. We’ve landed,” I say while stepping into the aisle.

  Siân doesn’t move. Instead, she throws her gaze around, then squints out of the window. “Where have you brought me?” she quizzes without budging.

  “Home,” is all I offer her before holding my hand out to her to take.

  “You’ve kidnapped me,” Siân accuses.

  I breathe in through my nose, mentally telling myself to relax. This is new for her, and because she’s still getting to know the real me, I’ll give her a pass for testing me.

  “Topolina.” I keep my arm outstretched, tipping my head to signal once more for her to take my hand.

  Siân slaps my palm. “I’m not going anywhere with you, you sick bastard. You’ve killed my friends and Cynthia. I’m going to make sure you rot in—”

  She doesn’t get a chance to finish her empty threat because I’m in her face in an instant, caging her between the seats with my hands on either side of her.

  “Non vuoi mettermi alla prova, topolino,” I seethe. You don’t want to test me, little mouse.

  She stills. The only indication she’s listening is her heavy breaths. Siân’s jaw clenches, and her lashes flicker in rapid succession. She wants to be strong and not let me know she’s afraid. A grin teeters on my lips, faltering almost instantly.

  It’s amazing, really. Siân isn’t even aware of how tempting it is to snap and play this little game with her. The sadist in me desperately wanted out. Hasn’t she learned by now that I like the chase? All this false bravado she’s displaying only makes me want to break her—show her who’s really in charge here.

  “It’s cute you think you have a choice.” With a finger under her chin, I tilt her head to make sure she can look me in the eye. “You don’t. And the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be. You’re mine, Siân.” I peer down at her pouty lips, my dick twitching against my zipper from thinking about having her mouth around me. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

  “Or what?” she challenges me.

  I inch closer, and she stares at me over the bridge of her nose while craning her neck until her head hits the window. I huff. “Whatever it is—I’ll be sure to make it hurt.”

  “I hate you,” she vents.

  “But you’ve already confessed your love as you rode my dick, topolina,” I tease and stand upright.

  “Fuck you,” she spits.

  “Soon enough. Now up,” I bark.

  Finally, she does as I instruct, but not without a fight. She pushes past me, jerking her body away from my touch while glancing back at me every so often. We reach the exit and take the steel staircase one at a time. The bright sun is damn near blinding, and the familiar smell of my country fills my senses.

  Home sweet home.

  “Welcome back to Italy, topolina,” I praise from behind her.

  Her body stiffens at my words, the dread ripping its way through her body. I knew that bringing her back here wouldn’t be easy, but she’s just going to have to get used to it. Something in her posture tells me she’s going to run, and just as I fix my mouth, she proves me right.

  “And Siân, run and I’ll—”

  She bolts before the words leave my lips, her arms flailing as she runs wildly. Tony chases after her, but she dodges him only to have him corner her at the hangar. She attempts to open the door, but her efforts are useless. It’s locked, and she bangs on it while screaming for help.

  Tony grips her by the bicep and drags her toward me. I meet them halfway, and Tony releases her. She attempts yet again to get away, but I’m much quicker than she is, snatching her by the back of her neck and tugging her to me. Her arms fly out as she tries to balance herself against my grip.

  “Get your filthy hands off of me.” She reaches back, clawing at my wrist. “I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done.”

  Bringing my mouth to her ear, I click my teeth, and she immediately tenses up. “Ooo. Who knew you had such a dirty little mouth, topolina? Keep it up, and I’ll fuck it.”

  She shudders, her shoulders shaking with each forced breath from her lungs. That silences her, though, and all the fight she had a second ago disappears. What’s left now is a woman torn between hating and undoubtedly wanting what I just promised.

  I recognize the reactions running through her, the fake sense of self-deprecation. Something she’s put on to trick herself and those around her that she’s modest. Something she uses to convince herself that she doesn’t like what’s happening.

  She certainly does. Why else has she moved the way she has the entire time I’ve followed her. This moment right here is the most effort she’s put into saving herself, and even then, her exertion is weak.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want me to fuck your throat like I did in that alley?” My dick stiffens at the memory of
her on her knees in that piss-riddled alleyway with my cock in her mouth.

  She inhales, and I notice the subtle tremor of her lip. “Why are you doing this? I thought you were different.”

