CHAPTER THREE: WINTER
My body feels numb as I watch Giovanni slide out of the car. He doesn't bother to look back at me or say another word, leaving me in the now chilled car.
My jaw drops open as I think about the cold, cruel promise that’d filled the space between us.
When I want to fuck you, you will let me.
I don't have time to process the thought for any longer as a figure appears in front of the open door. I shrink back, thinking that it's Giovanni. Not even a half an hour in and I already dread his presence. My pulse slows down slightly, but not by much as the guard appears in my vision. His face is scrunched together, but when he catches me watching him, he quickly gets rid of the expression, a blank look on his face.
"Ms. Chastine, this way," is all he says. He gestures for me to get out of the car.
For a moment, I think about throwing open the opposite door and running away. I could maybe make it a couple feet at most before the bulky guard catches up with me.
And then what would the punishment be?
Because I have no doubt that the guard would tell Giovanni about my attempt at running and then the mobster would punish me in some way.
When I want to fuck you, you will let me.
My stomach twists, bile rising, and I have to reach a hand out to place against the back of the seat in front of me as I try to get my bearings.
"Ms. Chastine." The guard's tone is hard and when I look at him, his big hands are crossed in front of him, but they look coiled and ready to attack at any moment, if he catches even the slightest indication that he needs to hold me back or detain me.
Shaking my head, I scoot forward on the seat, getting closer to the guard. He takes a step back to allow me to step out. The cold air touches my skin, but it still feels like I'm on fire, even as we walk toward the mansion.
The guard’s steps are short and quick, but I manage to keep up with him as he leads me up a dozen steps. When we get to the glass front doors, he nods to the two men standing on the sides of the door. They nod back before pulling the doors open for us to enter. Glancing at the doors, I have to wonder if they are bulletproof.
There's no way a mobster is running around with regular glass doors, not when they have enemies around every corner.
The guard continues walking and I take in the short hall that we're in. The walls hold paintings of a variety of Italian men, all members of the Costa family, I'm sure. I quickly turn away from them.
The heat of the house finally starts to click in and I shake myself out of the trance like state. "I'll show you to the room that you will be staying in," the guard says.
We pass by a couple of people, but they all appear to either be guards or maids. They only spare us a glance before getting back to what they're doing.
I try to keep up with my surroundings as I follow the guard, but it feels like I'm in a matrix. The guard leads me up a set of spiral steps and when we make it to the top, it almost feels hard to breathe and I have to catch my breath.
The guard continues to walk and the further we go, the less glamorous the halls look, until we finally come to the last hall. It isn't bad looking in the slightest, but it lacks the allure and air of the other halls. There's about half a dozen doors and I stare, as if trying to see through them to see what's inside.
"This is your room," the guard finally says. He moves to the side, gesturing to one of the doors. I stay rooted in place as I stare at the floor.
What's going to be behind the door, a dungeon?
The guard clears his throat and this time when I look at him, I don't miss the remorse on his face. He turns away, turning the knob and pushing the door open when it becomes clear that I'm not going to do it.
I stare through the doorway, surprised by how normal the room looks. There's a king sized bed and the comforters on it are thick and golden, like that of royalty. I blink, craning my head to look at the rest of the room. Drawers line the walls and a huge antique mirror is over one of the dressers. A door to what looks like a closet has a shiny door knob on it.
And it all looks so luxurious.
That can't be right.
I'm a prisoner here, not a guest, as Giovanni made clear, and yet...
"Are you going to go in, Ms. Chastine? I have other places that I need to be," the guard says. I look at him, but his gaze isn't directly on me, instead it's looking over my shoulder.
As if he doesn't want to pay attention to the golden prison that he's about to lock me in, as if he wants his hands to be clean of all of this.
But it's a little too late for that.