Page 34 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)

TWENTY-NINE

THE LITTLE RUNAWAY

The next morning, I stepped into the kitchen and found Rosa already there, standing by the window, her sharp eyes tracking something I couldn’t see beyond the glass.

“Morning, Cami. Did you sleep well?” Her English wore a soft Italian accent, delicate but unmissable, like silk over steel.

“Like the dead,” I murmured, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Her lips curved, amused. There was something knowing behind her smile, something that made me feel watched and welcomed all at once.

“You looking for Alfonso?” she asked, voice smooth, almost teasing.

I nodded.

“They are in the gym,” she said, gesturing with a flick of her fingers. “Down the hallway, you will find a staircase.” Then, with a conspiratorial wink, she added, “Follow the noise.”

I followed her instruction, down a narrow staircase that whispered with every step.

At the bottom, the door creaked open into a stark, echoing gym, all concrete walls and steel beams, with the sharp scent of sweat and leather hanging in the air.

In the center, a full-sized boxing ring dominated the space, its worn ropes and scuffed mat speaking of countless brutal sessions.

Around it, racks of free weights, punching bags, and mirrored walls reflected every movement with unforgiving clarity.

The space thrummed with energy—built for discipline, not comfort.

Alfonso was in the center of it, stripped down to his sweat-soaked shirt, sparring hard with two of his guards. His fists moved like fire—controlled, brutal, beautiful. Muscles coiled and released like clockwork, precision born of danger.

The two guards took him on, one at a time. He sorted them out real fast with throws, and from what I could tell, some sort of eastern fighting style. But the way he moved, he made it look easy.

The sparring came to a halt at last, heavy breaths filling the space as Alfonso reached down to help the final guard up on his feet. Why he needed guards at all was beyond me.

He caught me watching. Without a word, he lifted a finger and crooked it once, calling me to him.

There was no room for hesitation in that gesture. Alfonso towered over me as I neared.

“I’m not a fighter,” I said, eyeing the ring like it might bite.

“We all know that,” Nico said with a grin, and I gave him the finger without missing a beat.

Alfonso chuckled, leaning over the ropes like a fighting god taking a break. His lips came dangerously close to mine and then softly planted a juicy kiss on them.

“Morning,” he added, pulling an inch away. His skin was damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to every cut of muscle, but somehow, he still smelled clean and expensive.

“It’s so unfair. Even your sweat smells expensive.”

A chuckle escaped his beautiful, sultry lips. “You are going to take a shower with me.”

“I will if you will show me your dungeon later on.”

A slow smile tugged at his lips, as a flicker of excitement lit up his green eyes. “You sure? I might just lock you up down there.”

“Whatever you wish.”

“It’s dangerous to tell me whatever I wish. Never forget that.”

I rolled my eyes at him and turned around. His hand slapped my ass hard, and I yelped, making his guards laugh.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” He turned around and went back to their session.

My ass stung for another fifteen minutes. That was really hard, and when I pulled my pants down, and imprint of Alfonso’s hand sat on my left butt cheek. “Asshole.”

The whole day stretched out in silence, thick and restless. I felt unmoored, lonely in a house full of people who weren’t really mine. Eventually, I gave up on pacing the halls and picked up the phone.

I called home.

My sister answered, her voice a rush of warmth; she sounded better than before, and we talked for what felt like hours.

She told me Mom had been emotional since our last conversation.

Em asked why, and I finally said it out loud, how I understood now.

All those grooming lessons, the etiquette drills, the endless hours under our mother’s sharp gaze—we needed them more than we ever realized.

Then, of course, she wanted to know everything about Alfonso. I laughed, told her there wasn’t much to tell, he was a locked door with no key. I figured I’d learn more about him in time, as we grew older.

Right now, all I really knew was how much he loved his family. Everything else, the business, the shadows, he kept hidden, and I didn’t yet know how deep those shadows ran.

He loved to fuck, but I knew there was more to the man than just fucking.

By late afternoon, his voice exploded from behind the office door, sharp, angry, and unmistakably Italian.

