Page 8 of Savior

There’s nowhere to run.

When the man turns on me, his lips move as he speaks, but I can’t make out a thing.

His smile is damning, like the somber smirk of a demon let out of hell.

Finally, some of his muffled words reach my cortex. “I always try the product first, you see…”

Fuck.

Fuck no!

I decide then and there if what he’s implying is that he’s going to rape me, I’m going to fight. Life be damned.

I’m no virgin, but I’ll be goddamned if this man takes a shred of my power away from me. Myra—my best friend—was rapedalmost her entire life by her father, and I’m convinced it’s what has her so broken.

“Too bad you smell so fucking bad. I guess you’re safe from Don Adamo for another night. But I'll be back for you once you’re clean, little sheep. I’ll taste this body before I sell it.”

Don Adamo.

As in Giani Adamo?

Fuck’s sake.

How the hell had I gotten on his radar?

Giani Adamo is the leader of the Adamo Crime Family in New York, one of five families that run the tri-state area.

A woman rushes in, and then I’m led through the mansion of what I assume can only be their headquarters before I’m stripped and scrubbed thoroughly as if I can’t wash my body myself.

When the same woman—who won’t give me the time of day or even a sidelong glance for more than two seconds—places a plate in front of me at a small dining table in the suite she’s got me in, I shamelessly scarf it down and then vomit most of it back up.

When she leaves, the door locks behind her, and I’m left inside yet another fucking prison.

The windows have bars on them and overlook an extravagant backyard filled with gorgeous greenery and fountains galore. It’s gaudy, but it’s beautiful.

Deciding I have no choice, I allow the bone-deep exhaustion to take over as I crash into the bed, not bothering with the covers and closing my eyes as soon as I’m comfortable.

It’ll prove to be the single worst decision I’ve ever made in my life.

Because when I’m jolted awake, there’s tobacco-scented breath raking its way up my throat, and hands cupping my breasts beneath the nightgown the woman had dressed me in.

“There you are, little sheep. I thought you’d never rouse,” Giani says, alcohol wafting from his breath and fanning over my senses.

Panic wells in my throat as I try to wiggle from beneath him to anywhere else other than here in my skin.

I’ve never wanted to be someone else more than I do right this second.

I’d kill to wake from this dream.

From this nightmare.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCA

“Father, to what do we owe the pleasure?” my brother asks as I walk through the front door with a smile and a bottle of Mom’s favorite wine.

“Don’t be a smartass,” I tell him, dropping my smile and feigning disdain.

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