Page 35 of Massimo

Myconfusionanddoubtabout Massimo war with my exhaustion and the broken parts of me that somehow still hope that not everyone is a monster in my world.

You never…neverhave to be told to eat again, princess. You eat what you want, when you want.

It's a trick, right? A test or a game, all so I can be punished and learn another lesson.

It has to be, because how can I eat what and when I want when I'm a captive? Even though Massimo took me out of the basement, I'll still be locked in this bedroom. I'm not a guest here; I won't be able to roam the house or have free rein in the kitchen. And even if I did get access to the kitchen, I have no idea how to cook. I was never allowed to even make myself a sandwich.

Regardless of my warring thoughts about whether this is a test, Massimo has slowly fed me whatever I pointed to for the past hour. He never commanded me to eat or gave me permission, so my tormented brain, trained by my father's brutal lessons about only eating when and what I was told, has been screaming the entire time, warning that I'm going to be punished.

However, something inside me is pushing me toward trusting Massimo. Or maybe it's survival instincts kicking in, knowing that I need to eat, and punishments or another hard-learned lesson be damned.

Massimo has been quiet while he feeds me. The only things he's said are 'good girl' and 'more, princess?'There's no hate or malice rolling off him. Only what feels like patience and…tenderness.

His finger gently presses under my chin to lift my face to look at him. His expression is open and gentle. "Have you had enough, Nova?"

I blink back the sudden burn of tears, feeling shame wash over me.

I'm so broken and weak.

The only reason I've been able to eat without a command is because Massimo's has been feeding me.

Stupid. Gullible. Idiot. He's using you and you'll be punished for this.

My bruised psyche from too many years of my father's psychological control and abuse is winning, and the food I've been able to eat might be expelled all over the bed.

"Princess?"

The word is soft, gentle. That tone should not be possible from such a large, dangerous man.

Remember, he's a monster. He hates all Mancinis. This is just another trick.

I don't want it to be a trick or a test or a game. I'm so goddamn tired of a lifetime of those.

But to fall into that lie is ridiculously stupid and dangerous.

This man kidnapped me to strike at my father.

So, help Massimo.

You hate Silvestro Mancini. He beat your mother in front of you, making you watch. He killed her.

But I'm just a pawn and a tool.

I close my eyes, wanting nothing more than to sink into oblivion.

"Nova… Please, look at me."

He said please, but it's still an order. And I'm nothing but conditioned to respond.

I open my eyes and turn my head.

Massimo wearing an immaculate, tailored suit is one thing—intimidating, powerful…hot as hell.

But Massimo wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants is…

Going to unravel me.

It's the casualness that I innately know that very few see him in. It's the ruffled, messed up hair. It's the sight of his inked, corded arms. It's how his muscular body feels even more massive next to my slight frame.

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