Page 7 of The Brat's Bargain

This was insane. He was practically a prisoner here, at the mercy of one of the most dangerous men in Chicago. He should be terrified, should be plotting his escape. Instead, he found himself aching for Damien's return, craving the older man's touch like a drug.

As the hours ticked by, sleep eluding him, Antonio realized with growing dread that he was in way over his head. He was playing a game he didn't fully understand, with stakes higher than he could imagine.

But as his hand drifted lower, seeking relief from the maddening ache Damien had ignited, Antonio found he didn't much care. Let the game begin. At least he'd have some fun before it all went up in flames.

CHAPTER 3

NEW RULES

Antonio woke to the gentle caress of silk sheets against his bare skin, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar luxury. As consciousness crept in, so did the memories of the night before. The casino, Rizzo, Damien's "rescue"... and the deal he'd made with the devil himself.

He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"Rise and shine, pet." Damien's voice, low and amused, cut through Antonio's self-pity. "Time to start your new life."

Antonio peeked out from under the covers, his breath catching at the sight before him. Damien stood at the foot of the bed, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that clung to his muscular frame like a second skin. His ice-blue eyes raked over Antonio's form, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Fuck off," Antonio mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head. "It's too early for your smug bullshit."

In an instant, the covers were ripped away. Antonio yelped as the cool air hit his skin, scrambling to cover himself.

Damien's hand shot out, gripping Antonio's chin and forcing him to meet that piercing gaze. "Lesson number one, pet. You don't tell me to fuck off. Ever. Unless you want a reminder of just who's in charge here."

Heat pooled in Antonio's belly at the threat, equal parts arousal and indignation. He jerked his face away, glaring up at Damien. "I'm not your fucking pet. I have a name, you know."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Damien's face. "Oh, I know your name, Antonio Lombardi. I also know that as of last night, you belong to me. And I'll call you whatever I damn well please."

He released Antonio's chin, stepping back. "Now get up. We have a busy day ahead, and I won't have you lazing about like some pampered prince."

Antonio bristled at the command but found himself obeying despite himself. He slid out of bed, acutely aware of Damien's eyes on him as he stretched.

"There are clothes for you in the closet," Damien said, his voice deceptively casual. "I expect you dressed and ready in fifteen minutes. Don't make me come fetch you."

With that, he strode out of the room, leaving Antonio alone with his racing thoughts and uncomfortably tight boxer briefs.

Exactly fourteen minutes and thirty seconds later, Antonio emerged from the bedroom. He'd chosen the most modest outfit he could find—dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt that still managed to cling to his lean frame in all the right places.

Damien was waiting for him in the expansive living area, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. His eyes swept over Antonio's form, a flicker of approval in their icy depths.

"Cutting it close, pet," he drawled. "But I suppose I can forgive your tardiness. This time."

Antonio rolled his eyes, sauntering over to the coffee pot with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "How generous of you. I'm overcome with gratitude."

As he reached for a mug, Damien's hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist. "Ah ah," he chided. "You haven't earned your caffeine yet. Sit. We need to discuss the rules."

Antonio's temper flared. "Rules? What am I, five?"

Damien's grip tightened, just shy of painful. "You're whatever I say you are, pet. And right now, you're a bratty little sub who needs to learn his place. Now sit. Before I put you over my knee and teach you the hard way."

A jolt of heat shot straight to Antonio's groin at the threat. He wrenched his arm free, stomping over to the couch with as much defiance as he could muster. "Fine. Let's hear these oh-so-important rules of yours."

Damien settled into an armchair across from him, every inch the mafia prince on his throne. "It's quite simple, really. You'll do as I say, when I say it. No arguments, no backtalk. You'll address me as Sir or Mr. Benedetti in public. In private... well, we'll work up to that."

He leaned forward, eyes glittering with dark promise. "You'll wear what I tell you to wear, eat what I provide, sleep when and where I allow. Your body is mine to use as I see fit. And you will not, under any circumstances, attempt to contact your family or leave this penthouse without my express permission. Is that clear?"

Antonio's mouth went dry, his heart pounding in his chest. This was insane. He couldn't possibly agree to this, to give up every shred of his autonomy.

And yet... the thought of submitting to Damien, of letting the older man take control... it sent a thrill through him that he couldn't quite ignore.

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