Sold: Dark Mafia Romance
I pick it up and hold it close, waiting for whoever’s on the other side of the door to enter the room so I can smack them over the head with it.
But a voice makes me stop in my tracks. “Your purchase, sir.”
It’s one of the guards who put me down here. Son of a—
“Thank you.”
His voice is like dark chocolate sliding down my throat.
He’s here. Marcello.
He may have bought my body as an expensive souvenir, like some toy to play with, but my heart and soul will never belong to him, and I will fight as hard as I can to free myself from this hell.
Suddenly, the door opens, and I jump back, holding up the glass. Slowly, a man enters the room. Then my eyes lock on his face… and those eyes gaze at me like I’m the single most precious treasure on earth.
His look freezes me in place. Time stands still—only for a second, but it’s enough to cost me everything. By the time I remember who I am, who he is, what he’s going to do to me… it’s too late to fight back.
I try to hurl the glass at him, but he moves forward fast and catches my wrist, effectively stopping me. The whiskey sloshes over the edge, spilling over our hands.
My eyes are locked on Marcello’s. The look on his face is maddeningly excited instead of fearful or angry. What the hell is wrong with this man?
He smiles, licking his lips. “Kitten … is that how you greet the man who just saved you?”
He leans in, his grip on my wrist tightening, and brings my hand to his lips to lick up the spilled drops of whiskey. The velvety feel of his tongue sends tingles rushing through my body, and then he murmurs, “Never waste a drop.”
The door clicks shut behind us.
Shit. My last chance to escape, gone like a whisper in the wind because I let him distract me.
I try to jerk free, but it’s no use. He’s much stronger than I am. He snatches the glass from my hand and then releases me.
Rubbing my painful wrist, I scowl at him and hiss, “Stop calling me kitten.”
His brow rises playfully. “You still haven’t told me your name, remember?”
His eyes travel down my body, paying close attention to each crevice and exposed inch of bare skin. He takes an acute interest in my nipples, which have peaked from the cold. My cheeks heat, and I swallow hard.
Reluctantly I offer, “My name’s Harper.”
That gets him to look me straight in the eyes. “Harper.”
Jesus. The way he says my name, with such an erotic darkness in his voice, makes me think of all the dirty things I really shouldn’t be thinking about.
Stop it, Harper. Just stop!
“What a beautiful name.” He brings the glass to his lips and takes a casual sip from the remaining amber liquid. “Mhh…” He almost purrs. “Just like you will be when I finally get a taste.”
My nostrils flare, but I don’t respond. I’m sure he’s just taunting me, but it’s working. Especially with that devilishly handsome suit he’s wearing. It can barely handle the ripped muscles hiding underneath … and the thick, throbbing cock clearly visible behind his zipper.
I gulp. I swallow hard on the unwelcome burst of the desire shooting through my body.
“See something you like, kitten?” he asks, slowly tilting his head in a predatory way before he takes another sip. “You can have it if you like. All you need to do is ask.”
“Fuck you,” I growl. I shouldn’t respond, but I can’t stop myself. This man makes me do stupid things, and he knows it.
Enough is enough.
I look behind and around me, trying to find anything to hit him or threaten with, anything to guarantee my freedom. The cloth on the couch … Maybe I could use it to strangle him. It’s a stretch, but it might be worth a shot if it gets me out of this bunker.
He lets out a dark chuckle, wagging his finger at me. “Don’t even think about it, kitten.”
Marcello moves his jacket to the side, revealing a gun hidden beneath the expensive fabric. Of course, why did I even think I stood a chance? I sigh and look away, frustrated as hell at myself and the impossible scenario I’m stuck in.
“Tell me something, Harper,” he says, emphasizing my name like it’s a dirty word. In his mouth, it is. I shiver uncontrollably. “Do you want to kill me?”
“Like you’d let me try,” I retort, briefly glancing at the gun.
“But you want to, don’t you?” he pushes. “You think I’m bad for buying you, and you want to punish me.”
My lips part, but I can’t find the words. I don’t know what I really want. A part of me wants him dead because it’s easier. Because it will give me a chance to escape. Because it will give me power. Because it will bring me closer to my parents’ murderers, which is something I can’t forget about. Even now when it seems I’m destined to become this man’s prisoner.