Page 51 of Madness & Mercy
But I rememberhis.
Nico Vitale.
The name that haunted every sleepless night behind bars.
The name that bled into every broken rib, every locked door, every fuckingscar.
Nico Vitale.
Nico Vitale.
Nico Vitale.
He’s the reason I went to prison.
He’s the reason I became…this.
So when Silvio offered me the hit, I didn’t hesitate. It felt like fate. Divine retribution. Finally, a chance to settle the score in blood.
But now I’m tied to his bed—dick aching, chest heaving—and I’m so fucked in the head, I can’t tell if I want to gut him or get on top of him.
I’m supposed to hate him.
Idohate him.
And still, every second he leaves me here like this, I unravel a little more.
My pride doesn’t even flinch anymore. It just rolls over and bares its throat.
He’s not even in the room and he’s still inside me. He’s everywhere—under my skin, deep in my skull, rewiring the parts of me I thought were already dead.
He’s breaking me.
Not with fists.
With silence. With denial. With power.
And I hate how good it feels.
Ifuckinghate it.
When he finally walks back through the door, something in me snaps.
It’s not loud. Not violent.
It’s terrifyingly quiet.
Like the moment just before lightning hits, when the world holds its breath and everythingwaitsto burn.
I should be furious.
Should spit at him again.
Should curse him out, and bite and snarl, and remind him I’m not his to own.
But I don’t.
Ican’t.
