Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance(20)

“Sit back down,” he hissed. “Now.”

“Fuck. You. I’m going to take a shower.”

I heard his chair scrape back, and I started to run for the stairs, all the while wondering what the hell I was doing. Where I was going. He had the key to the lock. It’s not like I could hide. What was I doing?

Salvatore caught up with me. I didn’t even really fight him when he took my arm and dragged me up the stairs with him.

“You want a shower? Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll take you to have that fucking shower if my stuff is so irritating.”

“Let me go.”

He hauled me to my bedroom and into the bathroom. There he released me. I backed into a corner, his fury suddenly frightening.

“Get in the shower,” he said, reaching for the collar of my blouse and tearing it down the middle.

I screamed, trying to push him back, knowing it was impossible.

“You wanted a shower.”

“I’ll do it,” I said as he popped the buttons off my shorts and yanked the zipper down. “Please. Just—”

“In the shower!”

He shoved me into the shower, even though I still wore my bra and panties.

“Let me go. I’ll do it, I promise.” He stopped and brought his face within an inch from mine.

“You don’t have to promise. I know you’ll do it.”

He switched on the water, and I recoiled from the cool spray that hit one side of my arm.

Tears burned my eyes, and I cursed the drops that fell.

“Take off your bra and panties,” he said, pushing his hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I will. Just go, okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

His breath was audible, his lips tight, the look on his face telling me he was trying hard to get himself under control.

“I have to pee. Let me pee.” I tried, hoping that would convince him to leave. Using that moment to reason with him. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Some battle raged behind his eyes, and next thing I knew, he had me shoved against the shower wall, one hand wrapped around my throat. I grabbed his forearm, trying to pull him off. He reached over and switched off the water, drenching one side of his T-shirt in the process.

“Piss.”

“Wh…what?”

With his wet hand, he pushed my panties down to midthigh. “Piss.”

“Salvatore…”

“Fucking. Piss. You want me to leave you alone? I will. But first, you piss.”

We stood staring at each other, his eyes dark with anger, mine, maybe the look of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck? I didn’t know what to do, whether or not to try to reason with him. I didn’t know him. That fact well and truly hit me for the first time, right here, right now. He was the son of a mafia boss next in line to succeed him. I’d seen he was armed at my father’s funeral. This man knew violence, it was his world. What horrors had his eyes seen? What atrocities had his hands committed?

In this moment, he was truly and utterly terrifying.

I let my arms fall to my sides, no longer fighting against tears, and I did what he said. I pissed. He glanced down for a second, then returned his gaze to mine. As warmth trailed down my legs, he released his hold around my throat and stepped back, blinking as if coming out of a stupor, shaking his head. I slid down and sat on the shower floor, watching him as he looked at me, the rage all but dissipated now, as if evaporated into thin air, replaced by…remorse?

Salvatore walked out of the bathroom, and I heard the bedroom door close. I rose and started the shower, stripped off the rest of my clothes, and stood under the warm flow, weeping, a sense of loss so all encompassing, so whole, it physically hurt.





6





Salvatore




I left.

I walked out of the house and to the six-car garage, a building separate from the main house. Taking the keys from the locked box by the door, I chose the Bugatti and climbed inside. I turned the key, the engine crisp and sharp in the early morning quiet. The gates opened, and the tires squealed as I left the property and drove onto the lonely single-lane road. I opened it up then, enjoying the rush as my body pressed back into the seat, the car’s powerful engine roaring, taking the turns tightly, my foot pressing harder and harder on the accelerator.

Who the fuck was I? What in hell had I just done, humiliating Lucia like that? Hurting her. Christ. Fuck.

I was a monster.

I inhaled and exhaled short, audible breaths, my stomach tight, the muscles of my arms clenched as I fisted the steering wheel hard.

She got under my skin. This barely twenty-one-year-old woman whom I fucking owned got under my fucking skin every single fucking time. I needed to control her for so many reasons. But I couldn’t do it this way. Fuck. I’d scared the piss out of her, literally. Her eyes—they hadn’t accused me. No. They’d been terrified of me.