  “I told you—you’re mine. And you only have yourself to blame for not seeing me for who I am.”

  “I’ll never stay with you,” she deadpans and locks her legs to strengthen her stance.

  Releasing my hold on her neck, I quickly scoop her up over my shoulder. Siân yelps and punches at my back. With a firm slap to her ass and a hard squeeze, I carry her just as I promised, kicking and screaming to the blacked-out SUV waiting for us.

  I toss her into the back seat, and if she didn’t try to escape from the other side, I’d be offended. The driver thinks fast and locks the doors just as she wraps her slender fingers around the handle.

  “Let me go.”

  “And here I was thinking you wanted to see your precious Cynthia again,” I add and slip in next to her.

  That gets her attention, and her tussling stops. Siân stares at my profile, patiently waiting for me to direct the driver to take us home. With Tony in the seat next to him, he starts the engine and peels away from the runway.

  3

  SIN

  I have to think of a new way to get out of here. I have to come up with something.

  That's the thought that hammers at the inside of my skull with every beat of my heart as the sun sinks below the horizon. Every second that passes feels like a wasted second. I should be planning and coming up with ideas. There has to be something around here I can use to fight my way out, right?

  Except there isn't. I've already checked. This room is a little better than a cell, with nothing but a narrow bed that looks even smaller than it really is, thanks to the size of the room around it. High ceilings, plenty of space, gleaming hardwood floors. I could do great things with a room like this and an unlimited budget.

  Unfortunately, it's the opposite of what I need right now.

  Once again, I try to turn the doorknob. What did I expect? For it to magically be unlocked this time? Like standing in front of an open refrigerator and waiting for something new to materialize. The tiny window in the attached bathroom is way too small for me to get through, even if I could break it open.

  Besides, that would be a waste of time. All the windows in this room are sealed shut, but I can tell just by looking out that I'm far off the ground. Three floors, at least. I would have no way to get to the ground without breaking something. Probably my neck.

  Right now, that doesn't seem like such a bad idea. With my luck, though, I would break everything but. Then I'd have no choice but to let Christian use me however he wants while telling himself he’s taking care of me. Because that's how his twisted mind works.

  He didn't even bother telling me where he was going when he left. Only that he had things to take care of. I shudder to think about what that means now that I know what he's capable of. Is that his way of saying there's somebody to kill? Or kidnap? Maybe both. Like Cynthia. What did he do to Cynthia?

  And how sick does a person need to be to pretend they're offering support and kindness when they're the one who caused the pain in the first place? No, he didn't admit his exact role in Cynthia’s disappearance, but he didn't have to. I could see it on his face. He didn't bother correcting me, either, did he? No, instead, he used my desire to see her against me.

  And he says he knows me. I know a thing about him, too. Maybe not as much as I wish I knew—otherwise, I would have stayed away from him—but enough to know what he's bluffing.

  Even the sight of the pitiful little bed makes me yearn for rest. Much like my freedom, I don't feel like that's something I can enjoy right now. I'm too afraid to sleep since anything could happen. What if he sneaks in here and does something to me? I’d put nothing past him, especially now that I know about his twisted version of our relationship. He takes pride in embarrassing me, humiliating and scaring me.

  What if I could strip the bed and tie the sheets together? Would that give me enough to escape? I look out the window, and once again, I try to open it. No luck. I could break it, sure, and there would be plenty of room to get through. I look down again, then look at the sheets. I don't know if they’d be long enough, even tied together. I don't even know if I have the upper body strength to lower myself, either. And I sure as hell can't scale the wall like Spider-Man. “Goddammit.” I smack the glass with my open palm and shed a hot, frustrated tear that wants to turn into a deluge.

  Maybe I do need to get some rest, after all. Take care of myself. I can't let my mind unravel. I have to stay sharp if I'm going to fight him.

  Naturally, this line of thinking leads me to the bathroom attached to what's basically my cell. I flip on the lights this time and take a look around. Should I be surprised to find towels and soap and shampoo on the counter? Along with them is a pair of soft pants and an equally soft shirt, both of which are in my size. How long has he been planning this?

  My fingers curl around the fabric, my body trembling. All this time, he's been planning for this. And I was so oblivious.

