Sold to Moretti Mafia

Fallon

The apartment is nice, but it would be nicer if I wasn’t confined to one room for the majority of the day. Markus says it’s for my own good, but I think he’s lying.

I’ve been cooped up in this bedroom for days while he does errands and makes phone calls. It’s frustrating because while he tells me to trust him, he seems to keep everything to himself, making it hard for me to want to put anything regarding my sister’s life in his hands, and we won’t even mention how crazy he acted when we got here. He almost fucked me on the couch before changing his mind and handcuffing me to the bed.

He’s pent up here, much like a dog in a cage. The feeling is mutual. It’s obvious he isn’t used to living here, at least not recently. Every so often, I find him looking over his shoulder like he’s waiting for someone to jump out and get him.

There is something different about him today when he walks into the bedroom with breakfast in hand.

“After you eat, I want you to get dressed. We have somewhere to go.”

I just about leap off the bed, “That’s all you’re telling me? We have somewhere to go?”

“Don’t get mouthy with me,” he warns.

“Or what?” I don’t know why I’m pushing him, probably because I’m on edge too. I’m past being obedient. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere with him. I’m almost certain misbehaving would get me more places than being good has.

“You do realize I could treat you much worse, right? I could beat you, starve you, whore you out to men daily. You could have it much worse than being cuffed to a warm bed, being fed, and cared for.”

“You’re right. I could have it worse. I could be my sister. Who is probably going through exactly that. So save me your comparison because I would gladly trade spots with her,” I scream into his face, not caring about the repercussions.

At the end of the day, I’m stuck with him no matter what. He won’t let me go, even after all of this is over.

“You don’t know what you are saying.”

“No, you don’t know! You don’t know what it’s like to be helpless. And for your information, just because there are worse people out there doesn’t make you any better than them. Stop comparing yourself to awful people so you can make yourself feel better. Just because you have an ounce of compassion doesn’t make you a good person. You have no morals and no grasp of reality. You are caught up in your own little dark world, watching everything slip by you.”

“Are you done?” he asks, annoyed by my outburst.

Of course, he doesn’t care. He knows all of this already.

At least I got to say my peace, which does make me feel a tad better.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Yes,” I huff, irritated by him patronizing me. “I’m not hungry. Can we just go wherever you want to go?” I won’t admit it because he would probably cuff me back to the bed, but I need to get out of this apartment, this bed, this goddamn room.

“Fine, get dressed.”

I do just that. It’s not like there are many clothes to choose from, so the decision is basically made for me.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat something?” Markus asks as I walk past the plate of French toast he made for breakfast.

“I’m sure.”

He shakes his head and grabs my hand. My treacherous little heart jumps in my chest as the warmth of his touch zings through me. At least he’s not dragging me behind him like a lost puppy. We exit the apartment complex through the underground garage, and as soon as we step out onto the concrete floor, his entire body tenses.

I wonder how many enemies he’s made to make him feel that he needs to peer over his shoulder, even in broad daylight?

Hitting the key fob, he unlocks the car, and we quickly walk across the garage. He glances over his shoulder like he expects someone to be there.

Once in the car, he starts the vehicle, and the engine purrs to life. He drives out of the garage and out onto the busy city street. I don’t bother asking where we’re going, not when I know he won’t tell me, but also because I don’t really care.

I need this reprieve, a drive to wherever to clear my head. Thankfully, that’s exactly what I get. We drive through the city, and I stare out my window with my face glued to the glass. Turning in my seat, I glance over at Markus and find him white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, trying not to sound concerned for him.

“I’m fine.” He slams his foot against the gas pedal, causing the car to exhilarate faster. Moving into the next lane, he darts around cars like he’s in a Nascar race.

The rational part of me knows I should be scared, afraid we will slam into a barrier and explode into a raging inferno, but I’m not.

Using his turn signal, he takes the next exit off the interstate. My stomach tightens as we slow and turn left at the stop sign. I have this really bad feeling for some reason, and it only seems to intensify as we continue driving.

I’m struck with fear when Markus parks the vehicle at the back of a building. Something tells me this is going to end badly.

“Where are we?”

Putting the car in park, he kills the engine and turns to me. “The auction.”

I freeze. “N-no. I’m not going in there.”

Markus grits his teeth. “Come willingly, or I’ll drag you inside. The option is yours.”

I knew this was going to be bad. I had hoped we were going to get out of the house, not go back to the place that he bought me. With a cringe, I look up at the building and weigh my options, which are none. One way or another, I have to go inside.

“I’m scared,” I admit, turning to face Markus.

His face is a pane of glass, emotionless and cold. “Fear is normal. When we get inside, I need you to keep your eyes down on the ground and be quiet. I can’t guarantee your protection in this place, not by myself.”

I gulp. “That doesn’t really help, but okay.” That only scares me more.

“I just need you to know what to expect.”

“Why are we here? Why bring me somewhere that you know I’m not going to be safe?”

“You’ll see. Just do as I say, and everything is going to be all right.”

“Okay. I’ll listen.”

Markus nods, and together we get out of the car and walk up to a door. My knees knock together with each step I take. Raising his closed fist, he knocks three times against the heavy wood, and then a little pocket hole slides open.

“It’s Markus,” Markus growls impatiently, his demeanor changing instantly.

The pocket hole closes. And a second later, the door is being pulled open.

Markus gives my hand a hard squeeze, and I do just as he instructs. With my eyes trained on the floor, we cross over the threshold.

“Take me to Tony,” Markus orders harshly.

A man chuckles. “The boss sees who he wants to see.”