Page 23 of Marrying the Mobster
“Good. Now get in bed.”
I’m halfway into my panties before I register what he says. “I’m sleeping in here … withyou?”
Diego stands, leaving the gun on the chair to approach me. He grins, and this time he really looks amused. He tweaks the tip of my nose with his finger and chuckles.
“That mouth of yours,gatita… it’s going to get you into so much trouble with me. But, I think I’m going to enjoy punishing you for it.”
I snap my teeth at his finger, which he pulls back with another laugh.
“Careful,” he warns in a teasing tone. “I’m giving you until morning to come to terms with this arrangement. I expect you to smother any thoughts of rebellion you might have by breakfast tomorrow. Now, get your ass in the bed. I’m a light sleeper and there are guns hidden all over this room. Iwillhear you if you try to leave this bed.”
Left with no other choice, I pull on my clothes, not bothering with the bra. I hesitate for only a few seconds before climbing into bed, seeing it for the trap it is. Diego seems determined to control my every move now, which means I’ll have less freedom of movement than I did in that cell of a room upstairs.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
After Diego gets in next to me, he swallows a handful of pills with some water before pressing a remote on the nightstand to kill the lights. I lay beside him and breathe. My every muscle is stiff, but my mind is racing as I wait for him to touch me, or force me to commit some sexual act. Why else strip me down and emphasize that he can do whatever he wants to me?
To my surprise, Diego doesn’t move a muscle. Within half an hour, his breathing deepens and slows, and I can tell he’s asleep.
I lay awake for another hour, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.
12
Elena
The first two days of my new place as Diego’s minion pass in a blur. My routine doesn’t change much from what it was in my isolated room. I’m delivered my three meals each day, eating most of them alone. Marcella visited twice to join me, seeming relieved to find me alive and mostly unscathed. I spend the rest of my time in solitude until Diego returns to his bedroom each night. He stays away until past midnight, always looking fatigued and strained when he walks through the door. We take turns using the shower, then get into bed. Every night, I wait for Diego to do something that will make me hate him more than I already do. It never happens. He always falls asleep once his cocktail of pills kicks in, turning his back and not moving until morning.
That offers me no reassurance. The look in his eyes when he watched me undress spoke volumes, and I know he intends to take advantage of our deal.
Will I refuse when the time comes? My first reaction to the thought is outright, vehement denial. Absolutely not. The man kidnapped me and will probably consider killing me every day for the foreseeable future. The idea of letting him fuck me is repulsive.
Except, a voice in the back of my mind says otherwise. I can’t pretend not to find him attractive with those swarthy good looks, that deep voice, and the body art. I guess it’s true what they say about girls being attracted to bad boys, even when they know it’s no good for them. Letting him use my body might work in my favor. If I give him what he wants, he might lower his guard and allow me more freedom. He might loosen the reins just enough for me to slip away, for good this time.
I tell myself it’ll never work. The way Marcella talked about her brother led me to believe he uses women like disposable toys. I won’t let myself think he wants me bad enough to soften, not even a little bit.
My meticulous search of Diego’s bedroom turned up no avenues of escape. There’s no technology in a suite he seems to only use for sleeping and grooming. No phones or laptops, not even a TV. There are two guards on the door every day, which surprisingly remains unlocked. Apparently, Diego doesn’t think I’d be stupid enough to try fighting my way out again.
The morning after that disaster, I was snatched out of sleep by loud pounding. Going to the window, I discovered a crew of men standing on ladders, hammering massive boards over it.
On the morning of the third day, I’m surprised to find Diego still in the room when I wake up. Mariana is there with my breakfast tray, and three other people are setting up an array of various beauty items on a table. Blinking and shaking my head, I realize this isn’t a weird dream. Something is happening and I’m the last to know about it.
“Good morning,” Diego says, standing at the foot of the bed.
He’s wearing a navy-blue button-up tucked into a pair of black slacks. A leather belt and the immaculate fit of the clothes shows off how ripped he is—the tight muscle beneath the finery. His sleeves are rolled back to reveal those tattoos. Strands of inky black hair are moussed and slicked, and he looks as if he’s had a fresh haircut and shave.
“What’s all this?” I murmur around a yawn.
“We’re going to a dinner party tonight.”
I frown, confused and still fighting off drowsiness. When I agreed to this deal, being taken to a fancy party was the last thing I’d expected.
“What?”
Diego sweeps a hand toward the two men and one woman arranging the table. One of the men is tall and slender, with a man-bun and a face full of piercings. The other man is short and plump, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a face of makeup so perfect I envy him on sight. The woman is black, with tawny brown skin and long dreadlocks that hang down to her ass. On the table there are hair products, a blow dryer and various irons, makeup, skincare items, tweezers and files, combs and clips, and a sea of other things that make my eyesight blur.
“This event is important, so everything must be perfect. You will let them make you up and dress you, and you will behave yourself.”
I barely have time to digest this before Diego turns to leave, giving his last order over his shoulder. “I’ll come for you at eight. Be ready.”
