Page 14 of Sinister

“Next time you go home, I’m coming with you. You can’t leave me here on my own.” I grab the wooden spoon out of her hand, scoop up some sauce, and blow on it to cool it before I taste it. “Perfection as always.”

“Have you been having trouble sleeping again?” She looks at me concerned.

I nod as I swallow the burning hot sauce. “Not every night.”

My nightmares come and go. But they’re less nightmares about my childhood these last few years and more vivid dreams that feel too real where I wake up in a pool of sweat, heart thrumming in my chest and my hand between my legs. It’s fucking mortifying not knowing what kind of noises I make as I come to the brink of getting myself off unknowingly. The only person I have told is my girl bestie, Saskia, who loves to tease me about it endlessly.

“Oh, sweetheart, these will pass as time goes on.” Vecchia rubs my back in reassurance.

I smile at her and hope no one ever finds out what my nightmares are really about. “I have to get ready for a party but please put some dinner aside for me to eat when I get home later tonight or else Sin will eat it all. I love you.” I blow her a kiss as I race off upstairs to get ready.

I scrub and shave every surface, nook and cranny on my body before I jump out of the shower, towel off and squeeze myself into my slutty nun costume. The corset makes my tits look huge and my waist look tiny. Well, as tiny as it’s ever going to be because I love my pasta and cake.

The light switches off as I’m applying my mascara in my ensuite. An ensuite that is larger than my childhood bedroom, decorated with gold fittings, marble tiles imported from Italy, and a lavish jacuzzi. I live in a fairy-tale mansion, complete with two butlers, and maids that scurry around in a frantic state ensuring everything is perfect.

“Fuck you,” I growl as the mascara wand pokes me in the eye, no doubt ruining my eye makeup.

I can feel his presence behind me. His dark allure and menacing glare makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. I glance in the mirror and see his shadowed silhouette highlighted by the light in my bedroom. His body takes up most of the doorway as he stands there trying to irritate me. I have no fucking idea why he thinks he can waltz into my room as he pleases, but he does it nearly on a daily basis.

“Turn it back on.” I wipe the wetness away from under my eye with my fingers.

I missed the moment he moved from the doorway, and I can now feel the heat from his body pulsate against my bare skin.

“Do you think you look good in this?” His husky voice washes over me, sending irritation through my veins.

“Turn the fucking light back on.” I move forward until my hips are pressed against the marble counter, putting as much distance between us as I can.

“Do you know what happens to girls who wear shit like this?” He whispers ever so lightly against my ear.

“No. But I’m sure you’re going to fucking tell me.”

Glancing down at my nun costume I picked for the party tonight, I don’t see anything wrong with it. It’s a party that is invite only where you come dressed as your worst nightmare and seeing as I’m terrified of churches after my parent’s death, I thought it was fitting. Besides, I don’t think going dressed in a suit splattered with fake blood and a balaclava would have the same effect as this corset.

He steps forward pressing against my back, his fingers pinch the ample flesh that sits over the tight corset. “Bad things happen. Bad things to good little girls.” His dark chuckle vibrates against me.

“You’re not funny, asshole. Turn the light back on.” I jut my ass out in an attempt to push him away from me, but it backfires.

His large hands grab my hips and he digs his fingers into the soft flesh, the pain is instant as his grip tightens. I hear a low hiss escape him while he holds me still so I can’t move again.

“Do that again and you’ll hate the consequences.” His voice is laced with smoky honey that fogs my brain. He has perfected the art of luring his prey in with just the tone of his words, all husky and deadly, demanding attention. “Your mail is on your bed,” he growls before he lets go of my hips and disappears to whatever dark corner of the house he emerged from.

I move and switch the light back on, waiting for him to come back. He doesn’t. After I fix my eyeliner and apply some slutty red lippy, I retreat back into my bedroom. I notice the door is still open and I can hear the dull thud of the bass as it echoes up the hallway from his room. He’s pissed. He always listens to his shitty music extremely loud when he’s in one of his moods.

Growing up, Sin was always in some sort of bad mood. If he wasn’t getting sent home from school for fighting, then he was smashing shit up in the garage in one of his unhinged rages. I don’t know what made him like this, and I know his mom has tried to get him the help he needs, but he never shows up to appointments. I’ve heard her and Papa V. fighting over their beloved son on many occasions. It makes me sad for her, she loves her son more than life itself.

I spot the postage parcel on my bed, placed neatly in the center. Eyeing it carefully as though it’s about to explode into flames, I walk toward my bed, my heart thunders in my chest.

Kneeling on my bed, I pick up the package and turn it over. With shaking hands, I rip the package open and hold the small black velvet box in my palm with red scrawl across the top reading ‘One finger for beginners’. My heart stammers as I slowly open it to reveal a long shiny gold item. I pick it up out of the box and turn it over to realize it’s a mould of a fucking finger. His finger. The grotesque lengths this sick stalker goes to is astounding.

“Fuck!” I fumble with the box and the finger as it begins to vibrate in my fingertips. Dropping it and scrambling off the bed, I stare at it as it quietly hums on my satin sheets. Panic sets in at the thought of someone walking in and seeing it on the bed in all its gold vibrating glory.

Jumping back on the bed, I snatch it up and marvel at the size of this guy’s finger. If this is this big, I can’t imagine how big his cock is. I turn it over and over in my hands until I finally find its off switch, placing it carefully back in the box and shoving it in the dark depths of my sock drawer hopefully never to be seen again.

I ignore the music that echoes down the hall and text Saskia that I’m heading to her place to pick her up. Saskia is my ride or die. The buttercream to my cupcake. We’ve been besties since we could walk. Saskia’s dad is the head of the Russian chapter here in New York. The Romanov’s and the Vitiello’s have a mutual respect that dates back generations. No blood is spilled between the two organizations.

I grab my keys and head down the grand staircase to see Rome and Chaser waiting in the front foyer, shoving handfuls of fries into their mouths straight from the brown paper bags.

“What are you guys doing here?” I skip across the expensive marble floor, my Valentino heels clicking loudly.

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