Page 22 of Marrying the Mobster
I gasp as the nose of the pistol slides along my thigh, cold and menacing.
“I’m a tough girl,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Inside I’m terrified and cowering. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”
Diego flashes his teeth in a hard snarl. “If I agree to this, I won’t tolerate any more of your bullshit. I’m not fucking around here … if you give me grief or inconvenience me beyond my limits, I will end you. Do you understand?”
I nod, the movement jerky and stiff.
Diego wraps his fingers around my throat and narrows his eyes. “Speak.”
“I … I understand.”
He lets me go and steps back, shaking his head. “Not very convincing. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
His dismissive attitude sends humiliation washing through me and I bow my head, fingernails biting into my palms. It’s taking everything I have not to claw his eyes out.
“Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it,” I whisper, revulsion filling my throat with bile.
Diego backs toward a black leather chair and sits, the gun still in his hand. He rests it on his knee, raising an eyebrow.
“Show me what a good, obedient girl you can be,gatita.Take off your clothes.”
I flinch at the emotionless command, goosebumps breaking out over my skin. “What?”
He grinds his teeth, flicking his gun in an impatient motion. “Show me you know how to do as you’re told, without giving me any of that lip. Strip. Now.”
His eyes tell me I don’t have much time to comply before he changes his mind. I start moving as if someone else is controlling my body. I look at the corner of the room and pretend I’m somewhere else. Cool air caresses my belly as I start inching my shirt up with shaking hands. It’s followed by the heat of Diego’s stare as he trails the fabric upward. The yoga pants come next, and I let my hair fall over my face as I bend down to step out of them. I keep my eyes down once I straighten, left only in a sports bra and a pair of plain panties.
“All of it,” Diego says, his voice low and husky. It whispers over me like stroking fingertips, making me shudder.
I open my mouth to tell him he’s taken enough of my dignity, but his gun is still pointed at me, keeping the threat of death in the forefront of my mind. I push the panties down first, thinking it best to get the most invasive part over first. It only makes the shivers accelerate across my skin as I pull the bra over my head. My nipples harden when kissed by the open air, and I clench my thighs together on instinct.
Some unseen force prompts me to lift my head, and I find Diego looking me over, his eyes taking a slow journey over every exposed bit of me. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see a vein pulsing in his temple. His hand on the gun slackens and the nose points down toward the floor.
“Come closer,” he says, his gaze locked on the strip of dark hair running down my bikini area. The rest is waxed bare.
Somehow, I manage to put one foot in front of the other. My body is being torn in several directions, embarrassment making me hot while anxiety makes me shiver. My nipples tingle and the abrasion of my thighs makes me pulse with every step.
“Closer,” he prods. “And lift your head,gatita. Fuck, you’re stunning. Let me look at you.”
My chin trembles as I meet his gaze. His eyes simmer like hot coals as he holds my gaze. My belly clenches and quivers, something else entangling with the fear deep inside me. No man has ever look at me like this—not even the ones who told me they loved me. This is something I’ve never seen up close. Desire, raw and visceral. Possessiveness, instant and powerful. He doesn’t have to say out loud that I am now his plaything, a toy he can amuse himself with or destroy as he sees fit. His eyes say it all.
“Kneel.”
I feel like I’ve been hypnotized or drugged, my limbs disconnected from my body. Somehow, I manage to get on my knees without collapsing or looking away. He’s testing me and I won’t fail. If Diego thinks he can scare me into taking back my offer, he has another thought coming.
His lips curve on one side, and he reaches out to touch my chin. With the slightest motion, he’s urging me closer, until I’m between his parted legs. My eyes drop to the prominent bulge of his dick, hard and visible against the fabric of his sweats. The asshole is getting off on this. He’s hard at the sight of me, face wet with tears and naked, shamed at his feet.
“Convince me to spare you,” he murmurs. “Beg for your life.”
My throat burns with a string of profanities and my hands itch to slap him. But I have to play the long game here. This moment is about survival. I will do what I have to right now, and when the time is right, I’ll make Diego sorry he did this to me.
“Please,” I whisper, letting a little whimper creep into my voice. Whatever it takes to make this believable. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fight you, just … please don’t kill me.”
Diego leans back, eying me thoughtfully. I avoid his gaze, studying the tattoos that were previously hidden by his clothes. One inner forearm is marked with a large cross, a crown of thorns hanging from one of the beams. The tattoo isn’t in color, but the drops of blood falling from the crown to pool underneath the cross are unmistakable. The other forearm has a pair of praying hands with a rosary hanging from them, and a Latin prayer scrawled in cursive beneath it. The rest of his art disappears beneath his short sleeves—Latin words and rose vines laced with thorns, drops of blood here and there.
“You belong to me now,” Diego says suddenly, bringing my gaze back up to his face. “Let me be clear about what that means. You do what I say, when I say it, and without resistance. You will go out of your way to please me and obey. When you are a naughty girl, I will punish you. And if you ever try to harm me or anyone else in this house again, I’ll kill you. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I snarl, my teeth aching from how hard I’m clenching them.
