He reaches around me and unfastens the button of my waistband. I kick when he pulls down my zipper.
“Keep still.” His voice is clipped. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
I do as he says not because I’m obeying him but because I’m unable to move. I’m frozen in horror as a scene I banned from my memories starts to bleed into my conscience. Slowly, a picture crawls closer, stalking me like a horrible, deformed monster in a dark, deserted alley. I hide my face in the covers, but it keeps on coming, its presence like a thick black fog that spills into every crack and crevice of my being.
My jeans slip down my ass, thighs, calves, and feet. The glide of the fabric over my skin is treacherously soft. My underwear follows next. I’m naked from the waist down, panting into the duvet. I try to focus on my breathing, but the technique the midwife taught me doesn’t help, not for the old skeletons that threaten to escape from the closet where I buried them.
I’m violently seized from the paralyzing fear when Dante grips the hem of my T-shirt. A different fear takes over. My heartbeat goes into overdrive. The panic escalates, suffocating me. Even as my lungs shut down and my air runs out, self-preservation outweighs my need for oxygen.
“No.” I kick with my feet, realizing I can’t move my legs. I turn my face sideways and strain my neck to look over my shoulder. Dante is still straddling me. “Not…” I gulp in air that doesn’t reach my lungs. “Not…the T-shirt.”
He stills, the fabric bunched in his fists. “Breathe, Tatiana.”
I can’t. I can’t stop my body from turning on me. My mind is useless, the will to breathe not enough.
“Easy.” Dante lets my T-shirt go and gets off my legs. He kneels next to me. His words are encouraging, and his hands are soft but firm on my shoulders. “You can do it.”
My pulse doesn’t slow down, but my lungs finally cooperate. I suck in air and choke on my mortification. I don’t want anyone to see this part of me, especially not Dante.
He sits back on his heels, scrutinizing me with too much intensity. “What the fuck just happened?”
My reply is rushed. “Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t challenge me. “What did you think I was going to do?”
With effort, I get my breathing under control. “Punish me.”
“Do you really want to start your day with a spanking before breakfast?”
I shake my head as much as my position allows.
He turns me onto my back, my arms stretched out above my head. I’m too preoccupied with my vulnerable position to be relieved that he hasn’t removed my T-shirt. It’s not being tied up. It’s not being half-naked. It’s the man kneeling next to me. It’s the power he holds over me.
“Is this how you beg, darling?”
I’m not too proud to nod once. I’d rather sacrifice my pride than give him my shame.
“Disrespect me all you want, Tatiana, but don’t do it in front of my men.”
In a second flat, my anger burns all the other emotions to ashes. I hate men like my father. Their reputations are holy and their dignity sacred, whereas us women are nothing but their pawns, their possessions to use as they see fit.
“Why, Dante?” My mouth twists into a smile. “Does it undermine your authority? Does it make you look bad?”
“It makes you look bad,” he says factually.
“And why would that bother you? Are you going to tell me how I’m an extension of your mighty image?”
“No.” His reply is calm, almost toneless. “My men can’t be loyal to you if they don’t respect you.”
“Why should they be loyal to me?”
“So I can trust them to protect you when I’m not around to do it.”
“That’s bullshit. First of all, they’ll do whatever you order them to do. That includes planting a bullet in my brain if you tell them to do it. They don’t need to respect anyone. They only have to follow orders. I know how the business works. My father might not have involved me like Leander, but I’ve seen enough during the time I lived in his house.”
He cups my knees and pushes my legs apart. Wider. A gasp leaves my lips.
He climbs between them, leans over me, and stretches his arms along the length of mine before wrapping his fingers around my bound wrists. “I’m not going to tell you again that I’m not like your father. I don’t operate the same way. In my organization, respect is earned.” He drops his gaze to my mouth. “Secondly?”