  I don't want to give him what he wants. I don't want to use these things he's left for me. On the other hand, I'm a mess. Filthy, sweaty, my own smell disgusts me. I could stay this way in hopes of keeping him off me, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t care either way. Or he'd forced me to bathe with him, which is an even more disgusting idea.

  No matter what he thinks, I'm doing this because I want to. That's what I tell myself as I run a hot bath and strip off my dirty clothes. I gather the soap and other toiletries and leave them on the edge of the tub, then lower myself into the water. Instantly my muscles start to loosen. Everything but the tension in my chest, that is. That's not going anywhere.

  I dunk my head a few times first, rubbing my fingers over my scalp to loosen any dirt or oil. It doesn't take long to shampoo, and I stick my head under the running faucet to rinse my hair. Settling back again, I pick up a washcloth and a bottle of fragrant soap. I'll be able to think better when I'm clean and dressed in fresh clothes. I'm already more relaxed, too, which can only be a good sign.

  That relaxation lasts roughly as long as it takes me to blink an eye since the door leading from the bedroom opens before quickly closing again.

  I cross my arms over my chest, drawing my knees up close to the rest of my body. Footfalls echo in the mostly empty space just as Christian appears in the doorway. The water suddenly feels much colder.

  He doesn't say a word. His only communication is a glance at the counter before returning his attention to me. He's glad I took his suggestion and used what he left for me. It's probably confirmation in his sick mind that he knows best.

  “Where did you go?” I ask. “Why can't you tell me anything? Why am I locked in here?”

  The only sound coming from him is that of his breathing. It's not the cool air on my wet skin that makes me tremble. No matter what he says, even if it's something filthy and depraved, it's better than his silence. Not knowing what's coming next.

  He crosses the room, his eyes raking over me. A part of his lower lip disappears beneath his teeth, and now I know exactly what he has on his mind. Yet instead of stripping and getting into the tub or demanding I stand and show myself to him, he lowers himself to one knee beside me. The washcloth floats on the surface of the water where I dropped it. He picks it up, soaps it, and begins rubbing it over my shoulder, moving it slowly down my arm.

  What is this? I would ask, but something tells me I wouldn't get an answer. Nothing that makes sense, at least. He's not demanding or rough when he takes my wrist and lifts my arm to wash the underside, repeating the process with my other arm. I'm too surprised to react.

  Until he moves down to my chest and the nipples peeking out over the water's surface. Reflex makes me try to fold my arms again, to cover myself, and this time, he's less gentle as he pulls them apart. Still, he doesn't say a word, not even when I clamp my legs together tight enoug
h to make them shake while he soaps my calves, ankles, and feet.

  I never realized how strong he is. No, that's not true. I can't forget how he overtook me in the alley and forced me. It's still hard to believe that was him, but not so hard when he’s determined to part my legs and wash between them.

  “You don't have to do that.”

  He ignores me, abandoning the cloth in favor of running his fingers between my lips. Unlike when we were in the jet’s bathroom, he's gentler now, stroking my clit with a firm touch.

  And it takes no time at all for my body to betray me like it did before. I can't help but arch my back, moving my hips in time with his strokes against my most sensitive places. He doesn't say a word, but his breathing deepens, quickening until he sounds like a rutting animal while I'm lost in sensation.

  It's so wrong. I hate this. But God, I hope it never stops. That's the last conscious thought I have when an orgasm slams into me, knocking my head back, making my hips buck until water splashes out onto the floor.

  And he doesn't stop, either, continuing to finger me even when I try to throw him off. He won't let me win. He won't stop until he's ready to stop. Another orgasm tears through me, and I can barely bite back a scream. I'm ready to beg him to stop since I don't think I can take anymore but thank the lord he withdraws his finger then.

  By the time my eyes are open, he's gone again. But he hasn't left me alone, not really. I still hear him walking around in the empty room next door.

  I have no choice but to get out of the tub and get dressed. My pussy is still twitching in aftershocks, and my legs are shaky, but I need to get up. I don't want to leave myself vulnerable to him.

  Why didn’t I try harder to stop that? And why did I have to come so fast, so hard? All I'm doing is proving him right, and he can't be right. This is only encouraging him. How am I supposed to get out of this if I can't stop encouraging him? I'm even weaker than I thought.

  At least the clothes are soft and comfortable, the only comfort I have right now. And they cover me up, which is another plus. The less exposed skin, the less chance of getting him hot.