Page 65 of Morally Corrupt

"Enzo…" I say again, with a little more frustration than before.

"I have to say I didn't expect Martin's daughter to look like this." One of his hands comes up to my face to caress my cheek, and I catch it mid-air.

"I must remind you I'm married."

"So what? So am I." I purse my lips. This won't be easy.

"Yes, but unlike you, I love my husband." I try again to move past him, but he has me caged.

"I loved my wife too…" he almost whispers. "And yet that didn't stop her, or me for that matter." Why do I feel like there's more to their marriage than meets the eye?

"I can't give you what you want, Enzo." I try to be more direct, hoping he will understand.

"And that's exactly why I'll enjoy the challenge. Must admit." His hand goes to my throat, slowly tracing from one side to the other. "I've never had a lady killer before. You got me curious… How will you taste?" His head dips down, and before his lips meet my skin, I manage to flip him around so that he's the one backed into the wall. He laughs.

"I knew you were feisty."

"You're not used tono, are you?" I ask.

"Can't say I am." He's still sporting an amused expression. He's playing me. He hasn't even tried to overpower me.

"Then, I should make it clear. I am not interested. I am not playing hard to get." I enunciate each word.

He studies me for a few seconds, probably deciding the veracity of my words, and then he smiles again.

"Don't worry,cara, I don't force myself on women. Should you ever tire of your husband, though…"

"Yeah, sure, I'll give you a call," I reply sarcastically before stepping away from him and watching him leave.

I don't understand what his game is. Enzo Agosti is an enigma. And I don't like enigmas.

23

THEO

"What the hell, Bianca? Do you realize what I just agreed to?" I bellow when we're back in her childhood room. She's currently sitting on the bed, staring towards the wardrobe, but not seeing anything.

"You killed your nanny?" I ask, disgusted by what I'd learned. "At fucking ten years old?" The more I learn about her, the more I realize I have no idea who the woman in front of me is.

I'm pacing the room, shouting expletives, but she just remains silent, her face blank.

"Say something for God's sake," I plead. "Just say something!"

There's a momentary silence where we just stare at each other, breathing hard from my frustration and Bianca looking entirely unbothered by anything.

"I was eight," she finally says. "I was eight when she started being too friendly with me." I look at her, a feeling of dread taking shape in my gut. Please let it not be what I think it is…

"Before that, she never bothered me. She said I was a devil child and that no one could save me. I didn't really care whether she interacted with me or not; at least she wasn't in my space. I think it happened when she realized that no one cared about me or what happened with me…"

I finally go over to the bed and sit, putting my hand on top of hers to comfort her.

"At first, it was just light touches. She would undress me and study me. And when I'd refuse, she'd hit me. I didn't back down for a long time, but I think at some point, I realized that the pain wasn't really worth it. It was just a few minutes of her touching me. Nothing more. I could just bear it and think of something else. But then, one day, she brought her boyfriend with her." The way she recounts the events is mechanic, but I can see her left eye twitching as she stares at the wall. She is affected.

My heart weeps for what I know she's about to say, yet I have to listen.

"She ordered me to sit on my knees, naked, and with my arms raised in front of the bed." She points to the spot in front of the bed we're currently sitting on, and I don't even want to imagine a young Bianca doing that.

"I didn't know what was happening back then. I was too young. They made me sit like that while they had sex on my bed. I couldn't move or make any sounds until she allowed me to. I had to watch them rut like animals for minutes on end. When their grunts stopped, I was almost afraid of what would follow…"

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