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“But it’s about me so I feel I should know. Is it about which of you has sex with me first? That’s a pretty screwy thing to have an agreement about.”
“Bambina, it’s late.”
He’s not even denying it, or defending what they’re doing. I don’t suppose it is defensible, but I still want to know what their agreement entails. Apparently they can touch me, but they can’t fuck me. Until when? Why?
I remember what Lorenzo snarled in my face the other day.The other two’ve had a hard-on for you for the past year. I don’t know why they’re not getting the hell on with it.
I gaze at Cassius’ back, imagining what it would be like to be pinned beneath him like I just was with Vinicius, receiving soft kisses from him as he murmuredbambinain that deep, sexy voice of his. Heat darts between my legs. Maybe it wouldn’t be awful if Cassius…
Nope, not thinking about that. I tuck my hands beneath my pillow and go to sleep.
The dream seems to begin the second I close my eyes. A figure shimmers in the darkness, outlined in gold.
Mom, and she’s eating soup dumplings and smiling. I run toward her, but my body feels heavy. When I look down at myself, I see I’m wearing a wedding dress that’s been sewn all over with bullets. I struggle over to her, my legs burning and my lungs heaving, and throw my arms around her.
“Mom, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”
But there’s something in my hand. Lorenzo’s knife, and as I’ve hugged Mom, I’ve slashed her throat. Her smiling face becomes fixed and her eyes grow glassy. Blood pours down both of us from the gaping wound in her neck.
“Mom!”
I’m jolted awake, sobbing hard and covered in clammy sweat.
Arms come around me in the darkness. Big, strong arms that fold me against a steadily beating heart. I burrow into that sound, my tears damp against his chest.
“Non piangere. Sono qui e non permetterò che ti succeda niente di brutto. Shh.”
Don’t cry. I’m here, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Shh.
I sob harder as the deep, rich timbre of those tender words twine through me. I don’t think Cassius knows that I can speak Italian. He squeezes me tighter in his arms, murmuring words against the top of my head as he kisses me.
“Mia dolce bambina.”
My sweet little girl.
All I’ve wanted for the past year was for someone to hold me while I cry for Mom. “I miss her. I miss her so much,” I sob.
“Lo so,” he murmurs.I know.
It’s pitch dark and I can’t see his face. We could almost be dreaming the same dream. I feel like he understands my grief. Beneath my fingers, deep in his heart, flows the same sadness. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t let me touch him earlier, because his grief simmers so close to the surface.
Slowly, my sobs subside into shaky breaths and he rocks me gently. He murmurs sleepily and keeps me tight in his arms.
“Cassius…”
“It was just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
Sleep in my kidnapper’s arms. The man who I asked for help and who repaid me with captivity. His warmth surrounds me and lulls me back to drowsiness.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
But his breathing has deepened, and he doesn’t reply.
* * *
I wakeup in an enormous bed and turn to find Cassius. His side of the bed is empty, and disappointment ripples through me. In here, naked and vulnerable, he might have answered my questions. Businesslike Cassius in his crisp white shirts is always so guarded and severe.
I sigh and roll onto my back. What a strange night that was. Vinicius is a troublemaker. And Cassius…
