Ruthless Prince (Dark Syndicate 1)

The hours go by. Candace comes like she promised. She tries each time to speak to me, but I’m a shell. Priscilla comes too. I give her the same treatment. I don’t eat either. I can’t.

Night falls. I close my eyes, falling asleep in my new prison. I remember thinking of living with my father as being kept in a gilded cage.

That was nothing. I had it good back then. I just don’t know why he would take care of me so well and allow this to happen. I blame him, but I know deep down that he was forced. That’s the only explanation. The D’Agostino monsters forced his hand. That’s why he behaved the way he did.

But he sold me.

Wasn’t there another way?

I don’t know what to believe and what to do. It all hurts me deeply, and every time I think of Italy, my heart breaks a little bit more.

I drift and float into a dream, then burning tickles my nose and I stir. Smoke. Tobacco smoke like the type Grandfather used to have. Dad also smokes them when he has company, but my grandfather would always have a cigar.

My eyes flutter open to see the bright sunlight. It’s morning, and a gentle breeze caresses my skin.

Breeze. My eyes snap wide. I twist toward the window but stop mid-movement when I see him.

Massimo is sitting on the window ledge— shirtless, smoking a cigar.

My breath hitches for two reasons. The first is the sight of him without his shirt. The next is fear.

I am afraid of him. I won’t lie to myself or be a hero and believe I can overpower him. I can’t.

He puts the cigar out and stands, giving me a better view of his body. There are tattoos covering the whole left side of his abs and all over his arms. There’s an angel inked on his left pec, and then what looks like Arabic writing all along the right side of his torso and left hip. I don’t know what any of it says, though, and I’m not going to give him the pleasure of staring too long. Not when he looks pissed. I stand up when he moves closer and pray silently my heart doesn’t beat out of my chest. And that I won’t die of fright.

Chapter Seven

Emelia

“I’ve been told you aren’t eating and you’re refusing to wear the clothes I got you. Tell me why that is,” he demands, staring me down.

My lungs constrict, but I will my body to function and block out the fear. If I show my fear, he’ll use that against me. He’ll use it to try and control me.

Nothing about any of this is good, and if I don’t stand up for myself, he?

?ll push me around until there’s nothing left of me. I can’t let that happen.

“I don’t want anything from you,” I answer, lifting my chin in defiance.

A deep rumble resonates from his chest. I swear it sounds like a growl. Like the sound a bear would make, or a ravenous wolf.

“You think that is how this is going to work?”

“Where are my things? You’ve brought me here and expected me to just be okay with this shit.”

“You think that is how this is going to work?” he asks again, with emphasis on each syllable, baring his teeth.

I’m pushing him. I know I am, but I have to say what I have to say.

“I want to make a phone call. Prisoners usually get that, don’t they?” I keep my gaze trained on him.

“The person who needs to know you’re here, knows. The next time you speak to your father will be at the fundraiser.”

I don’t know when that is, but I assume it’s before this wedding we’re supposed to have.

“I want to call my friend,” I tell him. He chuckles.

“Friend?”