Page 14 of Massimo

Chapter 6

Nova

Igripthehandrailon the way down to the basement. I'm under no illusions; I know what awaits me down here.

I've walked down stairs like this before. They lead to a dark, cold, damp space where I'll be held for punishment.

For my father, the punishment might be because I didn't wear the right dress, or that my hair wasn't perfect enough, or that I made direct eye contact and embarrassed him in front of someone.

For Massimo, the punishment seems to be because of who I am and because he suspects me. From his intense studying of me and the narrowing of his eyes, it's like he senses the spark of fight that flared to life in his presence that I instantly tried to smother.

Yes, I'm terrified of him—his malice and menacing hate demands that of me. But for some insane reason, I felt an urge to fight back. To show Massimo I'm not the broken shell my father had created when he carved my guts out with his hateful lessons to mold the princess he wanted.

Gabe touches my back, and I startle. I realize I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, my feet not wanting to go further.

"Don't fight the monsters, princess," my father's hateful voice hisses in my head.

I step forth, seemingly willing to face my doom. I curl my shoulders forward and wrap my arms around my waist as I force my feet to move.

It's an open space at the bottom of the stairs, with a hallway leading off to one side. I don't need to be told where to go; I walk down the dimhallway, imagining the screams of the previously doomed souls who have graced this basement.

My throat is parched. It's so dry that I can hardly swallow, and my breaths are shallow pants.

Goosebumps cover my exposed skin. I'm glad Gemma left me in my soft suede romper; while my arms and shoulders are exposed, the thick material on my torso and legs will help me retain some body heat at least. And this basement isn't as cold and damp as the basement cell back in my father's hellish house.

Whenever this was my punishment, my father ensured I wore light clothing to make my suffering more potent. I had almost died once of hypothermia when he left me down there in the Boston winter. At least Massimo let me keep these warm-ish clothes. I'll be cold but not freezing.

Yeah, Nova, what a fucking gem.

Stop,I warn myself. I stomp down on the snarky girl who still lives within the beaten-down young woman. That snarky girl is stupid and naïve to think that her attitude and rebellious actions—herfireandfight—will help her survive the monsters around her.

"Here." Gabe's big, scarred hand pushes open a door. His neck has a vicious scar down it, and I suspect more of his body is scarred. There's nothing weak about this man; just like Massimo, this man is huge, lethal, and could kill me without blinking.

I step inside the room and my breath catches. It's dark.

Please don't leave me in the dark, I almost whimper.

To be made to sit in the pitch-black endlessly is the worst form of psychological torture for me. Give me a cold cell, or withhold my food any day; just not the pitch-black darkness.

However, I swallow the plea because my captors won't listen, and it will only give them insight into new ways to break me.

A light flicks on, illuminating the space. Gabe inclines his chin, silently telling me to go into the room.

He leaves the light on, and I walk in, scanning around, but there isn't much to see. It's a barren stone room with no windows. A set of rings is attached to the wall, and I glance quickly away, knowing they're there tochain captives. There's another room off this one; no door separates it, and it's dark.

Swallowing hard, I turn to face Gabe. His face is as unreadable as Massimo's. I only caught glimpses of Massimo's emotions—rage and hate—so I wasn't complaining that I didn't get to see more.

Gabe points at the dark room. "There's a toilet in there."

A real five-star joint, ain't it?

Shut. Up.

Gabe stands there studying me like Gemma had done on the plane. No doubt, wondering what the hell is wrong with me, and why I'm being so compliant and quiet.

A normal person would be screaming, trying to make a run for it. Or asking questions like,what do you want with me? What do you plan to do with me? How long do I have to stay down here? Can I have a blanket?

I want to ask those questions, but I know they won't be answered. And with father, if I asked any questions, he'd see that as me having a backbone, which he'd feel the need to crush. So, I swallow the questions that will only lead to more punishment andlessons.

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