Page 48 of Capo

I freeze up, but despite my brain screaming at me to obey, my heart aches for this confused child and I push on, taking a chance.

“Do you want to show me your chair?”

He nods and stands, pointing to the one to the left.

“Can you show me where I can sit?”

David looks around the table, then his arm shoots out and he points to the chair opposite him, next to Salvatore on the other side. Filled with dread, I sink down at the same time as David sits.

“Thank you!” I smile at him, even though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “What is your favorite breakfast?” Then I lean in close to Salvatore, putting my mouth to his ear. “He will never learn. He will never adapt. To him, there’s safety in routines and it’s you who needs to adapt.”

Salvatore tightens his lips as he turns his head toward me, leaving us practically nose to nose. The fear makes my ears ring with a high-pitched sound, but I force myself to remain still.

“Is that so?” His voice is dark. His eyes darker.

I swallow hard. “You asked for my help. I’m helping.”

“I can’t recall doing any such thing.”

Exhaling shakily, I still refuse to budge. “He needs his father,” I whisper. “You need him.”

There is a promise of pain in his eyes, my pain, and still, as I say the words I know they’re true. There is a heart inside that broad chest, and it’s hurting. I shouldn’t care. I tell myself I don’t, but David is an innocent in all of this. He needs peace and balance. He doesn’t need his father’s firm hand, he needs his compassion.

His nostrils flare as his eyes dart between mine, then the moment passes and he leans back. “Eat!”

I spend the next thirty minutes devouring freshly baked bread we break off the loaf, butter melting as I spread it, strawberry jam, bacon and scrambled eggs, and a couple of cups of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. Keeping up small talk with David, even though he doesn’t talk back, I keep throwing nervous glances at Salvatore. My scarred back aches with the memory of his brutality when he lost all control. Sitting here, in this calm, bright room with him and his son is surreal and I keep wondering how I can hold on to this side of him for the rest of my time here, whether it be days, weeks or… years.

Salvatore pulls up his phone and types a quick message. The girl from before shows up within twenty seconds and the beast stands, grabbing my arm. I stumble to my feet, my stomach clenching. David looks between us and I smile at him, as if nothing is wrong, then I let myself be dragged out of the room. Once the door falls closed, he shoves me up against the nearest wall, grabbing my chin as he pushes against me.

“You think you know so much!” he snarls. I try to turn my head away but he’s not having it. “Look at me!” he roars.

My eyes dart to his. They are cold, black, and still filled with a thousand emotions. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, then he closes his face and takes a step back, letting me go.

“Tonight, I will sleep in my room. You will stop clenching your fucking thighs. You have exactly one week to beg me to fuck you or I’ll start cutting into your baby brothers and send their limbs to you in pretty parcels. You are to go down on all fours, like the bitch you are, and beg me to take you. Whenever I enter my room you will not only remove all your clothes, you will make yourself ready for me, or it will hurt.”

A sob escapes me as tears well up in my eyes. “Why?” My voice breaks on the one single word.

“Because you come here and tell me what to do with my own fucking kid. In my own house. Now move!”

“Please, don’t hurt him, Salvatore. Please!”

He scoffs. “I won’t hurt him. But I will hurt you!”

Sobs wrack my body as I stumble on numb legs. He pushes me inside the domain I’ve almost come to accept as my new home and slams the door closed, locking it from the outside. I fall into a heap and cry forever. I don’t understand.

Even when the tears finally dry out, I remain curled up, my thoughts sprawling in all different directions. I got to him. That must be it. Something I did, or said, hit home and he reacted in the only way he knows, lashing out. The realization isn’t comforting in the least. I had a few moments of hope this morning, walking through those beautiful rooms, a near-normal breakfast, only to have everything ripped away.

The rest of the day I go through the motions. I work myself beyond exhaustion in the gym. I shower. Change my outfit three times, trying to find something he would like, until I remember he wants me to rip it off the moment he enters. I brush my hair, try to make myself pretty, hoping it will please him enough to have some mercy, but I can’t hide my flushed cheeks, my cried-out puffy eyes.

Late that night my every nerve ending is raw and exposed, my stomach in knots, and finally the dreaded moment comes. It’s almost a relief. The door slams open. He oozes lethality, danger, and… raw desire. His tie hangs askew and he reeks of whiskey and cigars.

My breath hitches in my chest as I pull the shirt over my head and quickly shimmy out of the pants and thong. I fall to my knees before him, bracing myself for pain. I don’t think I’ve been so afraid in my life before, and that’s saying a lot. He stalks closer, holding my gaze, his eyes flashing. They are like dark voids and they’re sucking me in.

“Get me off.”

I swallow. My hands tremble as I unbuckle his belt, flick open the button and unzip his suit pants. I go on routine, my mind shutting down. I’ve done this so many times. As I reach for his cock, he pulls back and grabs my hair.

“Ah-ah. Don’t disappear. Be here. Touch yourself.”

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