I paused in the hallway, wondering who was on the other end of that fury. Whatever was going on, it kept him locked away for hours. He barely made it to dinner, and by ten, he was still buried in whatever mess had set him off and returned to his office to continue dealing with it.

I was done with the day. Judging by the tension in his voice, so was he.

I knocked.

A sharp string of Italian curses snapped through the door.

“You’re lucky I don’t speak it. Yet, ” I called back.

There was a beat of silence before his voice softened. “Sorry.”

“Let’s go.”

“Camilla,” he called, warning and worn all at once.

“ Now , Alfonso!” I shouted over my shoulder, already walking away.

His growl followed me down the hall.

I waited for him to guide me to his sex cave, and he took his time to show me where it was.

I waited for him to lead me, expected him to take charge like he always did, but he moved at his own maddening pace, letting the silence stretch between us like a dare.

Eventually, we reached the gym. In the far corner, half-hidden in shadow, was a door I hadn’t noticed before. He approached it without a word, punched in a code, and the lock gave a quiet click.

Another staircase descended into darkness.

He didn’t look back to see if I was following. He didn’t have to.

I stepped into the room. On to a platform with more steps leading further down into the space.

What lay beyond wasn’t anything I’d expected. It was a different world entirely.

* * *

The room was filled with an array of steel contraptions, each one more ominous than the last, with heavy chains and hanging devices suspended from the ceiling like silent sentinels.

Behind glass enclosures, foreign sex objects were meticulously displayed, each one sitting in its own shadowed spotlight, like strange treasures waiting to be examined.

Flogs, clamps, and rods lined the shelves, their cold metal gleaming under the dim light, sending a shiver through me. My pulse quickened at the sight, a mix of fascination and something darker stirring inside me.

Nearby, a range of skimpy outfits hung from a rail, black leather, soft silks, and other fabrics that promised more than just comfort. The ropes, in every color and thickness imaginable, were carefully coiled against the wall, their potential both inviting and unsettling.

Each item, meticulously arranged, spoke of a world I wasn’t sure I was ready to step into, but somehow, I didn’t have a choice, and I couldn’t deny the tiniest part that actually refused to look away.

My eyes were drawn to the imposing X-shaped furniture, its heavy frame pressed firmly against the wall.

Every item, from the smallest tool to the largest fixture, had its place, arranged with a precision that was almost unsettling.

It was as if the entire space had been designed for a specific purpose, and nothing was left to chance.

Clamps of every size and shape were scattered around, their purpose unclear to me, each one more enigmatic than the last. Hooks, sharp and sturdy, hung from the ceiling and walls like forgotten soldiers, waiting for a use I could only imagine.

“Hooks?”

He shrugged.

I touched one of the devices hanging from a hook and looked at Alfonso.

“Sex swing.”

“Sex swing?” I asked and he nodded.

I came to a glass box that carried plugs. You didn’t have to be a genius to know those go into your butt. I wondered if Alfonso had used them.

“So?” I asked and pried my eyes off the plugs. My husband’s gaze lingered on me, cautious, as if searching for something in my eyes. For reasons I couldn’t explain, a flush of warmth spread rapidly across my cheeks.

“Yes, my little runaway?”

“I know what that is.” I pointed at the box carrying the butt plugs.

“Oh, you do, and what is that?”

“You put them in your butt.”

A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “What is your question?”

“Is there any of these things that you are using on yourself?”

“No, it’s for my pleasure to bestow on others.”

“You mean me, as there are no more others.”

“You,” he corrected himself. “Why, are there some things you would want to try on me?”

“I would love to try a butt plug on you.”

“No,” he said super-fast, making me laugh.

“That is not fair.”

“This isn’t how this works,” he murmured, his hands gently cupping my face before he leaned down, his lips claiming mine in a deep, passionate kiss.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on me, something warm in his eyes.

“But I’m glad you’re not in a rush to run up those stairs and escape just yet. ”

“I’m way too addicted to you to run anywhere, Alonso.”

“Good, because it doesn’t matter where you go. I will find you and I’ll make you regret running away every single second of your life.”

The threat should have unsettled me, sent a chill down my spine, but instead, it only stirred something darker inside, a spark of excitement I couldn’t ignore.