Page 66 of Of Desire And Deception

I’d lost track of the days sometime after I stopped trying to stay warm. Cosimo removed the pieces of whatever man had run afoul of the Neretti family and returned to help me bathe. He roughly scrubbed me down with a soap that smelled a lot like him and sent me back to bed with my ankle chained to the wall. I’d screamed and railed, but he stayed cold and calm, turning on the playlist he’d made for me like a warped mixtape.

I was nearly crawling out of my skin from listening to classical music and his voice saying what he no doubt thought were soothing things intermittently.

Relax and rest your body.

A healthy woman is a happy woman.

Stress lowers your chances of conception.

Everything is going to be okay.

Over. And over. And over again. Day and night, until the hours blurred together, and I forced myself to sleep. It had quickly become apparent that there was no escaping Cosimo’s makeshift dungeon. It was more of a cement box with a lot of torture shit. Devices I hoped he’d avoid using on me since I’d agreed to be a sex puppet or something.

I was so fucked up that the thought of feeling him inside me again stirred things in my southern region. There was even a moment of weakness where I reached my hand down and explored the smooth flesh between my legs, sliding between the lips and circling my clit. I came to my senses before I made myself come, but then I was even more frustrated than before.

“Everything is going to be okay,” the monotonous Cosimo said over the music.

“Really, you fucking psycho kidnapper?” I yelled into the empty room. “Everything is going to be okay? My ass! I’m chained to a fucking wall!”

I shook my foot, rattling the chain for emphasis, though I had no idea whether Cosimo was watching me. Given that he’d stalked me without my picking up on it, he could have any number of video and audio devices, and I probably wouldn’t notice. I berated myself for my stupidity, burying my face in my hands and pressing the heels of my palms into my closed eyes until I saw stars in the dark void.

It was like Cosimo. He was the void, and the way he made me feel was the starburst in an otherwise desolate space. How fucked up was it I still couldn’t truly hate him for everything he’d done? On some level—okay, it was at the surface—I believed I deserved to be punished for what I’d done to him.

I was lucky he hadn’t carved me up like the other guy. Of course, I’d seen my share of shit at the Bureau, but watching somebody’s torture in person was disturbing on a new level. I’d looked away, I’d vomited—and I’d watched my captor. Cosimo tuned the entire world out as he worked. He was methodical and ruthless, but there was poetry in his precision.

And I was losing my sanity. Because no sane person could find anything intriguing about murder, right?

Definitely.

Maybe.

Oh, hell. Cosimo was fucking hot when he was violent.

Escape, Remi, I reminded myself. You’re supposed to be plotting your great escape.

Forget that there was no evidence of victims who had escaped the very room I was in. The Neretti dungeon was discussed like a demonic Atlantis among my team. There were rumors about its existence, but nobody had been able to locate it.

Now, here I was, sitting in the very place I’d obsessed over. Only, in my dreams, I’d imagined raiding it and slapping cuffs on Cosimo. I looked down at the metal around my ankle and laughed ruefully.

Sighing, I pulled the covers closer to my body. My toes were almost numb, though it was warm enough to sustain life since I hadn’t died yet. I was nearly asleep when there was a beep from the door, and Cosimo strolled into the dungeon in a fucking tuxedo that made him look like a bridal magazine model. His dark hair was styled neatly, and he smelled like cleaner and something deeply masculine.

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be a formal affair,” I said sarcastically from my little cocoon. “I haven’t got anything for the occasion.”

“I’m glad to see you have enough spirit to fuel that mouth,” he said with a smirk and tossed a large bag on the end of the mattress. “I’ve brought you something to wear. Get dressed.”

I wanted to give him a scathing reply, but I was too desperate for clothes. I tore into the bag, pulling out a mass of white fabric. Shocked, my head snapped up. “A wedding dress? What the fuck is this for? What are you doing, Cosimo?”

“It’s our wedding night,” he offered. “I thought you might like to dress up.”

“The fuck it is!” I threw the dress to the mattress like it was on fire, crossing my arms over my chest. “There’s no way in hell I’d ever marry you.”

Cosimo withdrew an envelope and opened it, pulling out a sheet of vellum. “This marriage license says we’re legally wed.”

“Impossible. I would have had to be present and sign off on something so insane.” He held the document, and I saw my signature neatly scrawled above the line. It was good enough that I wondered if I’d somehow married him in my sleep. “That’s clearly a forgery. Nobody will believe it.”

“The priest will swear to any authority—even God himself—that he officiated our wedding,” Cosimo deadpanned. The corner of his mouth lifted triumphantly. “We are legally bound, and there’s no provision for divorce in the mafia. Only death.”

“There’s annulment,” I protested. “There has to be something. You still have time to fix this!”

---