Page 17 of Massimo

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. I've already cried long enough. I'm sure I gave my captor a nice show for his depraved entertainment.

I lower my forehead to my knees and try to imagine myself somewhere warm, any place but here.

I'm unsure how much time passes as my mind drifts, trying to escape, and exhaustion starts pulling me under. The door unlocking pulls me back to being aware of my surroundings. The energy changes, and even before I lift my head, I know Massimo has entered.

I look up to see him filling the doorway. He's removed his suit jacket and vest, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to reveal thick, corded forearms covered in tattoos you'd never know are there when he wears his elegant, immaculate suit. Without his suit jacket, he somehow looks even larger. His size takes me aback and wariness blooms.

It's never good when the monster himself comes to visit the cell.

He tosses another water bottle at me as he stalks into the room. The plastic bottle lands on the stone floor and rolls to my feet. I stare at it but don't reach for it.

Our size difference will always disadvantage me, but I refuse to be on the floor at his feet. I rise warily and cautiously so he doesn't mistake my movement for having any fight, even though that spark has flickered to life in his presence. I need to snuff that out, though. Once I'm standing, I press my back against the wall.

Like a lamb watching a predator come for them, I look for any means to escape. It's a survival instinct. I see that Massimo has left the door open behind him.

I could try to run.

But this is likely a test.

Even if it's not a test, and I did happen to get away from him, I still have the whole house to get out of, then the grounds with all the guards. Not to mention, I'm deep in Santoro territory. My father has no allies on this side of the country that I know of.

It's a test, my mind screams.Remember what happened to your mother!

My mind, and the past lessons I'd learned, wins over any sense of self-preservation or urge to fight. Because my mother had tried to run, and my father killed her. Running and fighting never worked out; I've learned that lesson the hard way. So, I smother my urge to fight.

Massimo stops in the middle of the room, watching me with that cold, unreadable expression. "Comfortable, princess?" he taunts.

"Just lovely." The words are out of my mouth before my brain consciously decides to reply.

Shit.

He looks satisfied, as if that was a test I failed. Another check in the box for evidence that he thinks I'm hiding and lying.

"Great. Then you'll enjoy your current accommodation for a while longer."

I remain silent, watching him.

"Aren't you curious why I took you, princess?"

I really wish he'd stop calling me that, especially with the snide intonation that he says it with. It reminds me too much of my father and that I'm the Mancini Princess, a pawn and a tool for others to use for their benefit.

Massimo is no better than my father. There's no doubt I'm here for him to use me against my father.

He tilts his head to the side, regarding me. This time, his face isn't unreadable. He lets me see the potent and toxic roiling mixture of hate and rage. Massimo Santoro may look like an immaculate, respectable man in his expensive, tailor-made suit and smoothed-back hair, but I see the dark monster within.

I try to take a step back, but there's nowhere to go because I'm already firmly pressed against the wall.

"Do you know who I am,princess?" It's like the hate swirls out of him with that word.

I don't dare look away from this dangerous beast in front of me.

"Well? I'm waiting."

He's still halfway across the room, but I don't want to give him any reason to come any closer, so I answer, "You're Massimo Santoro."

His eyes flare like another box has been checked. Another point against me.

"And how do you know that, princess? My last name was never saidto you, and Gemma used Ricci."

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