“What?” I turn back to face Mr. Bonetti, my heart pounding in my chest as I brace myself for whatever comes next. The little voice in my head screams at me to run, but before I can make another move, he lunges forward, grabs me roughly by the hair and drags me across the room. I scream out in pain, my criesfalling on deaf ears as he throws me over his desk with a brutal force that knocks the breath from my lungs.
“It’s time for you to learn your place,” he snarls, his grip tightening on my hair with each passing second. “The more you fight, the harder you’ll get my cock and Nick’s.” With a hand he rips off my shirt. I try to scream, to fight him, but I'm no match for his strength. Nicholas moves closer, and for a brief moment, I dare to hope that he'll intervene, that he'll save me from this nightmare. But to my horror, he merely stands by the side of the desk, a silent witness to his father's depravity.
Feeling Mr. Bonetti’stongue on my skin makes bile rise in my throat, and I silently pray for the strength to endure. The cold air of the room sends shivers down my spine as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the horror unfolding before me. But there's no escaping it. His hand finds its way into my trousers, and I can't help but whimper in despair.
“Please stop, don't...” My voice trails off, choked with fear and shame.
Opening my eyes, I'm met with Nicholas as he steps closer, his smirk twisting my stomach into knots.
My legs are forced apart, and I cry out in pain as the thrusts continue relentlessly. Each movement feels like a brutal assault, tearing me apart from the inside out.
“I know a good way to shut you up,” Nick sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. “Open that pretty mouth and show me what a good girl you are.”
They go on, their laughter echoing in my ears like a cruel mockery. It feels like an eternity, each moment stretching out in agony as I cling to the desk, praying for it to end. Digging my nails into the wood, tears stream down my face, mingling with the blood that trickles from the cuts and bruises that mark myskin. I close my eyes, praying for it to end, but the nightmare only continues, stretching out before me like an endless abyss of pain and suffering.
And as I lay there, broken and defeated, I realize that there may be no escape from the suffocating darkness that envelops me. Despair wraps around me like a shroud, and a sob wracks my body, a physical manifestation of the hopelessness that consumes me.
CHAPTER 4
CHRIS
The road stretches out before us, the landscape a blur of muted colors as we speed away from the city. I sit in the back of the car, lost in my thoughts, my mind a whirlwind of doubts and fears.
Zack glances at me from the driver's seat, his brow furrowed in concern. “You seem a little off today, Mr. Bonetti. Is everything alright?”
I let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I'm fine,” I reply, but even to my own ears, the words sound hollow and insincere. The truth is, I haven't felt like myself in a long time. Ever since I took over the business, I've been struggling to find my footing, torn between loyalty to my father and the desire to forge my own path.
It's been almost a year since I arrived in Seattle, and yet I've never ventured outside the confines of my territory. The thought of stepping out into the world beyond fills me with a sense of dread and unease, like a prisoner peering through the bars of his cell, afraid to take that first step into freedom. As we approach the warehouse where the cargo awaits, a knot forms in the pit of my stomach, a sense of foreboding gnawing at me from within. Dad may trust his men, but I sure as hell don't. The files reveala staggering amount of money missing, and it's mind-boggling that Dad hasn't even batted an eye at it. That's why I've insisted on personally checking all the cargos myself.
As we make our way into the warehouse, a sense of unease settles over me like a thick fog and I can't shake the feeling that we're walking into a trap.
The guards stationed at the entrance are heavily armed and visibly tense, which only adds to my growing sense of dread. It's not like them to be on edge like this, especially considering we've been doing business with them for years. Their nervous energy sets my teeth on edge, and I exchange a wary glance with Zack.
“Occhi aperti,”Keep your guard up, I mutter to him as we continue forward. We pull up to the meet, and after exchanging a terse nod with our contact, we dive into some brief chitchat. He then motions us over, a silent signal that it's time to see the delivery.
“Open those crates, I need to take a look,” I order Zack, my instincts screaming at me to proceed with caution. And when we discover that five out of the fifteen crates are empty, my worst fears are confirmed.
The sound of gunfire fills the air, the shots echoing off the walls of the warehouse as chaos erupts around us. Without hesitation, I spring into action, pulling Zack out of harm's way as bullets whiz past us. But Zack isn't so lucky. A stray bullet grazes his shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. I curse under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I assess the situation. The guys with us are on high alert, finally doing their damn job as I haul Zack out and jump behind the steering wheel. Zack presses his jacket against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding as I gun it toward one of the clinics we've got in our pocket. His face has gone ghostly pale, but it's the terror in his eyes that really gets to me. That haunted look - he's petrified of what comes next.
After patching him up, I drop Zack off at his place and then drag myself back to mine. It’s already three in the morning, and I’m running on fumes, but the night’s events have at least clarified who’s got my back.
Sleep refuses to come, and after tossing and turning for a few hours, I head to the office, only to find Zack already there, hunched over his desk. His face is pale, the lines of pain and exhaustion drawn tight across his features. I can see the pain etched in his features; the strain of the previous day's events written across his brow.
“You should have taken the day off.” My voice stern but tinged with concern. “You're in no condition to be here.”
Zack looks up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and exhaustion. “I'm sorry, Mr. Bonetti,” he murmurs, “I've never had a day off.”
I feel a pang of sympathy for him, a twinge of regret for the harsh words I spoke. “My father is a fucking tyrant,” I say quietly, my gaze fixed on the floor. “But take mine as an order. Go home.”
Zack nods, his expression grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Bonetti,” he nods, “I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”
And in that moment, as our eyes meet across the expanse of the office, I know that he's more than just a loyal employee, but a true friend and ally in this ruthless world we inhabit. “Call me Christopher, and it wasn’t your fault, now head home.”
“You haven’t got backto Italy. Can I say it’s weird?” The mention of Italy brings a pang of nostalgia to my heart, a longing for the familiar sights and sounds of my homeland.Zack's question pulls me out of my reverie, and I shake my head with a wistful smile.
“I miss it every day,” I admit, my voice tinged with sadness.
I miss the bustling streets, the aroma of Viola's homemade cakes wafting through the air, and most of all, I miss Leila. The memory of her haunts me, a constant reminder of the life I left behind.
