Page 37 of Keeping My Captive

But I can’t dwell on something that might or might not come to fruition.

The fact of the matter is that I could easily return her to the U.S., to her family and wipe my hands of this entire situation altogether. I can’t say the idea hasn’t crossed my mind a time or two. But the thought of letting my little captive go does not sit well with me. I like to think that it’s because Aria could rat me out and I could lose everything, but I don’t truly believe that’s the only reason. And I simply won’t allow myself to dwell on what else could be keeping me from letting her go.

Even more interesting than her family connections was the fact that I found all of Aria’s old social media accounts. I shamelessly spent hours combing through her Instagram. Aria was quite a popular socialite in the States. She never wore the same thing twice; always appearing in designer clothes and dresses with expensive high heels.

One thing I noticed in all of the pictures, however, was that she was never alone. There are bodyguards in every single picture. Even the one of her by the pool in a bikini. That picture affected me the most. The fact that so many people have seen her half naked pisses me off.

She’s not yours, I have to remind myself.Not yet, a voice in the back of my mind says.

I sit back in my chair, bringing myself back to the present while I watch the seamstresses work with Aria, measuring her and speaking in Spanish. Aria can’t understand them, but I can. One of the women comments on how she wishes she had Aria’s figure, and the other one emphatically agrees.

Aria is petite, perfect in every way, like a real-life doll. But she’s definitely not docile like a little doll. No, she’s a hellcat when she wants to be, and I have the scar on my stomach to prove it. A smile tugs at my lips when I think about her attempt to kill me. That’s definitely a first for me. And for some fucked-up reason…it still turns me on.

I adjust my hardening dick in my slacks before finding a more comfortable position in the chair. I listen to the women chatter about which designers they think Aria would look best in, and I nod in agreement when they glance in my direction.

After seeing Aria’s Instagram photos, I want her to look more like her former self. I want her to feel comfortable here. I could dwell on the motives behind that all day, but I refuse to even acknowledge them. I’ll chalk it up to my selfish desire in seeing her tan legs in high heels and walking around in skirts, giving me easy access to her pussy.

Fuck, my cock painfully presses against my zipper at just the thought of tasting her again.

She’s still a virgin, but I would love to remedy that. And soon. I don’t know how much longer I can restrain myself and stay away from her. But I’ll never ever force her or take what I want. I need her to come to me willingly. And that in and of itself would be a heightened sense of pleasure. Just the thought of hearing Aria beg for my cock has me biting back a groan.

Perhaps with enough pressure, I could finally break her. Give her enough pleasure that she would finally give in to me. And, fuck, it would be fun trying.

But I need to face facts. The moment I take her is the moment she will become mine. And no matter how much I would love to give in to the temptation, I’m not ready to commit to that yet. It would change everything. Aria would become not only a danger to me but to my entire empire; something that I can’t afford right now when I have people constantly trying to overrule and undermine me. I would never be able to set her free, and that type of commitment is not something that either of us are even remotely ready for.

No, I have to maintain my distance even if it’s killing me inside. I have to remain in complete control of my emotions…and my cock. I can’t let pussy get in the way of what I want the most — power.

Standing, I reluctantly walk out of the room with my cock pressing painfully against my zipper, begging to be released, and a deep scowl on my face.

CHAPTER26

Aria

IT’S AT LUNCH one sunny, hot afternoon when Mateo announces at the table, “Constantine Carbone is dead.”

I choke on the bite of sandwich that’s in my mouth and quickly take a swig of water to wash it down past the lump forming in my throat. “What?” I ask him incredulously.

“I took care of your problem. No more nightmares. No more panic attacks,” he says with a nod, like everything is finalized.

The past several nights I have been waking up in a cold sweat, the memories of the club and being taken to The Island fresh on my mind. I stare at him in disbelief. He has to be lying right now. My father and the government couldn’t get to Constantine, and they spent years trying everything. “How do I know you’re not just telling me this?” I question with a quirked brow.

Mateo pulls out his cell phone, taps a few keys and says, “See for yourself.”

I slowly stand up and round the table. I stand next to Mateo and stare down at the screen, at the Google search he’s pulled up. I instantly see Constantine’s name plastered all over the top pinned news stories. My eyes skim over the headlines and snippets of each article as Mateo scrolls through them.

Constantine was murdered in jail. Shanked by a fellow inmate. Pronounced dead a few hours after the attack.

I take a step back in shock. Then, my eyes search his dark orbs. “You had him killed. Why?” I ask in a whisper.

“Because he hurt you,” is his response.

Those four words speak volumes about Mateo’s feelings for me. He cares for me in some way. Even though I doubt he would ever admit it, I know it to be true.

Staring down at his phone, a thought occurs to me. “Did you happen to see any articles about Selina McCall?” I ask, desperately needing to know.

“She was rescued that night. She’s safe at home,” he tells me.

My heart skips a beat inside my chest.Selina is safe.And suddenly, I feel like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I had been so worried that she was back in Constantine’s clutches. Just knowing that she’s home with my brother and my family makes me feel a million times better. I exhale an uneven breath and tell him, “Thank you.”

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