Page 24 of Savage Union
"Am I?" His eyes bore into mine. "Ask your mother when you see her again. Ask her why she was so afraid of him, why she never left despite the beatings."
My throat tightens. "Stop it."
"The great Tomasso Gallo—wife beater, child trafficker, and would-be usurper." Vito's voice is soft but relentless. "The man was planning to kill me and take control of operations he couldn't possibly maintain, which would have started a war that would have killed hundreds, including innocents."
"I don't believe you." But a treacherous part of me does. I'd seen the bruises on my mother, heard the cruel things my father said to her. Was it really such a stretch to believe he was capable of worse?
"Believe what you want." Vito stands, straightening his cuffs. "But don't ever call me a monster when you don't know the truth."
I continue sorting paper, mind racing with this new information. Could it be true? I'd been planning my own escape. I just didn't know how low my father would sink.
After another twenty minutes of silent, backbreaking work, Vito speaks again. "That's enough. Stand up."
I rise slowly, wincing as my knees protest. "I'm not finished."
"No, you're not. But this punishment isn't sufficient." His expression is unreadable. "Come here."
Fear trickles down my spine, but I force myself to move toward him. "What are you going to do?"
"What needs to be done." He turns and walks to the large desk, then points to its edge. "Bend over."
My eyes widen. "What? No!"
"Bend over the desk, Caterina." His voice is quiet but carries an unmistakable threat. "Or I make a call, and your sister becomes a ward of the state. Your mother too."
"You can't do that."
"I can do anything I want." He says it as simple fact, not boasting. "Your choice."
Fury and humiliation burn through me, but I think of Sofia—so young, so vulnerable. I take a shaky breath and move to the desk.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter, placing my hands on the cool mahogany surface.
"No, this is consequence." He moves behind me. "You behaved like a child, breaking things out of spite. So you'll be punished like one."
Before I can process his meaning, his hand lands on my backside with a sharp crack. I gasp, more from shock than pain.
"Are you serious?" I try to stand, but his other hand presses firmly between my shoulder blades, keeping me in position.
"Completely." Another slap, harder this time. "Ten should suffice."
"This is—" The third strike cuts off my words, the sting radiating through me.
"Humiliating? Yes." Four. Five. Each impact harder than the last. "That's the point."
By the sixth strike, something unexpected happens. The pain blurs into something else—not pleasure exactly, but a hot, electric awareness that radiates through my body. My breathcomes faster, and I bite my lip to stifle any sound that might betray this confusing reaction.
Seven. Eight. I squeeze my eyes shut, horrified by my body's betrayal. I should be furious, disgusted—and I am—but there's something else mixed in, something I don't want to name.
Nine lands with particular force, drawing a gasp from me that sounds embarrassingly like a moan. Vito pauses, his hand resting on my lower back. I can feel the heat of it through my clothing, steady and proprietary.
"Interesting," he murmurs, voice deeper than before.
The final strike never comes. Instead, his hand moves slowly up my spine to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. The touch is oddly intimate, sending shivers across my skin.
"Stand up," he orders, voice rough.
I straighten, turning to face him with as much dignity as I can muster. My cheeks burn with humiliation, but I refuse to look away. His eyes have darkened, pupils dilated. The air between us crackles with something dangerous and electric.
