Page 43 of Married to the Mafia

I know the place is guarded well, but so was Ricardo’s and he got me in and out of there via the roof. Maybe I can do the same.

I have to get out of here. I woke up this morning feeling sick. I knew at once that last night was a mistake. It’s like getting drunk and then waking up with a hangover. Only this time, it wasn’t waking up to find my two best friends had carried me home and tucked me into bed.

This time I woke up feeling a dull ache between my legs from where he’d slammed into me. My throat was sore from him shoving himself into my mouth.

I was naked in bed and I sat up, knowing it was a lot worse than a hangover. I don’t know what to call it. Maybe asexover. The sex is over and I know it was a dumb thing to do.

I got caught up in the lust of the moment. He’s an ice cold killer and letting him do that to me was the stupidest thing I could have done.

The original plan vanished from my mind the moment he touched between my legs. The plan was to fuck him long enough for him to lower his guard and then scratch his eyes out, sneak out, and get help before he even had time to react.

Instead, I let it happen and then I fell asleep, and he left. I lay in bed with the remnants of his desire all over me and I fell asleep dreaming of a blissful life with him.

I woke up this morning, and the sexover was right there, so much worse than a hangover. I can’t have a life with him. He’s a criminal. It could never work.

What I need to do is get out of here, go get help. Get him arrested and then get back to my normal life. I put a pair of jeans on and a plain white top. I don’t want to look appealing. I want him to think he’d be better off without me. I want him to want me gone.

Or do I?

It’s a sign of how little I’m thinking straight. I can’t imagine anything except my life going back to normal. It wouldn’t, of course. Ricardo would come for me. He’s reminded me of that.

If I go to the authorities and get into some kind of witness protection, it still won’t mean a life that’s normal. I’ll forever be looking over my shoulder, using a fake name, never seeing my friends or family again.

So I talk and try not to think about anything beyond getting gone. Finding a way out of this place and getting back home.

There’s a tiny part of me that wishes he’s right. I wish my father is the Capo dei Capi. If that is the case, he could protect me. Tell Dino to leave me the fuck alone.

He’s not though. He’s just a fisherman who probably has no idea where I am. No one is coming to help me. I need to help myself.

“What do you want to do with your life?” Dino asks me.

“Become a dog trainer,” I reply, glancing across at the door. It’s open. Can I make a run for it? How fast is he?

When I came out of the basement this morning, I was sure I could get by him, but he was too fast. He’s still got a scratch on his cheek from my attempts to break free.

I hate him. I look at his handsome face, so indifferent to the hell he’s putting me through. He just sits there sipping coffee and chatting to me like we’ve just started dating.

My husband. A sick joke if ever there was one. I can’t do this. I can’t be married to him. I’m too young. I always said I would marry for love, but look at me. I’m hitched to him.

It would be easier if he wasn’t so good looking. Or if he’d yell at me. He’s being so kind and talking in such a nice voice, it makes it hard to think about stabbing him and running for it. But he kidnapped me.

There is nothing consensual about any of this. I’m trapped here because of him and it’s only by fighting him that I’ll get free. I need to focus. And not on thoughts of last night.

“Ever been abroad?” he’s asking.

“Never. Always wanted to go to Rome.”

“That can be arranged.”

When I look at his lips, I think of him kissing me last night, and tingles run through me. Don’t think about kisses.Don’t think about a vacation in Rome, holding hands and sneaking down alleyways for him to give me commands. Ordering me to remove my panties or flash my tits at him across a crowded street.

Don’t think about that. Think about getting out of here. Work out how to get gone. That’s what matters, not submitting to his commands and bending over for him to spank my ass bright red.

“You always lived in Gordon’s Cove?”

“All my life.”

“Like it?”

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