Oath of Obedience (Deviant Doms 2)

I’m so taken by the food all around us that at first, I don’t see the chair in the corner of the room, or the man strapped to it. I freeze when I do.

He’s bloodied and bruised, but still an attractive man. Well-dressed, with the stunning good looks one might find in Hollywood. It looks like he’s playing a scene in a movie, only this is all too real. Blood drips onto the floor from his mouth, his cheek, and multiple lacerations all over his body.

“Motherfucker,” Orlando growls beside me. I let go of his hand. This isn’t the man that lathered me in soap and held the door for me today. His eyes are cold and ruthless. This is the man who just spent time in prison for manslaughter and doesn’t look afraid of going back.

“See that stool in the corner?” he asks, his eyes on the man in the chair.

Shaking, I look. I nod.

“Sit there.”

I wouldn’t think of doing anything but obeying right now. I’ve never looked into the eyes of a serial killer, but I imagine they’d look like his do now—cold, ruthless, detached. And very, very determined.

I’m not overly familiar with violence, but I’m not a stranger to it, either. Being raised the way I was, fending for myself in the face of depravity, I’ve seen my fair share of shit. So it isn’t the brutalized man before me that scares me. It’s the shift in Orlando’s whole demeanor.

He paces in front of the half-conscious man, his expensive Italian leather shoes nearly noiseless on the concrete floor. His brothers stand behind him.

“Davis. You went after my wife.”

What? His wife? I’m his wife. No one came after me. I’ve been under his protection from the minute the plane crashed.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I become a little dizzy. Mario walks to my side and speaks in a low voice. “You okay?” I notice his hands are in his pockets, as if to keep himself from touching me and maybe saving himself from a beating.

I nod. No one looks at us as we continue to talk in hushed voices. “Yeah. Fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Lies. They’re becoming easier. “I just don’t understand why he’s accusing him of what he just did. I’ve been with him the whole time.”

“Ah,” Mario whispers, nodding. He watches as Orlando paces around the man, who’s begun to cry like a child. “You were picked up by Orlando when your plane crashed. Yeah?”

I nod silently. Romeo looks over at us, then back to Orlando. Overseeing all.

“This asshole heard of the marriage plans. Tried to make some extra dough, thought he’d prevent you from marrying Orlando. Guards caught him before he did, tapped his messages. Brought him here.”

Oh, God. He’s been in that chair, bleeding and half-conscious, since last night? It’s late morning, almost afternoon.

Mario shrugs. “Didn’t want to ruin your wedding night.” He gives me a wink. I roll my eyes. They say Italians learn the language of flirtation right along with their native tongue. Mario is apparently fluent. “But we left him for Orlando to handle.”

“Who…who hurt him? Who questioned him?”

Mario’s jovial eyes grow serious. “You don’t ask that, Elise. As mafia, you should know better than to ask that.” Unlike Orlando, his tone doesn’t seem corrective or chiding, but more surprised than anything.

Of course I should. God. How many times will I stumble before they find out the truth?

I shrug and continue to whisper. “Our families aren’t the same. Our rules differed from yours. I’m sure there were similarities, but they aren’t the same.”

Mario nods. “True, true.”

Romeo’s gaze swings to us, and he puts a silent finger to his lips. I clamp my mouth shut. I do not need to be mafia to know that obeying the Don is a smart idea.

Orlando stands, his feet planted on either side of him like solid trees. Holding the gaze of his prisoner. “Everyone out,” he snaps. Mario’s eyes flare with surprise as he looks to Romeo, but Romeo only nods and beckons for the men to follow him out of the room. Shaking, I get off the stool, but Orlando’s voice holds me in place.

“Except my wife. You stay right there.”

No. No. He’s going to kill this guy, and he wants me to be the only witness?

The door closes behind us, and when it’s just the three of us remaining, Orlando walks to the door and throws the deadbolt in place.

“Elise,” he snaps. Still not meeting my eyes, he shrugs out of his suit coat and begins to roll up his sleeves, revealing inked arms and strong, strong muscles. I swallow. “Strip.”

I blink. “Strip?” I whisper.

Now I’ve got his attention. “You want to walk home today wearing clothes, or under my suit coat because I ruined yours ripping them off you?”