But it’s Ginni. And that makes this whole thing so damn bewildering that I want to put my fist through something.
He stirs against me, making a soft sound that’s almost like a purr, and then those impossible blue eyes are blinking open, focusing on my face with immediate clarity. No gradual awakening for Giovanni Torrini. He goes from sleep to full alertness in seconds, like a predator that never truly rests.
And then he smiles. Bright and dazzling and completely unrepentant, like waking up next to a kidnapped man is the most natural thing in the world. Like this is exactly how he pictured his perfect morning.
My heart does something strange in my chest, a stuttering rhythm that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with that devastating smile. The reaction bewilders me, makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself, about what I want, about what kind of person I really am underneath all the careful construction.
“Good morning, Handsome,” he says, his voice soft and musical with sleep. “Did you sleep well?”
The casual endearment hits me like a physical blow. Handsome. He called me handsome again, like it’s a simple fact, like there’s nothing strange about addressing a kidnapping victim with pet names.
“Do you need to pee?” he continues before I can formulate a response, already pushing himself up on one elbow. “Should I get the bottle?”
The memory of yesterday’s humiliation floods back in vivid detail, nevermind the fact that I now have other needs.
“I need the bathroom,” I growl.
His eyes widen slightly, as he takes in my meaning. “Oh.” A pause, then his face brightens like he’s just solved a particularly challenging puzzle. “I have a plan for this.”
Ten minutes later, I’m standing next to his bed, no longer spread-eagle but still very much captive. The handcuffs have been replaced with shackles that allow my hands to move but keep them connected with a short chain. My ankles are similarly restrained, forcing me to shuffle rather than walk properly. I can move, but only just barely, and certainly not enough to overpower anyone or make a run for it.
The metal is cold against my skin, heavier than the handcuffs. Professional grade equipment that must have cost a fortune and definitely wasn’t purchased through normal channels. Where the hell does a twenty-one-year-old get access to this kind of specialized hardware? Even if he is the youngest member of a mafia family?
Ginni reaches under the bed and pulls out something that makes my blood run cold.
“Is that a fucking cattle prod?” I exclaim, staring at the device in his delicate hands.
He nods excitedly, like a child showing off a new toy. “I won’t use it unless I have to,” he assures me sweetly. “But it’s important that you understand the consequences of misbehaving.”
I shake my head in dismay, wondering how my life has come to this. “You’re completely insane.”
“I prefer passionate,” he corrects cheerfully, testing the weight of the cattle prod in his hands like he’s considering its practical applications.
The shuffle to the bathroom is the most humiliating experience of my adult life. Every step is awkward and degrading, the chains around my ankles making a soft clinking sound that seems to echo in the silence. They force me to move in a way that’s inhuman. Like I’m some wounded, lumbering beast. I’ve never felt more powerless, more stripped of dignityand control. This is what it feels like to be prey instead of predator, and I hate every second of it.
My legs aren’t used to moving in such restricted steps, and I nearly trip twice. Ginni stays close behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence like a shadow, the cattle prod a constant reminder of what happens if I try anything stupid.
But he allows me to go into the bathroom alone, closing the door behind me with something that might almost be respect for my privacy. The small gesture of trust catches me off guard, makes me wonder if there are limits to his madness after all.
I immediately search the space, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon or tool for escape, but there’s nothing useful. Just towels, expensive shampoo, toilet paper. Everything else has been carefully removed. No razors, no cleaning products, no medicine cabinet. He really has thought of everything.
I use the toilet and then attempt to shower with my hands cuffed together, which is an exercise in frustration and awkward maneuvering. The hot water feels good against my skin, washing away the lingering grogginess and the strange dreams that plagued my sleep, but the constant reminder of the restraints keeps me from enjoying even this simple pleasure.
The shower is enormous, clearly designed for luxury rather than efficiency, with multiple shower heads and enough space for several people. It’s the kind of bathroom you’d find in a five-star hotel, not a basement apartment. More evidence of the guilt money that bought Ginni this beautiful prison.
When I emerge, Ginni is waiting with a soft towel and that same patient smile. He chains me back to the bed with efficient movements, then approaches with the towel held out like an offering.
“Let me help,” he says softly.
I want to refuse, want to maintain some shred of dignity and independence, but I’m still damp in places I couldn’t reach properly, and the metal of the restraints has left my wrists and ankles slightly raw. When he begins patting me dry with gentle, careful movements, I can’t bring myself to protest.
His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he tends to the places I missed. He dries under the cuffs with particular care, his fingers soft against the irritated skin, and despite every rational thought in my head, despite my fury and humiliation and outrage, I feel my body beginning to respond.
Heat pools in my belly. My pulse quickens. And when he notices, when those blue eyes drop to take in my growing arousal with obvious satisfaction, I want to disappear into the mattress.
“Would you like me to help with that?” he asks innocently, like offering to jerk off a kidnapping victim is perfectly normal morning behavior.
“No!” I snap, the word coming out harsher than I intended.
