Matteo picks up his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside as he sighs.
“Come now, Rossi. Crack a smile, at least. You might even see my lovelycuginatonight, if you’re lucky. I hear married life is agreeing with her.”
My muscles lock. A twitch feathers in my jaw.
Caterina.
“Just remember,” he continues speaking, his voice low and cruel. Victorious. “Any bruises you see are notourdoing.”
Not their doing.
Mine.
My punishment, onherskin.
Become Matteo’s guard dog, carry out the violence he demands of me, or Caterina would pay the price.
Twice, I refused.
Twice was all it took for me to learn that they meant it. The photos were proof enough.
I glance down, as if I might see the blood beneath my nails that I scraped away before we left. The blood of innocent people, their only crime to piss off the man sitting beside me.
I have lost my way, Cat.
And I hate myself for hoping – just for a moment – that she won’t be here. That she won’t be here to see how far I have fallen.
My heart aches.I’m sorry, Bea.
She would be so ashamed.
I can donothing. I dedicated my life to protecting Caterina Corvo, to standing by her side, only to be turned into another fucking tool to hurt her with. My hands are tied, bound to the man who did this to us, to her. And my vision whites as that familiar agony rips up my throat, closing my airways.
Useless. I amuseless.
Luciano, on the other hand… my teeth grind together as he saunters through the door. He offers a mocking bow to Matteo, his enforcer at his shoulder as they move to a seat.
Not a flicker of his eyes to give away that it was the seat his father died in. Murdered, his throat slashed by the same man that he now exchanges a light-hearted joke with, his low laughter filling the room.
Luc doesn’t bother to look at me at all, tapping his fingers in a merry pattern against the table.
I stare at him. Trying to find any trace of the man I thought I knew.
Wondering if he was always this way, and we missed it.
Maybe he liked the idea of power. Of having Cat in his bed, the rest of us as allies, only to turn on us the moment the tables were turned.
I turn away when Gio strides in. A male I vaguely recognize – Johnno - is beside him. He doesn’t smile as he takes his chair, but Matteo only snorts, unfazed.
Gio glances at me, offering a brief nod. His eyes take in the bruising covering my exposed skin, bruising that never seems to fade before new ones appear. Evidence of the nights spent fighting in rings at Matteo’s command, facing off with man after man until the inevitable point that my body gives out.
All for his fucking entertainment.
Dante is a few minutes late. He mutters about a flight delay as he stalks to sit down, Rocco next to him. He doesn’t look at any of us aside from Morelli. Luc winks at him, and Dante’s hand clenches against the wood of the table.
And we wait.
Matteo doesn’t seem bothered as he whistles, flicking through photos on his phone. He holds out his screen to show me, and I grimace at the battered body.
