Elsa
When he emerges from the closet, he is wearing a white t-shirt that stretches across his powerful chest and hugs those delicious shoulders. His lower half is covered in a pair of old jeans. Is he going to the dungeon to deal with Marco?
Sadly, the shiver that works its way over my skin is not revulsion. Not at all.
I keep my eyes averted and fork up another bite of cake. He comes over and covers my lower half with a soft blanket. Has he mistaken that shiver for a chill? I don’t correct him, too surprised at how careful he is being with me.
“Elsa,” he says, his voice a deep patient rumble.
When I don’t respond, he puts a finger under my chin and tilts my face. The fire in his eyes nearly scorches me. “How badly should I make him suffer, dolcezza?” he asks quietly. “Tell me. What retribution will make it easier for you to sleep at night?”
I swallow. He is serious. Whatever I say would be carried out by this man without question, without mercy. Power surges through me, a feeling I have been without for so long that it almost seems strange. Marco’s fate rests in my hands. I think of the trunk, the pistol in my mouth. How Marco called me puttanella at every turn.
You, on your knees, so obedient. Did he like this, as well? I bet he did.
I hate Marco for that. But Marcello and I are not a team. This is not a partnership. There is no equality here, and I won’t pretend otherwise. “Since when are you taking my wishes into consideration?”
The smile falls from his face. “Do not worry. I will see that he suffers greatly for everything he has done to you.”
Without another word, he walks out of the room, his heavy boots thudding on the carpet. When the door closes behind him, I put a hand to my chest, my heart racing. Will I ever be immune to him? This is unbearable, sitting here with tight nipples and a throbbing between my legs. Well, screw Marcello. I don’t need him to take care of this, not anymore. I don’t need any man ever again.
Without thinking, I slide my fingers under the blanket, into my shorts and panties to find my swollen clit. Oh, God. That feels so good. Better than I remember.
My other hand cups a heavy breast as my fingers work between my legs. Sparks shimmer in my veins, a weightlessness that carries my brain off to the place where only pleasure remains. I am drowning in lust, my sex drive back with a vengeance. It will take long to come, not with Marcello’s words in my ears and his scent in my nose. It is like sensory overload.
The door suddenly flies open-and I jerk my hand out of my panties and off my chest. Shit!
Of course it is Marcello. He blinks at me, surprised, but only for a split second. Then he relaxes and gives a soft chuckle. Ugh. I fill my tone with all the venom I can muster. “What is it?”
“I forgot my mobile,” he says and points to where his phone rest on the dresser.
I say nothing, my skin burning in humiliation and anger at myself. I should’ve waited a few more minutes before trying to ease this ache. Worse, I shouldn’t be attracted to him.
Standing, I make my way to his bathroom, ready to shower and put this entire experience behind me.
* * *
Marcello
I descend the dungeon steps, a familiar calmness washing over me as I go below ground. Perhaps it is more like detachment rather than calm, but I relish it all the same. Down here, there is no need to hold back. Instead of fighting the demons of my past, I can let them rise up and take over.
Marco Rossi is about to witness that transformation first hand.
He hasn’t seen me at my worst. He will learn, though, starting tonight.
Gabrielle and several guards are leaning against the stone. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, Gabrielle watches me carefully, his face tired and gaunt. When did he smoking? I don’t like it. Addictions make men weak.
Looking at Gabrielle, I ask, “Any problems?”
“None. The men at the beach house were dealt with and the family returned home. They were scared out of their minds, but seemed all right.”
“If we need them again, we know where to find them.”
“How is she? Forgive you yet?”
I think of her, one hand down her panties, the other squeezing her tit. Dio, that sight. My dick twitches just picturing it. One thing for certain, Elsa’s anger will not last much longer. Soon I will coax her back into riding my cock. “Antonia says she’s fine. Marco give you any trouble?”
“He’s been quiet. I don’t think he’s grasped the severity of the situation yet.”
“Good. I like to be the bearer of bad news.” I continue toward the last cell, the largest, where Marco is strapped to a chair.
Grinning, I pull over another chair and sit facing him. They haven’t gagged him yet. That will come later, when we get tired of his screams. “Welcome to my home, Rossi. A shame you’ll only ever see this one part.”
“The Sicilian Mafia won’t let you get away with this. Whatever you think you are going to do to me, it’s a bad idea.”
I shake my head. “Your meagre businesses don’t bring in a fraction of what I do. I control the Sicilian mafia’s money, Marco. And when you control the money, you control the people dependent on it. No one will dare say a word to me about this, because if they do I will burn it all down.”
“The puttanella means that much to you?”
He wants to make me angry, to hurry this along. It’s what I would have done in his situation. A swift death is always preferable. But I intend to draw this out as long as possible.
“She is mine, which means she is off limits. You took her to blackmail me, to force my hand into giving you something you do not deserve. And you will suffer for it.”
He sneers at me. “I bet you love her big tits. I certainly loved watching them jiggle as she and Alessia played on the beach. I even got to feel them when I tied her up with that rope-”
I don’t think, just lunge. My fist swings out and I pop him in the mouth. The chair rocks from the force of the impact, so I right it with my foot. Both Marco’s lips are split open and blood coated the satisfied smile he gives me. “The great Marcello Viscuso, pussy-whipped over a piece of Sicilian trash.”
Trying to get a handle on my temper, I exhale and retake my seat. “I hear Alessia didn’t make it.” I purse my lips and make the sign of the cross. “Such a tragedy.”
He snarls and struggles then, trying to get at me. Yes, this is much better.
“Figlio di puttana! I asked your men to let her go, as well as my wife and son. What kind of man are you?”
“Your puttanella helped kidnap Elsa. Did you honestly think I would let her live after that?”
“I will kill you for this,” he pants, his hair hanging down in his face. “Whatever it takes, I will kill you. I never hurt Elsa. I never intended to. She was treated respectfully while at my home.”
“Except for your wandering hands,” I remark. “Gabrielle!”
“Yes?” he is by my side in a blink.
“Bring me a cleaver and a small wooden table.”
He walk to where the weapons are stored as I stare at Marco. We say nothing, merely watch one another. I hadn’t intended to start so brutally, but the idea of this man’s hands on Elsa make me crazy.
Gabrielle arrives and hands me the items I had asked for. “His right hand,” I instruct. “Untie it.”
Marco jerks as Gabrielle frees his right hand, his jaw locked tight. Gabrielle tips his chin to another soldier, who comes forward to place the wooden table in front of Marco. Then the two of them hold Marco’s hand flat, fingers extended, on the wood.
I test the cleaver blade while the boys work. Sharp. When Marco is in place, I stand and glare down at Rossi. “You restrained her and put her in a trunk. Then you tied her up and forced a gun in her mouth. You thought to use her against me, but it failed. You shouldn’t have touched her.”