Page 25 of Twisted Embrace

“All of you. Your body. Your soul. And your submission. What I’m telling you is that as of this moment, you belong to me.”

CHAPTER 9

Joy

It wasn’t every day that your entire world crashed and burned around you, the ashes scattered to the wind, but that’s exactly what today had turned into.

A clusterfuck of improbabilities and destruction.

I could tell I was gawking at the brutal mafia leader, incredulous as to what he was telling me. While the news of my real father had hit me hard, the fact the dangerous man standing in front of me believed that he could own me like a possession was the most insulting, horrifying part about everything that had occurred.

My mind was blank for a few seconds, trying to process everything I’d learned, the fog remaining. “No.” The single word was all I could issue.

“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Enzo closed the distance and I anticipated anger, maybe a strike from his hand. Instead, he cupped the side of my face, his thumb positioned under my chin. When he used pressure, digging into my skin, I sucked in my breath.

“You have no say in the matter. We are leaving. My men will take you somewhere safe.”

“I want to see Lucia. I demand you take me back to the hospital.”

He lifted a single eyebrow, adding to his menacing look. I hated that I still found him so attractive. I wanted to scrub every inch of my skin to remove the stench of his body from mine. If only I’d managed to scratch his eyes out.

His grip became what I’d expected and he used his other hand to fist my hair, jerking painfully. “I’m only going to tell you this one time, Joy. As of now, the life you’ve enjoyed in New York is over. Pack a bag.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t push me, my precious jewel. You won’t like what happens when you do. If you want to see the woman you called a friend, then that’s what we’ll do. Go to your room and pack. Now.”

He let me go and I backed away, trying to keep my wits about me. None of this made any sense but I was smart enough to know there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’d manage to escape his clutches at this point. Maybe from the hospital. Someone would help me. Right?

I raced into my bedroom, longing to slam and lock the door but the splintered wood reminded me of just how dangerous he was. Damn him for what he’d done. Damn the fucking world for the lies I’d been forced to endure. Damn the people I’d thought were my parents. Why hadn’t they told me the truth? Why? Had I meant so little to them that they wouldn’t share the real story with me?

Unwanted tears slipped down my cheeks and I furiously wiped them away. Self-loathing wasn’t going to do me any good. I had to try to think clearly or for all I knew I’d be on the next plane to Italy. Oh, God. Who was I?

I jerked a suitcase from my closet, dumping it on the bed. My stomach remained in knots, sadness stilting my actions. Lucia. She’d been caught in the middle of a war because of my existence. Oh, God. I was sick inside, barely able to function. She had to be okay. She and her baby had to survive.

But what if they didn’t?

My vision remained blurry as I yanked out drawers, pulling clothes and underwear without paying any attention. When I tried to zip the case, I fought with the zipper.

Then I finally broke down, thumping on the bed where he’d fucked me, sobbing into my hands.

There were men whose presence could be felt across a room, a crackle of electricity that skittered all the way down to your toes. They didn’t need to speak, merely providing a sense of who they were and just how powerful they’d become. In this case, the man who’d entered my private space had an aura like I’d never felt before.

Raw.

Unbridled.

Dominating.

He was a predator in all things, determined to win at any cost. He accepted whatever level of danger he was presented with as if it meant nothing. After all, he was a trained killer, someone who’d spent his entire life being judge and jury. I should do everything in my power to run as far away as possible, but I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, incapable of breaking the strong tethering we’d already developed. Was I wrong to hunger for someone who exuded violence even during moments of passion? Perhaps, but my body refused to obey the rules I’d developed for myself, ignoring the warning signs. He could kill me just as easily as fuck me.

There was a strange but carnal beauty in the knowledge.

I expected condemnation for taking too long, another reminder that I was solely responsible for the condition of my best friend. Instead, he eased onto the bed beside me, just close enough I longed to reach out, to slide my fingers down his muscular thigh. At least I had the self-control to keep my hands to myself.

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