Page 7 of Broken Princess

I’m bent over, my hands pulled forwards and strapped to the table with thick, rough leather cuffs. Ripping the blindfold from my face, he grabs my chin, wrenching my head back so I’m forced to meet his eyes.

“You never cease to impress me, wife. No one has ever withstood me. You truly are the best gift I’ve ever received.”

He releases my chin, and my eyes take in the view of his neatly hung tools on the back wall. I hear the clink as he undoes his belt. That’s one of my cues to leave, to slip away. But before I’ve fully checked out, I hear…

“Not only are you the perfect toy, but you are also such a dutiful wife. You will be the most spectacular mother. Breeding you, principessa, is my fucking pleasure…”

I feel the first ruthless thrust and then I withdraw to my haven.

Once introduced, our parents afforded us a long engagement—for an arranged marriage. Partially because I lost my mind at the suggestion of giving up my newly formed crew, but mostly because agreeing the terms of a merger this size takes a long damn time. Merging the two largest Cosa Nostra families on the East Coast was an involved process. Trying to agree the terms of truces, carve out territories for different business interests and solidifying hierarchies for our crews was an arduous task and stressed the already tenuous partnership.

If they’d invited just one woman to mediate the negotiations, they’d have resolved it in half the time. But I wasn’t about to point that out. I needed the extra time. Leading a crew had been my dream for years.

They let me live my dream until the day I got married.

We were engaged for three years, and we dated. Hell, I even believed I was in love. The only problem is, I fell in love with an illusion. And by the time I knew who I was married to, it was too late.

“Did you think you could keep this from me, principessa?”

He throws the pregnancy test across the room. I hear it ricochet off the wall then skitter across the floor. I stay silent. Any answer will be the wrong answer. He walks around the chair I’m bound to, pacing back and forth.

“You know, my father has insisted for so many years that your only worth is as a vessel to further our lineage. He promised that the moment this happened it would fill me with a pride beyond anything I could imagine; bringing another De Luca into the world.” He pauses, like he’s thinking about this. He tracks a hand down my neck, through the valley between my breasts, and stops at my navel, stroking it thoughtfully.

“I did so enjoy breeding you, princess.” His eyes flick to mine. “But my father overestimated my attachment to the De Luca name. He was wrong. Nothing compares to the pleasure you give me… and I will not share you. Not with anyone.”

Without warning, he strikes my stomach hard. Balling his fists, he lands blow after blow as I drift further and further away.

I’ve been married for four years. That’s forty-eight months he’s owned me. Two hundred and eight weeks he’s experimented on his favourite toy. For one thousand four hundred and fifty-eight days, I’ve wondered what will trigger the beast today. And every minute of every day I’ve fought with every fibre of my being to make sure I can do enough to make sure I always wake when he’s finished with me.

I’ve asked myself a million different times in an infinite number of ways. Why do you stay?

The answer is simply—for the greater good. My abominable marriage is the keystone of an unstable bridge between two warring territories. Without it, everything crumbles. If I left, Massimo De Luca would burn down the world. Not out of an all-consuming love for me, but driven by a burning hellfire of pure evil.

One day I’ll figure out what I need to destroy him, not simply survive him.

For now, the soft, deep melody has returned, and it pushes my consciousness out of my safe space.

I try to resist.

I need to stay here where I can protect myself, but it’s no use. I’m forced out of my head and lulled into a deep and restful sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

ENZO

Iopen the med-room door and find Sinclair slumped over the bed, snoring. Head lying on the bed at Aurora’s side with one arm outstretched, holding her hand. I wheel in the equipment Doc Em requested and leave Sin as he is. Standing on the other side of the bed, I study Aurora.

They’ve cleaned and treated her wounds. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. With the blood wiped away, the full extent of the injuries is startling. There’s not a square inch of skin unmarred. I’ve seen a lot of injuries, a lot of dead bodies, but rarely have I witnessed torture like this. Not even Nico inflicts this on his victims. It’s hard to look at, and that this is Aurora is even more jarring. She’s fucking royalty.

How did we not know about this? Her body is a tapestry of scars upon scars upon scars. This is years of abuse. Some marks are an angry red—newly healed and raised—but others are older. Glistening with a faded silver, almost like ghostly projections of everything she’s experienced.

I’ve been trying to get hold of Mateo, but he’s not answering. It’s common for someone in his position to be unavailable from time to time. But I’ve been calling his priority line for hours with no response. Several of his capos have proven just as elusive. My stomach lurches, but I don’t want to pay attention to this creeping dread settling in my gut. As incomprehensible as Max trying to kill his wife is, there’s no way he’d go after Mateo… would he?

With her eyes fluttering, she rolls her head towards Sin, as if she can sense a calming presence nearby. Her lids cease their movement, and her state seems to calm, leading me to believe he must actually soothe her somehow. Stepping back as quietly as I can, I leave for the corridor, and take the stairs.

Nico and Benny sit at the kitchen island, staring blankly at beers they’ve yet to open. They look shell-shocked. They’re significantly younger than Sin and me. Benny grew up with Aurora. He blows out a ragged breath. He folds his arms around himself and appears to shrink back a little, as if the weight of the evening is finally hitting him. Nico crosses to him around the counter and pulls him into his arms, running his hand down Benedict’s back.

Benedict has always been the only person to calm Nico’s soul, but when Benny’s hurting, Nico is his rock.

---