Page 21 of Savage Don's Captive

My cock hardens instantly. Fuck. Her helplessness shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. I shift position, disguising discomfort as impatience. If the Commission even caught me sniffing around Russo’s daughter, they’d gut my chances at a button faster than I could take my next breath.

“Answer me,” TJ demands.

“Then please take the blindfold off.” Her voice softens, almost reasonable. “My hands are literally tied. Being able to see wouldn’t change anything.”

“What makes you think you’re in a spot to negotiate?”

“I’m in a spot to negotiate because I know you want answers.” She leans forward, confidence in every line of her body. “You want me to talk? Take the blindfold off.”

Beside me, Luca snickers, nodding with approval. Pride blooms in my chest before I can squash it. If she wasn’t the key to becoming made, I’d be laughing too. Isabella’s daughter through and through—pure fire.

TJ sighs, frustrated. “Ms. Russo, we’re not going to hurt you if you just cooperate.”

“Then take off my fucking blindfold.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Then good luck convincing me to talk.”

“You know we can do this without anyone bleeding, Alessandra,” TJ warns. “Otherwise, you have twenty nails I can pluck one by one, and about thirty teeth, just in case.”

My gut clenches watching TJ work. He loves the slow game—pulling nails, breaking fingers one knuckle at a time. Too fucking messy for my taste. I’m a bullet to the kneecap kind of guy. Clean. Gets results fast. Fucking ironic with Alessa’s bullet still burning a hole in my thigh. This bitch can shoot, I’ll give her that. People always talk when there’s enough pain involved. I’ve made grown men cry like babies with just a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. And for Marco Russo’s location? I’d have no problem getting creative with his daughter.

“The worst you can do is kill me,” she spits out. “Then good luck finding my dad without your bait.”

TJ leans in, voice dropping to that dead-calm tone that makes even made men sweat. “Sweetheart, death would be a mercy. I’ve kept men breathing for weeks while they begged me to end it. Your father’s location is worth at least five of your fingernails and maybe an eye.”

“Like I said, good luck making me talk.” The room falls silent, her defiance thick in the air. “Blindfold. Off.”

TJ glances at me, questioning. I nod once. Let her have this small victory. I want to see those eyes again.

TJ yanks off the blindfold, Alessa squints against the light, those green eyes adjusting before locking onto mine like heat-seeking missiles. Fuck. Something feral passes between us, that same raw electricity from when I had her pinned under me.

My cock stirs—remembering how she writhed, back arched—twisted fists as she fought against coming four years ago. Her teeth clamped into my shoulder, trying to muffle the sounds I forced from her throat—taking what she pretended not to want... ’til she begged for more.

I shake my head, forcing my attention back to the room as Cardo steps up—the new kid swaggers forward like he’s got a pair bigger than his brain. No uniform, no respect—just another punk thinking his knife skills make him untouchable. Sure, he can carve someone up pretty as a fucking Christmas ham, but his head’s so far up his ass he can’t see daylight. Piece of shit shows up drunk half the time, mouths off to TJ when he should be keeping his trap shut. One of these days I’m gonna put a bullet in him just to make a point. But for now, I need bodies that can follow orders—assuming this one lives long enough to figure out who the fuck is in charge.

“Who are you?” Alessa’s lip curls as she takes in Cardo.

“I get to ask the questions, sweetheart.” He spins a knife on his finger, showing off. Amateur move.

Alessa’s eyes track the blade, and for a split second, real fear flashes across her face. It vanishes instantly, replaced by manufactured courage, but I saw it. The first crack in her armor.

“Let me tell you something, Alessandra. We’re not bad people.” Cardo’s attempt at good cop makes me wince. He doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with. Isabella Russo’s daughter knows exactly what Cosa Nostra is capable of.

“Did Dominic send you?” Alessa’s voice drips with disdain. “I didn’t know he was taking in novices.”

Cardo’s face twitches. The kid’s twenty-one, a dropout with nothing but TJ’s misplaced faith keeping him alive. He’s spent his whole life trying to prove himself, failing every time.

“Careful how you talk to me, bitch.” He lunges forward, knife-first, ignoring my explicit orders. My jaw locks, rage building. “I can kill you right here, right now.”

My silent warning fills the room like a death sentence. Nobody fucking touches her. If that piece of shit draws even a drop of her blood, I’ll carve him up and feed him his own fucking fingers. She’s MINE to break. MINE to hurt. MINE to question. Fuck—where’d that come from? She’s just another job, another body I need information from—But my dick’s already staking its claim. Every muscle in me goes rigid watching that little prick put his hands on what belongs to me. It’s like watching some mangy stray try to mark my territory. I’ll gut him where he stands if he doesn’t back the fuck off. In this basement, I’m God, and Alessa is my property ’til I say otherwise.

“Then do it,” Alessa challenges, chin tilting up.

“Don’t fucking push me, Alessandra.” Cardo’s voice shakes. “We all know what your traitorous father did.”

“You don’t know shit.”

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