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“You said I had a choice— that you wouldn’t rape me. I will never give you something so valuable to my family. So how long before you give up this impossible feat and let me go?”
I bend toward her, low enough to run my index finger through the fresh blood dripping down her thighs. It thickly coats my finger as I rise again slowly, ensuring we never break eye contact. She tenses as I smear the blood across her cheeks, just beneath the eyes, before licking the remnants from my fingertip. Her face scrunches in disgust, yet her appallment doesn’t faze me.
A smile spreads across my lips. “Apparently, you don’t understand the definition of ownership, so let me put this simply. I own every aspect of you, and that isn’t achoicefor you to make. However, your freedom is highly contingent on your ability to see things as I see them. The harder you rebel, the more fun I will have breaking you. And if you don’t believe anything else, do believe this — Iwillbreak you in the end, A mhuirnín.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Aurora
Idon’t know what to make of what just transpired. Rage and disgust battle within me, leaving zero room for fear. Blood circles around the shower drain, reminding me of the humiliation I just had to endure. I can’t believe he marked my face like war paint with my own blood. Not to mention he tasted it. How sick do you have to be to do something like that? I refuse to let him mind fuck me. After scrubbing my face, I lean my head back under the rain showerhead and let the stream run down my now butchered hair. My tears mix with the rivulets of slightly hot water as I try to think of a way out of this. I will not allow myself to be a victim. Whatever issues that jackass has with my father are not my problem. I’m a Valentini, and he’ll have to learn the hard way what that name means. If I can find a way to get in touch with my father and disrupt whatever plans this nutcase has for my family, maybe I can earn some worthiness aside from my virginity. But how? I hear the doorknob to the bathroom turn, and I immediately cover my naked body with my arms and hands, already missing my hair to hide myself.
A young woman, who appears to be close to my age, walks in with her head tilted down. She’s holding a stack of towels and toiletries. At first glance, she looks ordinary. A single ginger braid wraps around her shoulder and hangs to her waist. She’s wearing a plain black dress with a white collar that looks to be at least two sizes too big. It resembles a maid uniform. What century are we in? Our house staff doesn’t wear such cliché uniforms. They wear gray-colored scrubs, which I’m sure is more comfortable.
“I’ve brought you some towels, ma’am. Mr. Doyle has also sent other personal items for you. I left them on the bed,” she informs.
“Wait!” I exclaim, before lowering my voice. She seems harmless enough. Maybe she could be my way out of this place. “Who is Mr. Doyle?”
She finally looks up at me. Her greenish eyes and freckles are stunning. What is she doing here with my self-proclaimed captor? She’s clearly Irish too. Could she be working for the Irish Mafia? Is my captor part of the Irish mob? They’re supposed to have an allegiance with our family. I heard my father mention it to my brothers over dinner once. None of this makes sense.
“Mr. Dolye is the house manager. You will find a change of underwear in the dresser drawers,” she answers, quickly changing the subject. I had stopped listening for a moment.
“Why am I here?” I ask, hoping to get more insight other than serving up my virginity.
“I don’t know ma’am. I only work for Mr. Gallagher. The house staff are not involved in his personal affairs.” The name confirms he’s Irish.
“You don’t have to call me ma’am. My name is Aurora. What’s yours?”
“Fiona,” she supplies. “I really must get going, Ms. Aurora,” she insists, surely to avoid any additional questioning.
She pats the towels as she sets them on the sink, and for the first time, I notice the pack of menstrual pads on top. She backs away with a small smile. I don’t try to stop her. So Mr. Captor … now known as Mr. Gallagher has shared with his house staff that I’m bleeding.How lovely. What else has he shared? I don’t buy into the formalities. She knows more than she’s telling. Otherwise, how does he explain all the locks on the other side of the bedroom door? They have to know that I’m being held here against my will at the very least.
I step outside the shower to grab the body wash and shampoo that Fiona brought in. It’s better than the plain water I was content with just rinsing with. I’m not distracted by the sweet floral notes that permeate the air or this posh, all-black bathroom. I hope this is not Mr. Gallagher’s attempt to groom me for what’s to come. My legs aren’t just going to fall open because he instructed his staff to accommodate me with underwear, pads, and freaking toiletries. I shower and then place the pad between my legs before I finish drying off to keep from dripping blood on the floor. I peep out the bathroom door to ensure the bedroom is clear before I head in there to search through the drawers. I’m astounded by all the sexy panty and bra sets, silk pajamas, robes, and nightgowns— not a single cotton garment to be found … only luxury and elegance. And holy fuck, it is all in my size. Either these belonged to someone else before me who coincidentally is the same size, or this was purposely put here for me.Planned. This is both disturbing and creepy. I tamp down the fear trying to possess my anger. I can’t succumb to it. I have to remain brave and find a way out of this nightmare.
