Instead, I got the total opposite. According to the map of scars on her body, she's been through so much before she came to me. Because of that she has a strength inside of her that I’m not even sure she’s aware of. She’s resisting me far more than I ever imagined she could, and it excites me to no end.
I know that’s fucked up, but I’m past worrying. The darkness is there, begging to be fed every single day. I honor my word and don’t touch her when she’s in the cage, which is all the time, but I ache for her to come out. I ache for the day when she finally crawls out and begs me to come into the room and touch her. I want her to beg for it so badly. I can give her a reason to continue breathing. I can make her body feel things she’s probably never felt before and much, much more.
It will feel good to submit to me.
That’s how I’ll break her, I know. She’ll finally trust me enough to call me into the room. I’ll unwrap her from that blanket and bathe her, take care of her. And finally I’ll slide my fingers gently along her skin and make her shiver until she pleads for more. I’ll do it again and again, and soon I’ll have her dripping wet on the floor, writhing with pleasure as my fingers do their work.
I’m hard as fuck just watching her on the cameras, imagining what I’d do to her. The whole thing is twisted and I feel broken inside, but I’ll keep going forward. That’s how I live my fucking life, just keep moving forward.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the front door. I stand up, pissed off at the interruption, and take one last glance at the monitors. She’s not moving again. I leave the control room and shut the door behind me, locking it with a key. I quickly walk to the front door just as the knock comes again.
I pull it open and my father’s standing there. “Son,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” He never comes here. He only visits when there’s a hit to be done. And that’s only because he’s reliant on me now.
“Come to check up on you. Gonna let me in or what?” he asks.
I nod and step aside. His heavy steps pause as he enters the hallway and looks at the mess of boxes and guns stacked in the living room.
“What’s this shit?”
“It’s from the gun room. I had to clean it out to make room for her.”
“I know, but you didn’t find a better place for it?”
“I’ve been busy,” I say and clench my jaw and look away. “What do you need?”
“The Romanos have been asking about you.” He walks into the kitchen as if it’s his and grabs a beer from the fridge. He peeks his head over the open door and asks, “Want one?”
“I’m good.”
He takes a seat at the table, making himself at home and takes a big swig.
“What do they want?” I ask. I lean against the wall with my arms crossed.
“They’re wondering why that bastard Toni isn’t dead yet.”
“I’ve been busy,” I say again.
“I get that. But he’s just one asshole.”
“He’s a well-guarded asshole. I’ve been scouting him, searching for weaknesses.” I set up surveillance to learn his routines, which are minimal. He has to know it’s coming. He’s not giving me an easy angle.
“What about the girl? She give you anything?”
“Not yet.” My blood heats at his question. She’s not a part of this. I haven’t asked her a damn thing, and I don’t plan on it. She’s not a tool to use. She’s mine.
“What’s taking so long?” he asks.
“You know how long it takes. They always want to rush this shit, but it takes time to plan it out.” I may be putting this off a bit longer than I should. But hits take time, and they know that.
“Yeah, I get it,” he grunts, drinking the beer. “Still, they’re getting on my ass about it. How much longer?”
I shake my head. “Hard to say. Weeks, maybe.”
“Fuck, Gio.” He finishes the beer and walks back to the fridge for another. I follow him, annoyed at this useless intrusion. I want to get back to my princess.
He knows better than this. Getting a little taste of the familia is fucking with his head. He knows how long it takes to research and plan a proper hit. He’s complained many, many times over the years that they always want us to rush into it and get fucked, and here he is doing that same thing to me.
