Page 30 of Owning Nicci

He hands back the wine list, and glances at me. A retort instantly rises to my lips, something sharp and cutting about how he didn’t bother to let me order anything for myself—not the wine or appetizer—but I swallow it back. He’s waiting for that. I can see it in his face. It’s clear that something pissed him off today, and I wonder if that’s why he brought me out with himtonight. He’s hoping that I’ll slip up—give him some excuse to take that irritation out on me.

I resolve not to give him anything to complain about. Not that he needs an excuse to punish me—I’mhis, after all. But I can make it so that he has no excuse other than his own selfish desire to use me for his needs. I can make sure that he can’t justify it to himself, and I know that will eat at him even more.

I know men like Savio. Men who thrive on power. He needs that power over me. Any chance that I get to undercut it, I will.

The wine and our appetizer arrive, and my stomach growls again, a little louder this time. Savio smirks, but he barely looks at me as the server pours two glasses of wine and steps away, leaving us to look at our menus.

“Are you going to order for me, or can I choose what I want?” I try to keep my tone as neutral as possible, to keep the sarcasm and resentment out of it. Savio looks up at me, that smirk dropping.

“You can order what you like,principessa.” There’s an expectant look on his face, and I know what I’m supposed to say next.

“Thank you, sir.” I force a smile, looking at the menu. It all looks delicious, and I can’t decide what I want. It’s been months since I’ve been out to eat like this, something I once took for granted, and now I feel ravenous to enjoy the luxury of dining out on expensive food and wine again.

I reach for the wine glass, taking a delicate sip. It’s delicious, smooth, dry, and rich, and I have to force myself not to moan. I haven’t had wine this good in ages. The salmon is delicious, too, sliced paper-thin with lemon and capers, and I carefully put a single piece on a slice of crostini, raising it to my lips. It’s heavenly.

Savio says nothing to me as he sips his wine, just watching me. It’s a bit unsettling, but it doesn’t stop me from eatinga second slice of salmon and sipping my own wine. I’m determined to enjoy this, especially since I have no idea when it will happen again.

The server comes back to take our orders—a Caesar salad and veal tortellini for me, filet with gorgonzola sauce and portobello mushrooms for Savio—and then Savio finally speaks, refilling his wine glass.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you out with me tonight,” he says neutrally, still watching me, as if he wants to catch my every reaction.

“I’m sure you have your reasons.” I take another sip of my wine. “Should I think about it? I assume you’ll do what you want, and I’ll obey you.”

“Because I have somethingyouwant.” That smirk tilts the corners of Savio’s mouth again, and I can tell that he’s enjoying reminding me of the power he has over me.

“You have the means to get to what I want.” I wonder if he’ll object to me taking a third slice of salmon.Fuck it.I have no idea when I’ll get out of that fucking room again. I reach for it, enjoying the buttery taste of it, the bite of the citrus on my tongue. I haven’t been eating badly—every meal Savio brings me is high-quality, probably delivered from one of the many restaurants in the area. But this is different. This is making me feel human again.

“What do you think I’ll do with you once we’ve both gotten what we wanted?” Savio asks, taking a bite of salmon himself. “Have you wondered about that?”

My throat tightens.How could I not have?Savio owns me. Whether I like it or not. "I’ve thought about what happens if I fail—if I can’t kill him and escape after I’ve taken everyone else out. I’ve wondered if he’ll kill me in retaliation or if he’ll just subject me to some hellish place like the Gilded Lily, forcing me to work off the debt of trying to take his life.

But I can’t say any of that to him, of course. I have to be very, very careful to keep him from suspecting how far my plans go. So instead, I try for a version of the truth. “A little,” I admit, because I don’t think he’ll believe that I haven’t thought about it at all. “I’m sure you’ll get tired of me eventually. You can’t send me back to my father or my brother, because they’ll be dead.” I smile tightly at him. “I thought you might sell me off to some friend. Put me to work somewhere. A maid, or something else.”

Something tightens in Savio’s expression when I mention him selling me off. Something that almost looks like anger, like a flash of the possessiveness that I’ve seen before. “Work is what I had in mind,” he says,almostcasually, but I hear that same tightness in his voice. “I’m sure I can find a use for you, when I’m finished with you. But I won’t be selling you to anyone else.”

I manage a smile. “Why not?” I’m pushing a little too hard, I know. Prodding at the edges of something that clearly burns him. But I can’t help it—I want to see him squirm, just a little.

His expression hardens. “Who would want you when I’m finished with you?” His smile is cold, cruel. “You’ll be so thoroughly used, pet, that no one else will want a turn.”

Anger flares up in me, hot and brutal, and I feel my fingers curl around my dinner knife. I imagine hurling it at him, I imagine lunging across the table, burying it in his throat. I think he sees the thought flicker across my face because he tenses, his gaze darkening to something as sharp and deadly as the fantasy I just had.

“Careful, pet,” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t want me to think that you can’t behave yourself in public.”

I swallow, forcing my fingers to loosen, just as the server comes back with our entrees. It’s a welcome distraction. Savio clearly picked up on my anger towards him, but what he didn’t see—and what I don’t want him to ever fucking know—is that I was angry with myself, too.

For just a moment, when he talked about how thoroughly he plans to use me, I feltexcitement.Arousal. I could feel myself getting wet, the thin lace of the panties he brought me clinging to my skin, and I hated it. Hated myself for wanting him—himfor making me feel that way.

I’m angry at both of us.

I pick up my fork, forcing myself not to look at him. The food is delicious—the veal is tender and spiced perfectly, the sauce creamy, the pasta pillowy soft. I take a small bite, and then another, sipping my wine, focusing on the taste, the sensation of pleasure that has nothing to do with Savio. Or at least…very little to do with him. For a moment, I can almost lose myself in the luxury of good food and wine, almost feel normal again—until I hear a woman’s voice coming towards us, one that I recognize.

I don’t need to look to know who it is. It’s Estella Gallo, Antony Gallo’s daughter. She was there at the last party I went to—before my life fell apart. She saw me publicly humiliated. She saw the man my father had arranged for me to marry—after Dimitri refused to accept the engagement, after my father had set it up to ensure that the proposal would be public, a means of restoring our social standing after what my failure with Dimitri did.

I can’t let her see me here, with Savio. I can hear her voice coming closer, hear the click of her heels, and I can’t think straight. Panic washes over me, and before I can remind myself that angering Savio is far worse than being embarrassed, that I could lose everything that way, I bolt upright out of the chair.

Savio says something, but I don’t hear what it is, my blood pounding in my ears. The hallway that leads to the ladies’ room is in the opposite direction of Estella, on the other side of the restaurant, and I bolt for it, weaving through tables and away from her as quickly as I can. All I can think of is that I need to get away.

I bolt into the ladies’ room, which is blessedly empty right now. It has a small lounge area separate from the toilets, and I drop down onto the tufted couch against the wall, trying to regulate my breathing. I feel like I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, and I don’t know how to calm myself down. For a moment, I don’t know if I’ll be able to. It feels like everything is rushing back up—all the fear and pain and abuse of the last months—all of the humiliation and disappointment—and I feel a scream clawing up my throat, desperate to be let out.

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