Sold to Moretti Mafia

Elena

“Then don’t make me. Take off your fucking clothes, get in the shower, and listen to what I tell you. I’ve already shown you more mercy than I should have. Don’t force my hand, Elena, don’t make me hurt you; I promise you that it won’t be something you easily forget. You think I’m a monster now, but you haven’t even seen a sliver of what I’m capable of.”

I don’t realize how much I’m trembling until he pulls away, releasing my throat and taking the warmth of his body with him.

For a moment, I simply lie there, my chest heaving, fear pumping through my veins. My hand moves on its own, pressing against the flesh at my throat where it still feels as if he’s holding me, his grasp like a steel shackle.

“Are you going to obey, or do you want to test my patience and resolve?” he whispers, and I decide to swallow my pride, and my need to escape for the time being. There will be other instances where fighting back is more worth my while. I need to save my strength.

Sitting up, I come to stand on shaky legs, cross the room, and walk into the bathroom, feeling his presence at my back the entire time.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Once inside the bathroom, the lights flick on, and my eyes burn at the brightness. I look down at the floor, my fingers shake, and goosebumps pebble my flesh when I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it off. It drops to the floor just like my stomach.

I’ve never been naked in front of a man. Never shown any of my intimate parts to one, and now I have no option. If I force his hand, I don’t doubt he’ll hurt me.

“I’ve never been n@ked in front of a man before.” My cheeks burn at the admission.

“There’s a first time for everything. You should get used to being n@ked in my presence because next month, we’ll be married, and I’ll be taking that ch*e*rr*y between your legs.”

It’s hard not to flinch at the words he says, but somehow, I manage.

Looking down my body, I realize that the scratches on my legs look like they have been cleaned. When did that happen?

Julian clears his throat, and his impatient eyes are on me. I know it even though I’m not looking at him. I can feel them piercing into my flesh, branding me, watching my shaky movements. Pressing my lips together, I dip my fingers into the waistband of my panties and push them down my legs. I feel like I’m signing my own death certificate with the motion. N@ked, he could easily take from me. He could steal my virtue, not that I think clothes would stop him, but they’re another barrier, a security blanket.

Crossing an arm over my chest, I cover my b*00*bs and use my other hand to cover the space between my thighs while still refusing to look at him. I don’t want to see the satisfied glint in his eyes. I don’t want him to think he’s won because the battle has merely begun.

Julian’s eyes darken further; emotions I don’t understand swirling in their depths.

“Drop your arms,” he says gruffly.

Obeying, I drop my arms down to my sides. Shaking with fear, I flinch as he walks closer, nearly touching me as he reaches into the shower behind me and turns it on. I relax but only a little as he reappears at my side, plucking a strand of hair off my shoulder, wrapping it around one finger. Inspecting it like it’s a rare jewel.

Leaning to my ear, his hot breath tickling the lobe, he whispers, “Such a beautiful bride you will be. I cannot wait to deep in*si*de you and watch as you bl*e*e*d around me. I’ll be your first and your last.”

My most basic instincts kick in, and I feel the need to run, hide, but there is nowhere I can go. Nowhere to escape. Instead, all I manage to do is whimper.

“Get in the shower and clean yourself,” he orders a moment later, his voice coming out different. Scurrying away from him, I step into the shower, shutting the glass door behind me. I wish it wasn’t glass, so I could have a little privacy.

Through the fog-filled glass door, I can still feel his eyes on me, feel him watching me through the glass as I clean myself. I should be thankful, at least he isn’t right on top of me, tormenting me with his body, at least he hasn’t hurt me. Yet. That single word defines everything. If I do as he says, submit, and become a doormat to his needs, he won’t hurt me. If I fight, he’ll become the devil that I definitely know he is. Though I’ve always stayed out of my father’s business, I know better than to assume Julian is a weak-minded man. He got my father to sell me to him. His men listen to him. He’s powerful, cruel, and he’ll use his strength to keep me in line. All these thoughts and emotions are giving me a headache.

Closing my eyes, I hold my face beneath the spray of water, trying my best to ignore him and pretend I’m alone. I don’t know why but I’m shocked when I reach for the soap and discover he has not only soap for himself but also me.

He had everything planned and ready.

I wonder how long he’s been planning this with my father, planning how I will spend the rest of my life. I can never forget what he’s done and how I got here. As soon as I let my guard down, he’ll hurt me.

Taking my time, I wash my entire body from head to toe, surprised that he’s not telling me to hurry up. When I’m done, I turn off the water and spin around, coming to face him again.

This time, I don’t look away. I stare at him with the same grim look he’s giving me, watching as he leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his bare chest while he watches me like a hawk, his gaze narrowed.

As I step out of the shower, he takes a step toward me. The courage I had moments before melts away. Is he going to hurt me now? The fear of the unknown makes my belly hurt, and my body coil with tension. Reaching for a towel, he unfolds it and holds it out to me.

Gritting my teeth painfully, I step into the towel, unsure of what kind of game he’s playing. Steeling my spine, I stand there with my arms hanging down at my sides as he dries me off. Shivering, he touches every part of me without actually touching anything, always keeping the towel as a barrier. His touch isn’t s*e*xual or leering. It’s gentle, almost nurturing, and that confuses me. When my body is dry, he drops the wet towel and grabs another fresh one.

“Arms up.”

I follow his command and lift my arms up, even though everything inside of me screams not to do it. I don’t realize what he is doing until he wraps the fluffy towel around my body, tucking it in above my breasts.

“There you go,” he says, talking to me like I’m a child. His eyes remain on mine and nowhere else. Obviously, he’s gotten his fill. I drop my arms and watch him reach for a third towel. “Turn around.”

Confused yet again, I turn around, my whole body stiff with fear.

What is he going to do now?

I relax slightly when I realize he just wants to dry my hair. His actions don’t add up. None of this makes sense. Why is he treating me like this? One minute he is threatening me, grabbing me by the throat, the next he dries my hair? What kind of sick game is he playing?

I don’t want to find out. All I want to do is get out of this unscathed.