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A man had taken away my freedom and declared ownership of me.
Stefano had claimed my autonomy. My worst fears were realized: he hadn’t been content with only taking his pleasure from my body; he wanted my mind, my soul.
You will give me everything, Carmen. I will settle for nothing less. His menacing declaration rang in my ears, the full extent of his possession making me dizzy.
I sank to my knees, struggling to breathe.
Something soft and warm nudged my hand, and a plaintive meow requested my attention. Bandit’s glowing green eyes stared up at me, and he bumped his dainty body against my knee.
My first instinct was to recoil, to hide any evidence that I might care for an animal. Bandit simply followed my movement, rubbing his face on my thigh.
I glanced around, my heart fluttering against my ribcage as I checked to make sure no one was watching.
Stefano won’t hurt Bandit, I reminded myself. My captor might be ruthless, but he always stated his intentions with horrifying clarity. He wanted my obedience, but he wouldn’t threaten others to achieve his ends. That didn’t satisfy his insane desire to own me completely.
His obsession with me was deeply disturbing, but I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt Bandit.
Stefano Duarte was his own special brand of crazy, but he wasn’t sadistic like my father had been.
Reaching out, I stroked Bandit with shaky hands, accepting the solace he offered.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I promised the petite cat, wrestling with the guilt that weighed on my heart. I’d cared for a pet before, and I’d sworn I would never do that to an innocent creature ever again.
My father had taught me that lesson when I was thirteen years old; he killed my dog because I didn’t want to go to the school he’d selected for me. I’d learned that showing affection toward anyone put a target on their back.
I’d learned to survive on my own.
You’ve been alone for far too long. You’re not alone anymore. It’s okay to enjoy being with me. Nothing bad will happen to you. I will never hurt you, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you, either. I’ll keep you safe, Carmen.
“I think I’m going insane,” I whispered to Bandit.
I must be, because there was no reason my heart should lift at the memory of Stefano’s devastating words. He’d cut right to my core, exploiting my deepest vulnerability and then offering to make it all better.
I had severely underestimated him. Stefano’s methods of breaking me were far more subversive than I could have ever imagined.
My head spun, and I forced myself to take a breath and regroup.
Lightheadedness could be mitigated with food. I hadn’t eaten yet today, and that might at least partially explain the gnawing sensation in my stomach.
Picking Bandit up as I went, I got to my feet with the tiny cat pressed close to my chest. He rested his head on my shoulder, purring in contentment. Considering the fact that he lived with an unhinged crime lord, Bandit was remarkably calm and trusting.
“You only like Stefano because you don’t know any better,” I told him. “You don’t understand how scary he is.”
Even though I knew it was mildly ridiculous, I continued talking to the cat, rambling off every thought that popped to the surface of my mind. Talking kept me grounded, allowing me to go through the process of preparing my breakfast without suffocating beneath the crushing weight of my fear that Stefano might have broken me already.
Once I’d managed to take care of my most basic needs, I resumed my exploration of the penthouse. The TVs were disconnected, and the elevator wouldn’t open for me—completely unsurprising, but I at least tried. Otherwise, everything seemed to be operating normally.
There were over a dozen items that I could have fashioned into weapons, but Stefano had proven many times over that fighting him was useless. I needed to stick with my plan to outthink him and escape.
I’d been woefully arrogant in thinking that I’d outsmarted him once before, and I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Stefano had made it chillingly clear that he could read me easily, plucking out my closely guarded secrets and using them against me.
But I didn’t know anything about him. Other than the fact that he was sociopathic and obsessed with me.
He might not have feelings, but he did have secrets. And he’d left me in the heart of his private space. There must be something I could use against him in our psychological warfare.
I started systematically going through all of his possessions, carefully putting everything back in its place once I’d committed any potentially useful information to memory. Most of his décor—including the artwork—had been selected with exacting intent. I was more interested in the small things that showed glimmers of what Stefano Duarte actually valued. Mostly, that was limited to his books, and they tended toward more esoteric subjects than fiction. The entire home was a study in a man without a soul.
