Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I see my father occasionally when he’s home from attending to business. I use the word ‘see’ lightly because even though Father is in the villa, it changes nothing for me. He allows Dante to do what he wants with me.
My father lives only for his business. I know he deals in the illegal trade for arms, but nothing more. I’m not trusted to know more.
Sometimes I wonder who’s the bigger monster between them – Dante, for abusing me, or my father for allowing it?
“Your father is home,” Dante mutters. “Dry yourself.”
Taking a deep breath, I lift my chin and clench my jaw as I step back inside my room.
My personal suite is lavish, containing everything I might need. It has a private living room, a bedroom, and an ensuite bathroom, but to me, it’s nothing more than a gilded cage. No amount of luxury can hide the horrors these walls have seen.
I shoot Dante a dark glare of my own as I walk to my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and grab clean clothes from the closet, which I place on my bed. Reaching for my soaked shirt, I freeze when the door to my room opens with a bang against the wall.
Dante leans against the doorjamb, and crossing his arms over his chest, he sneers at me, “Faster, Principessa.”
He now watches me when I bathe, dress, sleep – never giving me a moment alone. The threat of rape is always there. I know it’s only a matter of time, and it makes dread imprint itself on my bones.
I’d rather die.
When that day comes, I swear I’ll take my life.
I’d rather kill myself than let Dante have his sadistic way with me.
Hopelessness swirls in my chest, and I clench my jaw at the devastating feelings of despair, panic, disgust, and fear. They’ve become my constant companions.
I spend every moment I’m alone dreaming up ways to escape Dante, but even if I run to the ends of the earth, he’ll find me.
I think he’s addicted to the power he has over me. The fear he inflicts.
I pull my wet shirt off and quickly drag on a cashmere sweater while Dante taunts, “Soon, I’ll fuck your tits and come all over your face.”
I do my best to ignore the threat, but it’s impossible. It makes fear coat my skin as it drags up the horrible memories of all the times Dante has crossed the line over the past four years. The now-familiar shame and repulsion once again rock me to my very core, and I have to fight hard to keep control of the devastating emotions.
With trembling hands, I switch out of my clammy jeans, moving fast to get the dry ones on. After slipping on a pair of heels, I walk to the bathroom and towel dry my hair before pinning it up in a bun.
When I step into the bedroom again, Dante darts forward, and grabbing hold of my arm, he yanks me through my private living room.
Repulsed by his touch, I rear back against his hold. “I can walk on my own!”
Dante stops to slap me across the cheek, and it has me yanking hard against his bruising grip on my arm. My defiance earns me a punch, this time harder, and it stuns me for a moment as I fall against the wall. Dante’s fingers bite harder into my flesh, and I’m dragged down the hallway and stairs.
“Keep fighting, Principessa. It only makes me hard for your cunt,” Dante threatens, and then I’m shoved into my father’s study.
I come to a stumbling standstill in front of the large oak desk. I almost lift a hand to my aching cheek and bruised lip but catch myself in time. Not wanting to give Dante the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me, I fist my hands at my sides and level a scalding glare on my father’s bowed head where he’s glancing over a document.
My father lets out a sigh then lifts his eyes for a moment. He hardly takes notice of me before continuing to read the information.
How can a father care so little for his daughter? I’m his blood, yet he cares more for Dante and the business. I should be used to the sting of rejection, but it still hurts knowing I mean nothing more than the very chair he’s sitting on.
“I’m going to send you to St. Monarch’s once you turn twenty-one.”
What?
My lips part on a silent gasp, and then my breathing speeds up as a glimmer of hope bursts through my grim existence. Father once told me St. Monarch’s is the only neutral ground for crime families. Various services are offered there. Anything from training to sharpen your trade of choice to a resort that provides you with elite protection. There are also auction nights where anything illegal can be bought and sold.