Page 23 of Deviant Knight

“I don’t know the answer to that, Domenico,” he says.

“Then how do you know that’s what she was having? Maybe it was just a regular nightmare. Dad kidnapped her after all.” I glance at my old man, but he doesn’t take the bait. I didn’t expect him to.

“I know she has night terrors because I recognize her episodes and the mannerisms she tries to control.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Giovanni sighs and then sits forward, placing his glass tumbler on the coffee table in front of his knees. “She sneaks bottles of whiskey to her room to drink until she passes out. That way, she’s safe from them happening,” he enlightens me.

“And you’re sure of this?” I cross my arms, eyeing him for any indication that he isn’t being honest. I don’t know how long he’s been out of prison. He mentioned he hadn’t been in there in a long time, but that doesn’t tell me anything. For all I know, he hasn’t had pussy in years either. Ciera could be easy prey for him. She’s basically a captive living under this roof.

“I haven’t confronted her, but I did find empty bottles in her bedroom. That made me suspect she may have night terrors from some type of trauma. I decided to remove all the alcohol from the pool house, so I tried to stop her from drinking another beer last night. I wanted to test my theory.”

Since his theory may have been correct, I flip my eyes to my father’s. Whatever he’s thinking is hidden behind the mask he’s mastered in his almost fifty years.

“Since you’re forcing this marriage, don’t you think you should share whatever trauma she has with me?” I arch an eyebrow, waiting for him to respond.

“Of course, I think you should know, and if I knew the answer, I would have told you, Domenico.” Dad leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his near-empty glass gripped between his fingers. “I know you’ve done your homework. You know what’s rumored in regard to Liam O’Donovan. She lived with him most of her life. There’s always a chance he used her as a pawn.”

“You think the underground auction of girls in Ireland exists?” I ask, not beating around the bush.

“Probably, but since she’s always been in Ireland, he didn’t auction her off. Perhaps she doesn’t have physical trauma, but she could have been mentally abused for all we know.”

Either way, someone will pay if one or both are proven as fact. I don’t say that, though. Dad doesn’t like it when he knows I have ill intent toward others, even those that deserve punishment. He prefers to be the judge, the jury, and the executioner himself.

When I have nothing left to say, I turn, but it’s not to walk out the door I came through, at least not until I have my pet first.

Rounding the chair behind my father, I step toward the hallway.

“Leave her be, Dom,” Dad issues an order. “She went to bed an hour ago.”

“Wasn’t planning on waking her,” I say without looking behind me, not obeying my boss or my father. In less than four days, she’ll be a Caputo. I might as well get her used to waking up next to one.

* * *

My dad,nor Giovanni, was pleased when I walked back through the seating room in the pool house with Ciera in my arms. I didn’t wake her like I said I wouldn’t do, though when I walked into her room, she was on the brink of a nightmare or night terror.

Before picking her up, I decided to try a theory of my own. I wrapped my fingers around her delicate neck and applied a small amount of pressure. Not enough to cut off her breathing, but enough to give her a sense that I was in control—and it worked. Like the snap of fingers, she relaxed and exhaled a breath of air.

I found myself getting hard, so I gathered her in my arms, ignoring how perfect she felt nestled against me, and now here we are, stepping over the threshold into my bedroom. I kick the door closed behind me with my shoe.

After I showered earlier, I pulled on a pair of sweat pants and slipped into my shoes without socks, knowing I’d be taking them back off in no time. There was no point in socks when my palms were itching for the feel of soft flesh.

As I bend down, leaning over my bed to place Ciera in the middle, a noise coming from my bathroom makes my back go rigid. Ren has his own bathroom, and if he had to use another, he’d go to Si’s before he’d ever come down to mine. Brooklyn is with her grandmother, and since Dad is with Giovanni, that only leaves Ren and Sasha in the house with us.

I reach behind my pillow to the backside of my headboard where I have a handgun hidden and secured and pull it from the holster. I whip my body around and aim as the bathroom door opens, revealing Krishna, wearing a pair of black boxer briefs as he dries his blond hair with one of my towels. He arches an eyebrow but never once flinches.

“Either pull the fucking trigger or stop aiming it at me.” His eyes go from the gun’s barrel to mine, but I do neither.

“One Nikolayev living here is too many. Don’t you have your own bed in a different city to sleep in?”

My finger was never in the trigger well, so I drop the weapon to my side as I turn my back to him to put the gun back in its hiding place. When moments pass and he hasn’t replied to my question, I walk to my closet but see his head cocked to the side from my peripheral vision. He’s eyeing Ciera like she is his favorite dessert.

Once my shoes and sweats are off, I’m left in a pair of boxers that match the ones K has on. When I exit the closet, I find him sliding under the sheets next to her. He’s being gentle, trying not to wake her, but I’ve already figured out she’s a hard sleeper.

“Does she know you brought her in here again?” he asks, not looking at me as I pull the sheet and comforter back. She’s on top of the covers, so I have to maneuver her under them, only I’m not nearly as cautious as Krishna was. She makes a soft sound that’s a half sigh, half purr. It makes my dick jump, but as I suspected, she doesn’t wake up despite her body being jarred around aggressively.

“No,” I tell him. “At this point, she doesn’t have a choice but to get used to it.”

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