Page 102 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“Valium,” he explained, moving my legs so he could sit at my hip. My limp body rolled toward him as the mattress sank, and he pulled my covers down, his hands brushing against my thighs at the end of my nightgown. “I needed you compliant, but not unconscious. That wouldn’t be any fun.”

My eyes were heavy, and I just wanted to go back to sleep, but somewhere in my mind, my conscience screamed for me to wake up and save myself. I willed myself to blink, clear the fog in my head, and make sense of my situation.

Valium. He’d dosed me with benzos. The same class as roofies, but likely a much lower dosage considering I could wake up and think at least a little. The drug had a long half-life; even the temporary effects could last up to twelve hours. Still, I might have a chance of convincing my sluggish extremities to work enough to attempt an escape.

If I could get my hands untied.

“How?” When Ettore looked at me quizzically, I swallowed hard. “Where did you put the medication?”

“I slipped the ground-up pills into your wine,” he proudly supplied. His hands slowly worked under the hem of my nightgown, lifting it to my waist. The room’s cool air hit my bare mound, and Ettore grunted his approval. “You were supposed to finish the glass, but it seems to have worked, anyway.”

I’d run out of chances. There wasn’t any time left to decide whether I should tell Dante. The determined set of Ettore’s brow and the rope around my wrists told me he would take what he wanted. Right now.

“I thought it was poetic,” he murmured, his head lowering, lips pressing into the swell of my breast above the lace neckline of my nightgown. “To fuck you in my son’s bed. Put my baby in you while he’s none the wiser.”

I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood, aware that making Ettore angry now could be disastrous for me. His lips trailed up my neck, his teeth grazing my earlobe before he whispered, “I’m going to fuck your tight little cunt until you can’t remember what your husband’s cock feels like.”

No. I kept still, trying to figure out what I could say that wouldn’t make him suspicious but would buy me time. When I couldn’t get my mind to do what I wanted, I let out a sound of distress.

He chuckled at my whimper, his hand cupping my breast. My blood chilled when I didn’t smell alcohol on his breath. He was stone-cold sober, and while his words wore insane, he seemed lucid.

“I’m thirsty,” I managed, clearing my throat and coughing. “And hungry. Maybe we could have wine and a snack?”

That took him by surprise. His lips curled, and his thumb brushed across my bottom lip. “I won’t set you free, Olesya. I’ll feed you, and you’ll drink wine from a glass I press to your lips. All while your wrists are tied and your cunt bare for me.”

He stood and adjusted himself, then walked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t bother screaming for help. I gave everybody the night off, so there’s nobody in the house. When I return, I will have you.”

I nodded, and he left, not bothering to close the door behind him. Waiting long enough that I was sure he’d gone downstairs, I methodically worked the ropes around my wrists. Holding on to the headboard, I turned over and knelt so I could see what I was doing.

Shit. The ropes were too tight to untie, even when I tried with my teeth. I was wasting precious time. What Ettore hadn’t counted on was how paranoid I’d become after he’d accosted me multiple times. Enough that I kept my knife inside my pillowcase to make me feel more secure.

If I could reach it.

I used my knees to pin my pillow against my hands, carefully turning it until the knife slipped out and nearly fell off the bed. I extended my leg and maneuvered my foot, grasping the small blade between my toes like some yoga ninja until I could grab it with my fingers. There was enough give in the rope for me to flip the blade open and start cutting through my bonds.

My fingers fumbled as I worked frantically, watching the fibers separate. I made it most of the way through before I heard footsteps on the stairs and dropped the open blade back to the bed, covering it with the pillow and flipping over into the position I’d been in, carefully regulating my breathing. There was no helping how much my nightgown had twisted, and I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“I brought some sustenance,” Ettore announced proudly, setting a plate of crackers and cheese on the nightstand and opening a bottle of wine. The corkscrew wine opener was another potential weapon. Instead of pouring the wine into a glass, he pressed the bottle to his lips and drank, his throat working as he swallowed. He offered it to me. “Drink.”

I tried, but he tipped the bottle suddenly, and I choked and sputtered, the red liquid spilling down my dress. Ettore set the bottle down, and his neutral expression turned dark. My heart cried out for my husband, but I couldn’t move my lips.

“You tried to escape,” he hissed, wrapping his hand around my throat. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Panic welled inside me, my heart racing despite the downers he’d given me. I could barely breathe as I whimpered, “I didn’t.”

“Liar.” Ettore slapped me across the face, rage twisting his features. “I was going to be kind, but now I’ll fuck all your holes. Make you scream my name as I use your worthless body.”

When he released my throat to reach for the wine, I knew I had to make my move. He shoved the bottle against my lips again, forcing the alcohol into my mouth, heedless of my choking. I pulled my knees up and kicked with all my strength, knocking him to the floor with the unexpected move. Then I yanked hard on the rope, snapping the last strands and freeing myself.

“Bitch!” Ettore shouted, pushing himself up off the floor.

I scrambled for the knife under the pillow behind me, barely grasping the handle when he pulled me roughly to the floor, pain radiating up from my tailbone as I hit the hardwood. He straddled my hips, even as I bucked to dislodge him.

A crash from somewhere in the house drew Ettore’s attention, and his jaw dropped at the sound of gunfire. Hopefully, somebody had heard our struggle, but I couldn’t wait for a savior. I thrust forward with the knife, the blade sinking into my attacker’s inner thigh and slicing through the flesh like butter.

“Fuck!” Ettore screamed, his hand instinctively covering the wound as blood seeped between his fingers.

“That was an artery,” I lied as I scrambled out from underneath him, panting. “You’ll bleed out in minutes without help.”

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