Page 152 of Sin & Sapphire

I made myself a cup of coffee, black when he didn’t offer cream or sugar, and swallowed it down, my soaked underwear chafing against my sore ass.

“Eggs are in the fridge, so’s bacon,” Boris said.

I laughed. “I don’t know how to cook.”

He cocked his head at me. “All the mafia women know how to cook.”

I scoffed. “My mother knew how to cook, but I sure as fuck don’t.” I remembered Valentin’s care when I admitted it.

“Fucking useless,” Boris swore. “Good for your cunt and that’s it.”

I winced, his words striking true. That’s what my men had thought, no matter how strong they’d made me. Luca had even offered to marry me to take me off the board.

Not because he loved me.

None of them wanted me because they cared about me as a person.

And that hurt more than anything else.

“Since you can’t cook, you can give me something to look at while I do,” Boris said. “Strip.”

I did, ignoring the rush of embarrassment as I pulled down my panties, careful not to further wet my dress from the piss still drying on my legs. Once I’d removed my bra, I stood there proudly as Boris’s eyes roved over me.

“Nice tats,” he sneered. “Pierced like a cheap whore, I see. Take your piercings out.”

“Once we’re married, we can talk about that. Until then, they stay.”

To my surprise, Boris laughed, his face lighting up. “Promises, promises. We’ll laser remove your tattoos as well. I want my wife sweet and biddable and able to wear whatever I tell her without shame.”

Valentin hated me. Thought I was a spoiled brat who didn’t appreciate a damn thing in my life. But he’d never made me feel like the art I’d made of my body was anything less than beautiful. Angelo didn’t care—he liked the tattoos. And Luca appreciated my body exactly for what it was.

No.

I wouldn’t mourn what I’d lost.

I couldn’t.

I’d break.

That night,Boris joined me in my cell once again. He’d provided sweatpants and a T-shirt, noting that he did not give a fuck what I wore when he wasn’t around—my only purpose was his pleasure.

“Strip,” he’d said, his voice flat and bored. Quickly, I peeled out of my clothes, wincing at the scent of my body. I’d done my best to scrub down in the half-bath I was allowed to use when he wasn’t around, but it hadn’t been enough.

“Bend over,” he commanded.

I did, trying not to flush as he stared at me, his heated gaze coating me like a layer of filth I couldn’t wipe off.

The crack of the whip behind me shocked me as much as the searing pain when the leather cut into my upper thighs. I howled in agony before I cut the noise off with a strangled yelp.

“Make some noise,” Boris encouraged me. “Show me how much you love what I’m doing to you.”

Love it? No. This was nothing like the loving pain that Valentin inflicted, designed to entrance and ensnare rather than simply hurt.

“It fucking hurts,” I snapped.

The whip cracked again, and I bit back a startled shriek as it sliced into my other thigh. I could feel a trickle of blood, and my eyes widened. What the fuck had I got myself into?

“You dumb slut,” Boris chuckled. “You had no idea what you were in for, did you?” His echo of my thoughts sent me spiraling. “Stupid mafia princess, thinks she’s smart enough to outsmart someone who’s been doing this since long before she was born? No wonder they’re giving you up without a fucking word.”

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