Page 23 of His Captive
I’m at a loss for words.
Stunned beyond comprehension.
I turn off the lights and walk into my bedroom like I’m lost in a daze. How can Massimo be at peace with dying? With letting his little brother kill him? I know Massimo is in pain. I saw that every time he mentioned his wife. But… this? He knows exactly when he’s going to die, and how it’s going to happen, yet he isn’t going to do anything to stop it?
I remove my clothes and turn to look at my ass in the mirror. It’s not burning anymore, but it’s definitely stinging. There’s redness in the center and a pink halo that surrounds it. It’s not as red as my dress, thankfully. I might still be feeling it tomorrow, but he could have done a lot worse if he tried. I’m grateful he didn’t.
I feel strangely liberated as I look at the result of my punishment. I screwed up big time and the only thing I haveto show for it is a red bottom. I didn’t bleed. I didn’t get sold. Massimo forgave me and said it’s all in the past. That’s where it’ll stay. I’m not going to bring it up again if he doesn’t. The lesson has been learned. I’m his prisoner—guest, whatever. I’ll do as I’m told and I’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone. I’ll leave the true crime mysteries to my best friend. I’m not cut out for it.
“I wonder if she’ll want to do one about Massimo,” I sigh, getting into bed and wincing as I try to find a comfortable position. “After he’s gone… I-I don’t even want to think about that.”
In the darkness, tears prick my eyes. I’ve cried so much today, I feel like a baby. But I can’t help it. These tears are foolish. I barely know Massimo. Why do I care if he gets killed at the end of the week? Just another bad guy gone, right? I doubt many people will shed tears. His brother certainly won’t. Not if he’s the one who ordered the hit.
“So much for letting the island guide me on this adventure.” I blink away my tears and roll over, grimacing again from the sting as I get settled. “All I get to do now is be a good girl until Massimo is gone, and I get on the boat to go back to the mainland. That’s what I get for not following my instincts.”
As I drift into the haze of sleep, I imagine it going a different way. I meet Massimo on the boat. He offers to help, but I decline. I don’t take the ginger beer. I don’t let him look at my hand. I stay away from the gorgeous guy covered in tattoos because that’s what good girlsactuallydo. What I’ve always done. If I’d just followed my instincts, I’d be thinking about the latest chapter of whatever book I decided to read by the beach, rather than thinking about the Mafia, hitmen, and the man in the other bedroom.
But he’s the only thing on my mind when I finally fall asleep.
The next morning, I wake up in a warm, comfortable bed. For a moment, I forget about everything. Itreatedmyself to a bungalow, but it’s nothing compared to this penthouse suite. I sigh as I sit up and then my eyes get wide. My bags are sitting by the door.
“What the…” I mutter, getting out of bed.
Massimo said he would have my bags brought to his suite. I didn’t expect them to magically appear in my room. That means someone was in my room while I was asleep. Was it Massimo? Did he… watch me? I pray the covers stayed tightly around my neck the entire night, because I didn’t have pajamas to sleep in, and my bottom hurt so much I didn’t keep my panties on. Massimo was in my room when I was completely naked under the covers. A strange shudder shoots through me and I feel a tingle between my thighs.
“No, no, no.” I shake my head. “None of that.”
I don’t need anyone else to mourn. Don’t need to let these feelings flourish. It’s wrong on so many levels. I don’t think he’s the kind of man to change his mind once it’s made up. And even if he did, by some miracle, he’s from a world I want nothing to do with.
I cautiously open my bedroom door and peek out. I don’t see any sign of Massimo, so I grab a hotel robe and investigate. His bedroom is empty. The kitchen is untouched, except for a pot of coffee that is still warm.
“Massimo?” I call out, pouring a cup of coffee and opening the fridge to look for something to cut the bitterness. “Milk will have to do, I guess.”
Massimo isn’t here. I sip my coffee as I return to my bedroom. He must be away on whatever business he has to attend to this morning. That’ll give me time to wake up and get myself together. For what? I have no idea. My first day as Massimo’s guest—a kind way of saying I’m being held hostage because I know too much.
I take a shower, put on my makeup, and put on some casual clothes. Jeans, sneakers, and my favorite t-shirt. It’s from a Post Malone show Sarah dragged me to when we were teenagers. I like the memories more than the music.
I hear a thud when I finish getting ready and walk out of the bedroom to see Massimo. His face lights up with a smile when our eyes meet. A smile that is almost enough to turn me into a puddle, but I fight against my feelings, doing my best to shake them off.
“Good morning,” he says. “Are you hungry? Breakfast should be here in a few minutes.”
“Yeah, I think my stomach can handle it,” I joke, unable to stop from smiling.
Massimo looks like he wants to say something. The look in his eyes gets distant for a moment, like it was triggered by my response—or my smile. I feel a flutter in my stomach that’s hard to ignore, but there is a knock at the door, and Massimo turns away.
He opens the door, says something to the man who has brought our breakfast, and wheels a large tray into the suite. He pushes it next to the table and motions for me to join him, so I walk over. Once he begins removing the metal covers on all the dishes, I see a vast breakfast spread. I’m hungry, but notthathungry.
“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I had them send a few options,” he remarks, moving some food around and placing a plate in front of each chair. “Eat. You’ll need it today.”
“To be your prisoner?” I chuckle. “I don’t think I need a big breakfast to lounge around in this luxurious suite all day.”
“No lounging today,bambina,” he says, pulling out my chair and pushing it in once I’m seated. “You said you have an excursion planned to see the ruins and the statues, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer apprehensively. “You’re letting me go on an excursion?”
“I arranged a private excursion,” he explains. “Just the two of us. I’ll show you everything, even a few things they don’t let the tourists see. It’ll be fun. A lot better than going with a tour guide and a bunch of rowdy vacationers.”
I blink in surprise. A private excursion? Just the two of us? It’s a nice gesture, and I guess it’s a necessary one, since he wants to keep me away from people I could talk to. Still, it’s rather surprising.
