Page 80 of Sweet Prison

As I’m passing by the walk-in closet, I catch my reflection in the mirrored doors. Other than a few swaths of my breasts and shoulders covered by strands of tangled hair, my whole body is on display. The room is bathed in morning light, making every mark glaringly visible. It never even crossed my mind to drape a sheet around myself to cover up.

“Admiring yourself, angel?” Massimo smirks as he comes to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I tilt my head, zeroing in on the patches of lighter skin around my eyes, then shift my gaze lower. To larger pale areas on my chest. Then, to a few prominent stretch marks from my breasts growing way too fast when I was seventeen. To a few others on my hips—hips that are too wide to fit the accepted beauty standard.

Slowly, my gaze returns to my face, this time focusing on my eyes. Nose. Lips. My sister has always told me that I’m pretty, but I’ve never believed her. I couldn’t see beyond my imperfections because, deep down, I didn’t like who I was inside. Skittish. Scared. Someone who’d rather avoid confrontation than stand up for herself.

Well, I’m not that person anymore.

I meet Massimo’s stare in the mirror. His eyes burn with unabashed desire. Judging by his hard cock pressing against my back, he likes what he sees. And, surprisingly, for the first time in my life, I do too.

“I guess I am,” I say.

“Good.”

His left palm slowly glides up my stomach. It’s not as flat as I would like it to be, but the urge to tighten the muscles under my soft curves doesn’t materialize.

Massimo’s hand drifts higher, squeezing my breast lightly before shifting the locks of my hair resting over the swell to behind my back. Inked fingers glide up my chest and neck to settle on my face, cradling my chin.

“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?” Words whispered just next to my ear. “Every time I look at you?”

“Yes,” I admit.

His lips graze my forehead. Right over the large patch of pale skin above my eye. The spot I’ve always despised.

“You’re perfect. Unique. Flawless. Inside and out.” Abandoning his hold around my middle, he lets his right hand move lower. “I could admire your beauty every day, and a lifetime of that wouldn’t be enough.” He slides his finger across my folds, making me gasp. “I could tell you how gorgeous you are, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather express my admiration with my tongue.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t mind at all.”

The midday breeze blows through the trees, rustling the leaves. It’s so gentle there’s no actual sound, yet I can still hear it. After nearly twenty years of nothing closer to nature than a patch of trampled grass in the prison yard, these forest melodies are a welcome intrusion. I stop and take a deep breath of the fresh Vermont air before continuing my stroll toward the rickety dock at the edge of a small pond.

A white-haired, heavyset man wearing a blue-checked shirt and green camo pants is lounging in an Adirondack chair, throwing breadcrumbs into the water. Completely relaxed. He’s enjoying the tranquility all around him and doesn’t even register the squeak of wooden planks when I step onto the dock.

“You’re a hard man to find, Your Honor.”

Judge Collins startles in his seat, then labors to rise from it as fast as his girth allows. The bag of breadcrumbs falls from his hand, landing in the water. Immediately, a ruckus eruptsfrom a flock of nearby geese. The birds flap their wings and honk obnoxiously as they attack the remnants of their meal. The previously serene scene transforms into a wilderness madhouse. It’s quite a backdrop to the petrified stance of the judge. He still hasn’t found the nerve to face me.

“Been a long time since we saw each other last,” I add as I walk to the end of the dock and stop just behind him. “Seventeen and a half years, to be exact.”

Slowly, an ashen-faced Collins turns around. Despite the day not being overly hot, there’s a line of perspiration clinging to his hairline. The bastard has aged. And not in a good way. Or maybe it’s being scared shitless that’s making him look like he’s already got a foot in the grave.

“I-I… It wasn’t…” he stutters, eyes locked on the holster peeking out from inside my unbuttoned suit jacket. “I had no choice. I’m s-sorry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Pulling the chair toward me and turning it sideways, I step around and sit my ass on the wide armrest. Collins follows my actions with wide, frantic eyes. He doesn’t move a muscle, just stands there at the edge of the dock, looking rather comical in his backwoods outfit.

“No other choice.” Crossing my ankles, I lean on the solid edge. “So, what was the one you did have?”

He swallows. Loudly. His eyes dart back to my gun. “A max sentence for you or my ties to the Mafia would be exposed.”

“I see. Who made the offer?”

“I don’t know. I swear. There… I… I received a note. It wasn’t signed, and I have no idea who sent it. The instructions demanded a full-term imprisonment, without a possibility ofparole. They… they had a list of everything I did on behalf of Cosa Nostra.”

I smile. “That must have been quite a list.”

“Please. It wasn’t my fault. I… I did what I could for you. I took a risk by only sentencing you to eighteen instead of the maximum of twenty years.”

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