Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Great, now I'm getting Mafia fortune cookies. What's next, my lucky numbers for the week? Your future holds great promise... if you can keep your knees together and your mouth shut.
"Ya know, you're making a huge mistake."
"How so?" I ask.
"You think this is a game. I know you think that you and Giovanni have a history. He told me about your first day on the job. The only day you managed to complete because you made terrible choices and ended up being brained by Rico LaRiccia less than twenty-four hours later, forcing Giovanni to assume responsibility for your care because you couldn’t seem to follow the rules.”
Wait. What? “What does that mean?”
“Clarify. Which part of what I said confused you?”
“I couldn’t seem to follow the rules?”
“Giovanni hired you, did he not?”
“He did.”
“He took you to Rico’s sex party, true?”
“True.”
“And you acted like a little slut, didn’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Again, what part do you find confusing?”
“Slut?”
“Did you fuck Giovanni in full view of everyone?”
“Yes, but—”
“And did you challenge Rico with your defiant attitude? Looking directly into his eyes when instructed not to?”
“Umm…” I did do that. By mistake. It was an accident. But how would Giovanni even know that? I was looking over Giovanni’s shoulder when—
“Well, Miss Take… what do you think happens to young naked ladies at sex parties when they are fucking a mob boss and challenge his mortal enemy with direct eye contact while doing it?”
Is he… actually blaming that whole thing on me?
Oh, fuck. Then it hits me. Giovanni didn’t tell him. The Crop Master here has no idea that Giovanni killed Rico. And I guess that makes sense. Who is this guy? Probably some rando psychopath who runs the local sex club. The fact that Giovanni killed Rico is… world altering. I’m not really sure what it means specifically, but one can safely assume it falls under the category ‘bad things.’
I look up at the Master, wondering if I should clarify. Giovanni didn’t tell me not to say anything about that night. There were no explicit instructions in the notebooks he left behind. No note inside the stainless-steel case that said, Keep your mouth shut or else.
But it’s common sense, isn’t it?
When you witness a mobster kill a crime family god, you shut the fuck up or wear concrete shoes.
So… why am I here?
Why is Giovanni even playing this game with me?
“Hello.” Crack. The crop skims across my nipple with frightening precision. Pain blooms—but so does my traitorous arousal. “Are you listening to me?” Master asks.
I look down. “I’m sorry. My mind was wandering.”
He huffs. "Are you stupid, Emmaleen. Or do you like to be violated."
Something in his tone changes—drops lower, colder. The playfulness vanishes like it was never there. My skin prickles with goosebumps that have nothing to do with being naked in a basement.
“I don’t understand the question. I’m not stupid.”
“No. you’re not. So you like to be violated.”
"I don’t like to be violated, either. It's not a zero-sum game, Master." I try to keep my voice steady, but there's a tremor I can't quite control.
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear. "Oh, it so is, my stupid little sub. In this world—the world Giovanni and I live in—zero-sum is all we have."
His voice has gone quiet, almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse. "You know what happened to the last woman who thought she understood Giovanni Bavga? He didn't kill her, if that's what you're thinking. That would be crude. Wasteful."
He circles me slowly. "No. He took her. Piece by piece. First her confidence. Then her independence. Her personality. Her choices. Her voice. Her will. By the time he was done, she was hollow—just a perfect, beautiful shell that moved when he pulled the strings."
A cold knot forms in my stomach.
"And when he grew tired of her—which he did, because he always does—he discarded her. Not with violence. With indifference. Which is far worse." He stops in front of me, tilting my chin up with the crop. "Last I heard, she was working in some café in Toronto. She flinches when men speak too loudly. Can't make decisions without asking permission first. Doesn't even remember who she used to be."
I swallow hard, suddenly questioning everything I thought I knew about the man who brought me here.
"Giovanni doesn't destroy women, Emmaleen. He remakes them into what he wants. And when he's done with his creation, he simply... sets it aside. Like a child bored with a toy." His eyes bore into mine. "You think you're different? Special? They all did."
My head spins like a carousel with all its light bulbs shot out. His words slicing through my defenses, nicking all the places I've tried to armor up. For a terrifying moment, I can't conjure a single snarky thought. My inner monologue—usually a relentless stream of commentary—stutters and buffers like a YouTube video on dial-up.