Those golden eyes are full of resignation. “Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want. I almost laugh. “I own you,” I tell him. “I can already do whatever I want.”
“Then I could…” He thinks, then gives a helpless shake of the head.
With a scoff, I head toward the elevator.
“Please,” he calls after me. “Please, Dami.”
I turn at the elevator doors, unable to ignore the plaintive note in his voice…or the soft way he says that nickname he gave me.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I hear myself telling him, “if you’re a good boy and finish every meal between now and then. But you’ll have to come up with something. A proposal. Hell, it could be fun, hearing what you think you could possibly offer me.”
I reach for the light controls, intending to plunge him back into darkness, but my hand hovers over the switch. He looks pale. Fragile. I dim the lights to a warm amber glow instead—the same color as his eyes. It softens the room, makes his skin look less washed out.
As the elevator doors close on the basement, I see the gears turning in that clever head, trying to decide what he can give me that I haven’t already taken.
I almost pity him.
Almost.
CHAPTER 17
CALIGULA
The lightin the basement hasn’t gone off since he left, which should be a relief after three days in darkness.
It isn’t. It’s worse. So much worse. The light is soft, golden, falsely kind—the eye of a benevolent god. And it shows that mockery of my heritage laid out in a creepy basement. Reminds me of everything I’ve lost.
I ate every damn meal. Showered more than I probably needed to. And I tried to sleep, burying my face under my arms. Mostly I just sat here staring at the newspaper Damiano left behind, reading the same headline over and over until the words lost all meaning.
Infamous Clemenza Townhouse Continues to Auction Despite Tragic Suicide.
The last stronghold. The last thread connecting me to everything I used to be. And that monster upstairs holds a pair of scissors.
I hear the elevator at last, the hiss of hydraulics, the clink of metal. I sit up, wipe my palms on my thighs. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I asked for it.
And I can only hope my offer is a good one.
The doors open and Damiano steps into the room, phone in one hand, looking me over with a critical eye. The washed hair. The shaved jaw. The empty plate.
The desperate hope I’m trying so hard to hide.
He walks to his usual throne and sets his phone down on the table next to it. “I arranged for my real estate guy to go to the auction for me,” he says, as casually as though he’s discussing the weather. “IfI want to bid. It’s about to start, he tells me.”
My throat feels like it’s lined with sandpaper. “Thank you.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Don’t thank me yet, golden boy. Since the question is, what in the hell do you have to bargain with?”
I know the answer. Have known it since the moment he said that maybe I could earn it. Because I know what a man like Damiano Orsini wants in this life. Aside from vengeance, of course. He has this house, built from obsession. He has all the power he could want. All the money.
And no class.
The words stick in my throat before I can spit them out. “My respect,” I say.
“Your respect?” At least he sounds intrigued. He settles into my grandfather’s chair again, eyes on me. His phone buzzes, and he casts a glance at the screen. “Bidding started at five million,” he tells me. “Okay, then. Show me how much you respect me, Caligula Clemenza.”
I force myself to move, get off the bed. My knees hit the concrete, but it’s not cold. That’s something I’ve noticed; he keeps me naked down here, but it’s always temperate. No chance I’ll freeze to death.
