Mistress to a Monster

“What?” he asked, yelling toward the sound.

“The doctor has arrived.”

“Give me ten minutes.” He didn’t want to let Milah go, but the doctor needed to see her to check on her.

She finally stopped shaking, and he climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his body, then doing the same to Milah.

After carrying her toward his bed, he placed her beneath the covers and quickly changed before going to the door to make entry for the doctor.

Doctor Pierce was a family doctor and the only one Damon trusted. Letting him in, he told him what had happened. Doctor Pierce tutted but got to work, assessing her. Damon stood, watching, waiting, seeing her look so pale.

“There is a chance she might get sick and feverish,” Doctor Pierce said. “For now, prepare some soup. It will help, and some water.”

Damon gave the order, and Pierce continued to treat her. “She does have a couple of bites on her body. I’m assuming from rats where you kept her. There is a chance of infection. She must be taken care of over the course of the next few days.” He looked behind him and shook his head. “I will return tomorrow to check on her. She will be in and out of it, but you must feed her. My bill?”

“Will be handled, and it will be doubled,” he said.

“I have served the De Luca family for many years, Damon. I have never known for them to treat a woman like this, unless they intended to end her life.”

“Get out,” Damon said. He didn’t need to be told by anyone what had happened here. This was a sign of disrespect, and if word got out that a soldier and maids dared to go against his word, there could be an uprising.

At thirty-three years old, he was the youngest person to rule the De Luca empire. Many people felt he didn’t deserve the title or the role. Some had even tried to oppose him. They had all ended up dead, apart from family members he had demoted them to a lower rank within the De Luca family.

His father had taught him there was no true family. Blood was not thicker than water, but power was everything. Only those who were willing to spill blood and die for you were the ones you kept close. That was what he did, but he also knew that he needed to keep his enemies closer still.

It was a mixed balance of chaos of which he’d become the master.

Standing by the bed, he looked down at Milah. Without her scowling or guarded, she was even more beautiful.

He stepped away, going to his wardrobe where he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and one of his bed shirts. Once he’d removed the towel from her body, he eased the clothing over her and then tucked her back into bed.

Every now and then, she would let out a whimper. Sometimes she’d call for her mother. He noticed she never once begged for her father. Even in her nightmares, her father was a waste of time.

With one of the maid’s help, he fed her some soup, which wasn’t a lot. She was unconscious. For the first twenty-four hours, he stayed by her side. The doctor returned and didn’t like the look of her. He treated the rat bites and handed him some antibiotics. Now all they had to do was wait.

He didn’t like waiting. Not for this.

By the third night, James was much better, so Damon put him in charge while he made his way down toward the basement.

Many lives had been lost in this very room. He looked around at the seven guards and three maids. All of whom were in a pool of their own piss and shit, the stench revolting, and he knew more lives would be haunting this very room.

His property was always heavily guarded.

The maids were taken from the women that were sold to them. He offered them a good life serving in his home, or to be one of the whores in the De Luca brothels. Many tried to become a maid to him, but he only accepted those that he knew wouldn’t take a good price. Ones men wouldn’t want to fuck.

Life was cruel, but this way, they got to live, even if it meant to serve him. Most of them were strays and runaways, trying to find a better life.

“So, you thought it was a good idea to go against my decision? To starve my guest?” he asked.

“Sir, she is a Russo. She has no right to live,” the man he’d shot said. Damon hadn’t allowed his wounds to be treated, other than to be bound up to stop him from dying. He looked like the grim reaper was coming for him.

After going to the far wall, he picked up one of the sharpest knives. The point seemed to glisten in the lamplight. Moving to the one he’d shot, he pointed the tip against his cheek, blood seeping through from that smallest of pressure.

Drawing it back, he flicked the blade across the man’s cheek. “I’ll deal with you last.”

With the first two men, he simply swiped the blade right across their throats, watching the blood spill down their bodies. The third, he plunged the blade into his eye, drawing it out. This now left three more men and three women. He’d never been the kind to take pleasure from scaring women, but none of them had come to him to warn him. They knew his rules. They were not newbies. They listened to the guard rather than their master, and for that, he slit their throats one by one until all three were dead.

The other three guards were dragged out along with the one shot. His men dragged them back to the cave, where he was sure to nick their flesh so the rats would come. With them all chained up, there was no chance of escape.

As with all things, rumor would spread about what he did today.

He didn’t care. This was a mercy as far as he was concerned. He could do far worse.

Locking the gate, he heard their screams. Their begs. Their pleas, but they all fell on deaf ears. They were going to die for what they did.

As Damon stepped away, he paused. Why did it matter to him that they suffer? Milah meant nothing to him. She was merely a toy to be played with.

Pushing any concerns to the back of his mind, he stepped forward and continued walking. With every step he took, the sounds of their screams started to fade until he heard nothing at all.