Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(30)

“I have special expectations of you, Princess. And you're going to start with respect.”

“Let me go.”

“I will let you go, when I'm ready. Not a moment before. Your first duty is to pay for your rudeness. And for your lies.”

She gasps, a sound so charming that I'd like to fuck her right now. But not yet. Not until I'm certain.

“I don't know what you… I didn't —”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I cluck at her. “No more lies, Princess. Don't make this worse.”

She puts her fists on her hips. “Don't make what worse?” she demands in a quiet, rage-filled voice.

I'm so glad she asked. Without another word I take her by the elbow and tug her toward me, twisting her over my knee as I drop into the chair behind me. She gasps in muffled surprise as I bend her over my lap and pull her dress up to expose her soft, pink bottom. The moment that my palm connects with her skin, her whole body stiffens and she yelps in surprise.

Just two, that's all. Just two swats across her beautiful backside. That should make my point.

Then I put my hands up in the air and release her, letting her scramble to the floor and then lurch toward standing. She yanks her dress down and works her jaw back and forth like she's trying to get words out of her mouth.

“How — I can't — how dare you!”

My palm floats up to my face and I inhale deeply, catching just a whiff of her skin on my skin. Delicious.

“I take what’s mine,” I explain. “But don't push me, Princess. You're not royalty to me. You’re just something I own.”

“You’re a bastard!”

I nod. Finally, she's getting it. “That I am. And now I'm your bastard, Princess, like it or not!”





CHAPTER 8


MARIE

Everyone is afraid to talk to me, and for once I'm glad. My cell phone buzzes on the corner of my dresser, turning in a slow circle for about the millionth time.

I don't have to answer it. I don’t have to do anything. They can't make me. This isn’t at the old country, or the 50s, or whatever. I can do what I want, at least in theory.

I glance at the chain on my bedroom door. At least it’s still in place. Every once in awhile I hear somebody walking around downstairs, but they can't get in here. It’s the only place in the entire house they can't get into if I don't want them. Everything else is sort of public property, just like me, I suppose. Just property.

At first I wondered how they were doing without me at the club, how Gianna was doing, but now I don't even care. At least that beast Roman hasn’t tried to break down the door yet. Alek I would peg for more of a scale-the-exterior-wall-sort. Something flashier.

But neither has shown up. I keep expecting it, keep dreaming where Alek comes bursting through the window, or Roman through the door. Or one of them flowing through the air vents like smoke. They’re haunting me.

In my dreams, I'm outside, just walking around. Going to the store or the movies or whatever. And then Roman is there, his breath in my ears and his hands on my skin. I slip away somehow but Alek is there, popping up in my path like he knew where I would be. I want to run but I can't go anywhere. It's like his fingers are cages. He doesn't even hurt me, I hurt myself. I turn around and Roman is there too. I throw myself at the bars of the cage until I'm bleeding.

But they are the cage. They are the trap, and I know it.

I'm fairly certain that they're not calling as often now. Daddy must have given one of them my number, probably Roman. And then Roman must have given it to Alek since he seems to like to talk so damn much.

At first it seemed like my phone was ringing with calls and texts every few minutes. Then the times between just got longer and longer as they got the hint. It probably seems natural, right? Of course I don't want to come out. Of course I want some time to myself.

But I'm just waiting for my moment, and I think my moment is here. The phone starts buzzing again and I count to twenty, then it stops. If it doesn't ring again for another four minutes, I'm going to do it.

I'm leaving. I'm done.

Over the past several days, I've packed everything. Piece by piece, with long periods of time in between in case there are cameras in here, in case there are microphones. I couldn't just open every drawer and dump everything into a bag. I had to do it little by little.

Luckily, I was already about halfway there. But gathering everything from soap to shoes to cosmetics took some doing. I didn't want to arouse suspicion, didn’t want to find Nuncio with an ax taking down my door if Daddy figured it out.

It's been two minutes, and the phone hasn’t rung again. I stare at the backpack. After some thought, I decided one bag was all I needed. One backpack plus one purse with $12,000 in the bottom of it. That's it. It had better be enough.