Carlo blinks. His eyes widen. His dark eyebrows lift.
“You’re listening to me?”
He sounds so surprised. My silly love. “Of course I’m going to obey my husband! I take my wedding vows very seriously.”
Carlo’s eyebrows lift even higher. He looks completely taken aback. Shocked and incredulous. I smile and wait for him to wrap his head around the truth.
After a while, he just shakes his head slowly, as if he is all out of words. He lifts his cuffed hands and rattles the chains for emphasis. Making his point very clearly.
I giggle, giddy with delight. “Once you have adjusted, of course.”
Then I clap my hands together in prayer, and an excited wriggle takes over my body, and makes Carlo grunt.
“I can’t wait!” I exclaim.
And I really can’t. The future I have always longed for is nearly here. So close I can feel its breath on my shoulder.
All of our tomorrows are going to be golden. It is exactly what we deserve.
Chapter twenty-six
Carlo
My body is still humming with the memory of Ginni whimpering and gasping in my arms. Now he is curled against my side like always, using my chest as his pillow, but everything feels different now. More intimate. More real.
I shouldn’t have done it. I should not have touched him. I know that. Ginni is beautiful and enticing and he worships me, but he quite literally is not in his right mind. He believes with his whole heart and soul that he wants me, but surely he can’t know what he wants.
Taking advantage of him proves that I’m the monster, despite the fact that he abducted me.
But out of all the terrible things I’ve ever done, it’s the one I regret the least.
Last night was... Cristo, I don’t even have words for what it was. Intense doesn’t begin to cover it. The way Ginni responded to me, the trust he showed, the vulnerability he offered up like agift. And when I told him to stop, he listened. Actually listened, without argument or manipulation or sulking.
There’s hope for my beautiful menace after all.
And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? The fact that I’m thinking of him as mine. The fact that last night felt less like captivity and more like... love.
The fact that I’m starting to plan ways I can keep him. Now, when I think of escaping, I’m imagining taking him with me. I don’t like being a prisoner. Being kept is humiliating. But Ginni inmybed? That is something I can get fully on board with.
I stare up at the artificial sunrise painting the ceiling above us and try to make sense of what’s happening in my head. Is this Stockholm syndrome? Am I developing feelings for my captor because my brain is trying to cope with an impossible situation? Or are these emotions real, based on genuine connection and compatibility?
The uncertainty is maddening. How can I trust anything I feel in this basement? How can I know if what’s growing between us is authentic when the entire foundation is built on coercion and control?
I look down at Ginni’s sleeping face, peaceful and unguarded, and something fierce and protective rises in my chest. Whatever’s happening between us, whatever name you put on it, one thing is absolutely clear. This boy needs to be protected. From his family, from the world, from his own self-destructive impulses.
Getting him away from the Torrini family isn’t about us. It’s about basic human decency. No one should have to live the way Ginni has, hidden away like a shameful secret, subjected to conversion therapy for the crime of being himself. He deserves better. He deserves safety and acceptance and the chance to be exactly who he is without apology.
So that’s my focus. Not figuring out my feelings, not analyzing the psychology of captivity, but planning how to get Ginni somewhere safe. Somewhere his family can’t hurt him anymore.
The obvious choice would be away from London, somewhere rural and away from the reach of traditional mafia families. Maybe Scotland, somewhere remote where he could pursue his art without interference. I have money, connections, resources. I could set him up with a new identity if necessary, make sure he never has to depend on family approval again.
Would the Torrinis care? Would they be grateful? Or would they take it as an insult? Frame it as me stealing their youngest son?
As for Ginni himself, would he go willingly? Or would he see it as another rejection, another person trying to get rid of him? The logistics are complicated enough without factoring in Ginni’s particular brand of emotional instability.
Maybe I could frame it as a fresh start for both of us. Tell him I was coming too. A chance to build something together, away from the expectations and prejudices of our families. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie, if these feelings turn out to be real rather than circumstantial.
The thought of leaving London, leaving everything I’ve built, should terrify me. But lying here with Ginni warm and trusting against my chest, it doesn’t feel like sacrifice. It feels like possibility.
