He disgusts me. Obviously he wants to get a rise out of me. I won’t give him the pleasure.
I look at the piano one last time before it falls from view. He would take even that from me.
I hate him more and more with each moment that passes.
There are guards everywhere. I suddenly realize that part of the reason for this “tour” is to show me just how trapped I am. The Cleaver wants it clear that I’ll never escape.
He brings me to what I guess is my bedroom. It’s the smallest room I’ve seen so far, though small is a bit of an understatement—it’s bigger than a standard two bedroom apartment. The walls are made of gray stone, and the furniture and windows are gothic-themed.
Ornamental stone tracery tops the pointed windows. The chairs look like thrones, while the massive bed, nightstands and wardrobe are covered in foliage motifs. There are pointed arches at the tops of the chairs, and gargoyles squatting on each of the corners of the four-poster bed. Everything looks so ornate and pretentious. Not to mention uncomfortable.
Truthfully, it feels like something more appropriate to a crypt than a bedroom. Suits me, I suppose, given how much of me died with Massimo.
I spot an ensuite bathroom, and from here I can see a glass-walled shower, but no tub. Well, on the bright side, at least I won’t have to worry about slipping in the tub.
The Cleaver grabs my wrist, jerking me toward the bed. I hit the translucent gray drapes and they part under my weight so that I land on the quilt.
He stares down at me. “What do you think? Way better than anything your father has, yes?”
He left his men outside the door, and seems to have lowered his obnoxiousness down a notch now that he has no one to impress.
I nod, not wanting to provoke him.
“There’s a robe for you in the wardrobe if you want to change,” he says. “I’ll have one of the maids pick up some actual dresses for you after she measures you. If you need anything, pick up the phone. A maid will answer.” He nods at the old-style phone sitting on the nightstand. “There’s no line to the outside world, in case you’re wondering.”
He turns to go, then pauses. Apparently he can’t resist gloating. “I can’t wait to pound your pussy. Bet you’re tight as fuck. Hopefully that dead farrier hasn’t loosened you up too much. Speaking of which, I’m going to have a pregnancy test ordered. If you’re pregnant, you will abort the baby. I refuse to raise another man’s bastard. Especially a bastard from a man as lowly as him.”
I finally lose it and leap at him. I claw, aiming for the eyes. Doesn’t work: he catches my wrists easily and twists them hard to the right. I gasp in pain.
“Are you going to do that again?” he asks.
I shake my head quickly.
“Answer.” He twists harder and I whimper in pain.
“No!” I reply.
“Good,” he tells me. “Because I’d hate for you to have to attend the wedding with a cast on both arms. And trust me, I’m not afraid of hurting you. Attack me again, and I will.”
He let’s go of me and shoves me brutally back onto the bed. “You’ll learn your place soon enough, stupid bitch.”
“I can’t believe you convinced my father to give you my hand in marriage,” I tell him. “A man like you deserves to burn in hell.”
He lifts his arm to strike me with the back of his hand, apparently for the crime of talking back to him, but footsteps draw his gaze to the door.
A maid enters, carrying a breakfast tray.
The Cleaver decides not to strike me in front of her. Instead, he extends his arms mockingly. “Welcome to my hell, then. By the way, I guess your farrier didn’t tell you, but your father called off the wedding. But it doesn’t matter, since we outbid the poorcazzoanyway.” He bows with mock flourish. “Until next time, myamore.”
I’m not sure whether to believe him or not. Maybe it’s supposed to make me pissed off at Massimo, but all it does is make me miss him more. I’m sure Massimo had his reasons for not telling me.
The Cleaver turns to go but doesn’t watch where he’s going and slams right into the maid. She drops the tray.
His eyes light on fire and he beats the defenseless maid to a pulp right in front of me. “You clumsy oaf!”
“Stop,” I tell him. “Stop!” He doesn’t listen.
I whimper through it all, watching in terror. I’m too afraid to intervene. I used to think I was brave, but I’m a coward after all.
