Page 32 of Massimo

I stare at him in disbelief, torn between slapping his face and curling into his lap and sobbing for days.

He makes the fire and fight in me flare to life.

Even after what I went through the past few days, I never feared Massimo like I did my father, brothers, or Mauro.

My goalpost for comparison is clearly skewed. A different monster that isn't the same level of horrendous as my other ones, and I think he's safe?

Pfft. Catch a fucking drift, girl.

My stomach grumbles again. Massimo's thick lips—made more lush with his stubble—press together.

He rises off the side of the bed and goes to a dresser that has a tray on top and brings it over. "Do you need to go to the washroom before you eat?"

Once again, all I can do is stare at him.

"Jerome gave you a bag of saline through IV." He points at the bandage on my hand, which I hadn't noticed until now. "You weren't as dehydrated as we worried you were."

I am a bit uncomfortable, both because of the conversation topic, his concern—feignedconcern—and my full bladder, so I get up to go to the washroom.

Or try to.

The wave of dizziness hits me again, and I find myself scooped in Massimo's arms, and he's carrying me to the washroom.

I stiffen in fear and horror.

Is he going to make me pee in front of him?

The man had made me strip, trying to get me to fight him, so maybe humiliation and degradation are his thing.

I can't stop shaking, and Massimo gently sits me on the vanity and cups my face.

"Nova… Princess." He nearly shatters me by kissing my forehead. The touch is so careful, so tender…so confusing.

A choked cry escapes me, and I burrow my face into his chest, my hands fisting his T-shirt.

I'm seeking comfort from my captor, and a feeling of safety grows as his arms wrap around me. They could crush me, yet I sink further into him as another sob wracks my frame. I have no idea why he's holding me, or why I'm holding onto him so desperately. All I know is this is the first time since my mother's death that someone has held and comforted me.

And that makes me cry harder.

He holds me tighter to him, but I don't feel threatened. He whispers in my ear, but they aren't hateful, taunting, or mocking words. He reaches for tissues without breaking his hold on me, but he doesn't give them to me. Instead,hecleans my face and wipes my eyes, like he cares—cares about me and wants to take care of me.

"Why?" I choke out.

He kisses my head again. "Go to the washroom, then we'll talk. Are you okay standing on your own?" He pulls back, his dark brow furrowed with concern.

If I didn't know better, I'd say that concern and worry were authentic.

But I do know better. I just need to get my bearings and get back on stable ground.

I nod, and he helps me off the vanity. He stays close, ready to catch me if the dizziness takes me down again.

Such a perfect liar.

Such a beautiful, perfect liar.

He may be my worst monster yet.

Chapter 16

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