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She’s mine now.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grace
When I hear the front door close behind Massimo, I make a beeline for the door to the bedroom. It's not locked, and even though I know it's pointless, I head for the front door. My heart leaps within me when I find that it's not locked either only to plummet back down to my feet whenever I go over to the elevator and find that I can't even summon it up without a key.
He's exactly right. There is no escape. I'm trapped here.
I walk aimlessly around the place that is my new prison. I note somewhat wryly that at least my prison is luxurious. I stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows and look out over the twinkling lights of the city. It's a breathtaking view from way up here. I imagine Massimo standing here, looking out over the city as if he's surveying his kingdom. That's probably how he views it too, seeing as how he's next in line to rule over the criminal underworld of the city. The mafia prince…
I drop my face in my hands and shake my head hopelessly. How did I ever get in this situation? I did nothing to draw his attention. I didn't ask for this. Is it just my fate to be involved in dangerous situations? I stand there wallowing in self-pity for a few minutes longer before I finally start walking around the space, checking out every nook and cranny, looking for any crack in defense, any weakness, although I already know I won't find any.
Massimo is a smart, powerful man. There's no way he has left anything to chance. There's no way he has any breach in his security. If he tells me there’s no escape, there's no escape. I've never been one to accept things lying down, though.
After I've exhausted myself sweeping the entire penthouse, including the living room and what I'm pretty sure was Massimo’s master bedroom, I make my way back to the room he called mine. There's no way to open any of the windows in this entire penthouse, so I don't even bother with that. Instead, I walk over to the closet and open the door, gasping when I see the vast assortment of women's clothing hanging up. I venture inside slowly and run a finger over the smooth fabrics that I already know will be a perfect match for my size. One quick glance at the designer labels confirms my suspicions. I don't even have to slip one of the garments on. I already know it will probably be hand-tailored to my measurements better than any clothing I own.
My eyes about bug out of my head when I take in the fresh price tags still on them.
Three thousand dollars for one shirt. Twenty thousand dollars for one dress. I don't do more than glance at the shoes neatly displayed in cubbyholes in the wall. One look is enough to let me know they are designer too.
I open one of the built-in drawers and gasp at all the twinkling diamonds and gemstones that meet my eyes. Massimo has spared no expense, and it looks like he's gone to a lot of trouble to set all this up, and I can't help wondering how long he's had this planned.
A shiver goes up my spine. Has he been preparing all of this since that first day I met him—or even sooner? How long has Massimo been watching me? Was he watching me long before he snuck into the massage parlor and made himself known to me? How did I not feel him watching me?
Instead of being frightened that he was watching me, I'm more frightened that I had no clue about it. And that's crazy, right? Shouldn't I fear the stalker himself? The mafia prince… I should be more frightened than I am that this insanely dangerous, powerful man has me in his clutches, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
I glance back down at the jewelry that’s taunting me from the drawer. I suppose the one thing I have going for me is that Massimo seems to like me. The jewels twinkle. Okay, maybe like is putting it mildly. He really likes me.
I stand there for a few more indecisive moments, chewing on my lip, before I finally head over to the bathroom to take a shower while I don't have to worry about any unexpected visits from Massimo.
I take my time shampooing and conditioning my hair. I use the luxuriant exfoliating scrub I find in a pretty basket beside the tub. My skin feels baby soft when I get out and rub it down with equally expensive lotion.
I blow dry my hair until it's softer and silkier and shinier than it's ever been. I do all of this while I'm deep in thought, trying to figure out a way out of my situation. It has absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to look pretty for Massimo. I couldn't care less what he thinks of me. In fact, this was probably a mistake. I should probably make myself look as unalluring as possible so maybe he'll have second thoughts and let me go.
Something tells me that won't work with Massimo, though. Something tells me that once he sets his mind on something, he pursues it with dogged determination, but he's my captor, and I'm his captive. There's no way I'll ever be okay with that—despite how tall, dark, and handsome the man may be.
I'm going to find a way to escape, if not through a weakness in his fortress, then by using my brain. I haven't gotten to where I am today without a few street smarts. I might be painfully naïve in some ways, but I'm a quick thinker. I just have to figure out how to outsmart Massimo.
I nod to myself. Yeah, that's what I have to do.
I have a feeling it will be easier said than done.
Massimo
It's late when I get back from handling Doyle's latest catastrophe. Grace is already sound asleep in her bed, and it fills me with a sense of satisfaction at seeing her here in the space I made up for her, wearing the clothes that I bought her, although I smirk when I see she pulled on one of the long T-shirts rather than one of the silky negligees I bought her to sleep in.
I know what she's trying to do. She’s trying to make herself less appealing, but it won't work. My little tesoro doesn't realize she could wear a brown paper sack and I would still want her. It's not about what she wears. It's not even entirely about how she looks. It's about the innocent soul I see shining out of those beautiful green eyes.
Soft light from the city gleams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, softly highlighting her beautiful features and casting a gold glint on her silky chestnut hair. I lean down over her and inhale her scent. Even with all the top-of-the-line designer cosmetics I bought her, she still smells like fresh berries—something that I'm immensely glad of. It must just be her natural scent. Fresh, young, ripe. It fits her.
She tosses in her sleep, the covers kicking off of her. I can see her white cotton panties from where the shirt has ridden up slightly. Her creamy thighs are exposed, and my cock begins to cry, leaking a steady stream of precum as it rises to full mast in my pants. I palm myself through my pants roughly, willing my swollen dick to go down, but when Grace tosses her head on the pillow, her eyes still closed and moans softly, I feel more moisture beading at the tip instead—especially whenever she moans my name in her sleep, arching her little back up as she does so. “Massimo…”
My cock responds like a dog jumping at its owner’s call. It presses painfully against my zipper, trying its best to bust through and get to the pussy laid out in front of it. Grace gyrates her hips and arches them up in front of me.
It's obvious what she's dreaming about. Me. Her. Me inside her.
I groan. As much as I want to give her what she obviously wants—at least in her subconscious—I could never take a woman who's not lucid enough to make the choice on her own. I may be a lot of things, a criminal, a mafia prince, but I'm no rapist.