I find the most basic garments from the provided selection— lacy Brazilian-cut panties and a matching bra. I’ve never owned anything so sexy and grown-up. I throw one of the silk knee-length night gowns over it. I walk over to the bed to see what else was left for me. In the pile, I find a couple of bottled waters, two packs of ibuprofen, and a brush. I place it all on the nightstand and climb into the enormous orange velvet platform bed. Similar to my captor’s office and the en suite bathroom, this room is like a piece of art. Black matte with soft gold lighting extends to this room and is complemented with statement decor pieces. I’m sensing a theme here. It’s a beautiful prison — much more luxurious than the traditional one I have at home. Exorbitant wealth appears to be the theme of this home, and I’ve only seen three rooms thus far.
I hear the bolts start to unlock again on the other side of the door. I tense, preparing myself for a fight, but it’s only Fiona again. She’s carrying a tray of food. “Sorry to disturb you again ma’am … I mean, Ms. Aurora. I’ve been asked to bring you dinner.”
“You know that I’m being held here against my will?” I retort. “Can you help me? I don’t want food. I want to go home.”
“I can’t help you, so please don’t ask that of me again,” she says, her posture stiffening. She sets the tray on the corner of the bed. “Don’t ask any of the house staff either. Their loyalty is with Mr. Gallagher, and it will only cause problems for you. If you bring it up again, I’ll be forced to report it.”
She backs away before turning to leave. There is no smile on her way out this time. The familiar locks re-engage. She said“their loyalty”and not“our.”She also said that if I bring it up again, she would be forced to report it. Does that mean she will keep tonight’s request between us? Can she be the crack that I need? I was too direct. Of course she wouldn’t go against her employer for some stranger she just met. I don’t know how long I have before my captor makes his move, but I need to build a rapport with her and fast.
My stomach growls at the sight of the food at the end of the bed—lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. Was this made just for me because I’m Italian? I get out of bed long enough to place it on the floor. I refuse to eat any of it no matter how hungry I am. I’ve already been rendered unconscious once by Mr. Carson. I won’t take that chance again. I won’t give my captor a chance to come in and take my virginity. I don’t trust that he wouldn’t just because he said he won’t. He took me after all. I push back toward the headboard. If he comes for me, I’ll be ready. There will be no sleep tonight. I will not be prey waiting to be slaughtered. He has severely underestimated what I’m capable of. They all have. If I have to save myself, then I will fight.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lennon
Earlier tonight, I added another tally to my body count. It’s been a couple of weeks since my father was killed, yet I can’t afford to pause or grieve. The soldiers skimming from my father with the prostitutes paid with their life. Now I need to refocus on exacting vengeance on those responsible for his death. My father’s dying words were that this was about power and not to let them get it. Those words have played in my mind on an endless loop. There are five Italian Mafia families in New York alone, Cosa Nostra. They have a few additional families scattered throughout Boston and Chicago, but they are not of much significance. The most powerful reside here in New York and who our clan have pledged our allegiance to. The Italians also have an allegiance with the only other three Irish Mafia clans in the US, but they’re of no relation to us. The Italians already have established power. Our associated numbers make us and the Italians a threat to the Russians. Are the Bratva behind my father’s murder? Is the plan to decimate the Italian’s numbers to weaken their foothold?
I’m still rationalizing when my brother Kai slides into the booth across from me. I asked him to meet me here because it’s time. This Irish pub is owned by our family and is the one place I can expect complete privacy. The booths surrounding this one are empty as instructed, so no need to go up to our more private area. Chatter and jovial laughter filter throughout the pub as the lads enjoy the night out, oblivious to the meeting between my brother and me. The smell of bangers and mash permeates from a table nearby, but I didn’t come here to eat. It’s outside of my dietary restrictions, anyway.
“Evening, brother,” Kai says, interrupting my reverie. “It’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve last spoken. I’m guessing you’re ready to tell me what really happened the night Dad died.”
He’s straight and to the point. I knew he didn’t believe the story I concocted for our siblings and clan. That night, there was a robbery at a convenient store not too far from where we were. I told them that our father was just at the wrong place at the wrong time— that he was shot and killed in the store along with the clerk. Because the perpetrator was caught quickly and killed behind bars, there was no expectation for us to seek vengeance. This lie was the only way to honor my father’s request not to go about this in a blind rage. I gave my family time to grieve while I thought about how to be as strategic and methodical as possible. I’ve already implemented the first steps of this unannounced war—even with our opponents unknown.
“If you knew I was lying, why didn’t you say anything?” I question.
