Page 16 of Massimo

"Like I told my dear cousin, stay in your lane," I growl.

His jaw shifts, but he finally nods. "Has the princess eaten?"

"Not yet." I relax back. "But I'm not a complete asshole. Jerome is taking her some food and water."

"How long do you plan on keeping her down there?"

"As long as it takes."

He frowns. "What if she's not, you know…faking or whatever this is?"

"You turning into a softie?"

"Maybe," he grunts. "It's our first kidnapping of a woman."

"She's not a woman, Gabe. She's Mancini's daughter. The snake's spawn," I spit. "Let's not forget that."

He stands, his face unreadable, but I can see his faint disapproval. "As long as you remember that not every father is like Tommaso Santoro."

He turns to leave, but I stop him.

He pushes his hand through his hair. "Tommaso was ruthless when he had to be, but he was always fair. He brought you three up the same way; hell, me and Raf, too," he adds about Vito's second-in-command. "But not every father in this life coaches their offspring to be like them."

He turns to leave, and I don't stop him this time.

When my door closes, my eyes track back to the monitor and my enemy's daughter. My captive. My revenge.

Chapter 8

Nova

TheoldergentlemanthatMassimo called Jerome enters my cell. Goosebumps pepper my skin and I shake, but I don't ask for something warm, because history has taught me that will only bring more sadistic lessons to learn.

He sets a tray on the floor beside me, topped with a delicious-looking sandwich, an apple, and a generous slice of orange ricotta cake. Then he picks up the water bottle and hands it to me.

"Drink."

My hand shakes as I reach up to take it. I crack the seal and down it all.

He frowns. "I'll bring you another."

Then he leaves, and I stare at the food tray.

He didn't tell me to eat.

I'm starving, but I'm sure this is a test. I've been through this test before.

It was the first time my father had locked me in our basement's cold, damp cell. Mauro, his consigliere, had brought me a tray similar to this one, minus the cake. He left without saying anything, and I ate everything, every crumb. When my father came in, he tutted and shook his head, like I disappointed him. "You know you're not to eat until directed to."

I was always going to be short and petite, but I'm certain my father wanted to make sure my body size was to his specifications, hence thefood control. And because he was an asshole who thrived off other people's torment and pain.

As punishment for failing that test—because Mauro hadn't told me to eat; I only assumed I could since the tray was placed in front of me—I was left in that room for days without any food or water.

I ended up dehydrated and starving, but my father had the mob doctor take care of me, so no one knew about his abuse.

My stomach rumbles as I stare at the food, but I ignore the hunger pangs, having been forced to get used to them throughout the years. I was often hungry, waiting for my father's permission to eat and only eating the food he allowed.

Back in Italy, even though I was out from under my father's thumb, I still couldn't beat his conditioning. I only ate when and what the guards allowed me to. The last time I ate was a small meal before sneaking out to meet Gemma at the club. Therefore, it wouldn't take long to reach a severely compromised state.

---