Page 32 of Beautiful Devil

Even thinking of his name makes me angry. If only I would have listened to my family and friends and taken what they said into some real consideration instead of just brushing it under the rug. But I didn’t, because I wasin love. I roll my eyes at myself for how stupid I was.

If I could go back and smack some sense into my younger self, I would. I’d tell her to dump that schmuck and never look back. Maybe then I would have actually met and married someone who truly loved me – who wouldn’t have put me in danger or gotten me kidnapped.

My hands clench tightly into fists at my sides, as I pace around the room. It’s kind of ironic, actually. Both Gallo and I are in our own form of prison, his being ten by ten feet, made up of concrete floors and walls, probably containing an old, run-down metal bunk bed with a dirty, thin mattress and a criminal roommate.

Mycell may be a little bit more luxurious than the one he’s in, but I’m still staring at the same four walls day in and day out. Mycageis an average-sized room, with cherrywood floors and cream-colored walls. Not a painting or personal object in sight. Literally, not a single item in the entire room. I guesshedidn’t want to run the risk of giving me any form of weapon to use against him…because I would.

The oversized queen mattress sits in the middle of the room on top of a big four-poster frame. The headboard and footboard both have the same intricate design carved into it, reminding me of something you’d find in an old century home – on display and never used.

The bedding is off-white, looking both old and expensive, and although it seems like it would be rough to the touch, it's actually very soft and smooth.

Kind of like HIM.

Where the hell did that come from?

On top of the comforter are four pillows, two on either side, like a his and hers, and a small square cream accent pillow. I guess he wasn’t worried about death by suffocation. You’d have to be really desperate to suffocate yourself, and I’m not there…yet.

The only piece of actual color in this room comes from the huge rug under the bed, all taupes, creams, browns, and reds woven into a beautiful paisley design. It’s thin and feels a bit coarse to the touch, but it’s beautiful and very feminine.

Are you sensing a theme here?

Whoever decorated this room clearly has no fashion sense. A small pang of jealousy goes through me at the thought that the person who decorated this room was not only a woman, but Fabrizio’s lover. Shaking my head, I remind myself that I shouldn’t be thinking things like that.

He kidnapped me.

On the wall next to the bed is a matching cherrywood seat below a large double window that overlooks a beautiful rose garden. There’s a stone bench that sits at the opening and a pathway on either side that branches out into the lawn.

It truly is quite beautiful, and under different circumstances, I might be able to appreciate its charm and appeal. With nothing else to do, I’ve found myself sitting on the window seat and staring out at the garden, imagining that I’m outside on that bench, tipping my head back to feel the heat from the sun on my face and the warm summer breeze kissing my skin.

I tried opening the windows, but they wouldn't budge. They're either glued shut or just simply too old to open anymore. Desperate for some fresh air in this stale room, I asked his housekeeper, Maria, one day when she brought in my lunch. She didn’t answer me, just stared at me for a second, set my tray down on my bed, and left the room without a word.

It’s not like I wanted her to open the window so I could jump from it. We’re on the second floor of the house with nothing that I could possibly grab onto and make an escape without falling to my death.

The first three days, all I did was cry. I was scared and terrified of being in a strange house. Didn’t know whether or not the next time the door opened, my kidnapper was going to walk in and demand more answers out of me by torturing me or if he’d just decide I wasn’t worth the hassle of keeping me alive and kill me on the spot.

Maria brings me in three meals a day, but I hadn’t been able to eat because my nerves were shot. Just the thought of eating made me want to vomit. I was also worried that he’d had her or someone else poison my food and would slowly kill me that way. Irrational? Maybe. But I also never thought I would be the victim of a kidnapping either.

On the third day of refusing my food, my appearance must have alarmed Maria, because when she opened the door to my room, she took one look at me and stopped dead in her tracks. She’d walked to where I was sitting on the bed and nudged my shoulder, pointing to the tray before turning on her heel and leaving me all alone, once again.

I had no intention of eating the food. I was going to hold out, but then I remembered the one episode of20/20that said if you’re ever kidnapped, find something to drink to stay lucid enough and eat something to keep up your strength to fight. So that’s exactly what I did. Although it didn’t work out so well.

After not eating for three days, I’d been understandably hungry. Seeing all the delicious food before me, I dug right in.

Homemade cinnamon oatmeal with fresh blueberries on the top – gone.

Delicious, crispy bacon – gone.

Fresh fruit – gone.

Homemade, still-warm blueberry muffin – gone.

I’d cleared my plate and downed my orange juice, only to immediately get sick and lose it all in the toilet. I know I should have paced myself, but the moment the first bite of oatmeal hit my mouth, there was no going back.

I was so upset with myself and my body for being so weak that I’d started to cry again. How I had any more tears left in my body, I don’t know. But that was howhe’dfound me: sitting on the bed, wearing the same clothes that I’d been wearing the day before, with what I was sure were red and puffy eyes.

I’d planned on just sitting there and ignoring him while he spoke to me. I had already accepted my fate of punishment or death and was too tired – mentally and physically – to fight. I was ready to give up. But as soon as he mentioned my fucking ex-husband, and refused to use the “ex” in front of husband, I went off on him. One minute, I was sitting on the bed waiting for the pain, and the next I was up and in his face so fast that I could barely struggle when he pinned me up against the wall.

Between the lack of food, his heady scent that made me instantlywet, his body pressing up against me, and him grinding his hard cock into me, I couldn’t think straight…I was a goner. I would have said or done anything he’d asked of me just tokeephis hands on me. It had been so long since I’d felt a man’s touch, but even then, I didn’t remember it ever feeling as good as Fabrizio’s did.

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