Page 8

Chapter 8

Nova

The older gentleman that Massimo called Jerome enters my cell. Goosebumps pepper my skin and I shake, but I don't ask for something warm, because history has taught me that will only bring more sadistic lessons to learn.

He sets a tray on the floor beside me, topped with a delicious-looking sandwich, an apple, and a generous slice of orange ricotta cake. Then he picks up the water bottle and hands it to me.

"Drink."

My hand shakes as I reach up to take it. I crack the seal and down it all.

He frowns. "I'll bring you another."

Then he leaves, and I stare at the food tray.

He didn't tell me to eat.

I'm starving, but I'm sure this is a test. I've been through this test before.

It was the first time my father had locked me in our basement's cold, damp cell. Mauro, his consigliere, had brought me a tray similar to this one, minus the cake. He left without saying anything, and I ate everything, every crumb. When my father came in, he tutted and shook his head, like I disappointed him. "You know you're not to eat until directed to."

I was always going to be short and petite, but I'm certain my father wanted to make sure my body size was to his specifications, hence the food control. And because he was an asshole who thrived off other people's torment and pain.

As punishment for failing that test—because Mauro hadn't told me to eat; I only assumed I could since the tray was placed in front of me—I was left in that room for days without any food or water.

I ended up dehydrated and starving, but my father had the mob doctor take care of me, so no one knew about his abuse.

My stomach rumbles as I stare at the food, but I ignore the hunger pangs, having been forced to get used to them throughout the years. I was often hungry, waiting for my father's permission to eat and only eating the food he allowed.

Back in Italy, even though I was out from under my father's thumb, I still couldn't beat his conditioning. I only ate when and what the guards allowed me to. The last time I ate was a small meal before sneaking out to meet Gemma at the club. Therefore, it wouldn't take long to reach a severely compromised state.

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. I've already cried long enough. I'm sure I gave my captor a nice show for his depraved entertainment.

I lower my forehead to my knees and try to imagine myself somewhere warm, any place but here.

I'm unsure how much time passes as my mind drifts, trying to escape, and exhaustion starts pulling me under. The door unlocking pulls me back to being aware of my surroundings. The energy changes, and even before I lift my head, I know Massimo has entered.

I look up to see him filling the doorway. He's removed his suit jacket and vest, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to reveal thick, corded forearms covered in tattoos you'd never know are there when he wears his elegant, immaculate suit. Without his suit jacket, he somehow looks even larger. His size takes me aback and wariness blooms.

It's never good when the monster himself comes to visit the cell.

He tosses another water bottle at me as he stalks into the room. The plastic bottle lands on the stone floor and rolls to my feet. I stare at it but don't reach for it .

Our size difference will always disadvantage me, but I refuse to be on the floor at his feet. I rise warily and cautiously so he doesn't mistake my movement for having any fight, even though that spark has flickered to life in his presence. I need to snuff that out, though. Once I'm standing, I press my back against the wall.

Like a lamb watching a predator come for them, I look for any means to escape. It's a survival instinct. I see that Massimo has left the door open behind him.

I could try to run.

But this is likely a test.

Even if it's not a test, and I did happen to get away from him, I still have the whole house to get out of, then the grounds with all the guards. Not to mention, I'm deep in Santoro territory. My father has no allies on this side of the country that I know of.

It's a test , my mind screams. Remember what happened to your mother!

My mind, and the past lessons I'd learned, wins over any sense of self-preservation or urge to fight. Because my mother had tried to run, and my father killed her. Running and fighting never worked out; I've learned that lesson the hard way. So, I smother my urge to fight.

Massimo stops in the middle of the room, watching me with that cold, unreadable expression. "Comfortable, princess?" he taunts.

"Just lovely." The words are out of my mouth before my brain consciously decides to reply.

Shit.

He looks satisfied, as if that was a test I failed. Another check in the box for evidence that he thinks I'm hiding and lying.

"Great. Then you'll enjoy your current accommodation for a while longer."

I remain silent, watching him.

"Aren't you curious why I took you, princess?"

I really wish he'd stop calling me that, especially with the snide intonation that he says it with. It reminds me too much of my father and that I'm the Mancini Princess, a pawn and a tool for others to use for their benefit .

Massimo is no better than my father. There's no doubt I'm here for him to use me against my father.

He tilts his head to the side, regarding me. This time, his face isn't unreadable. He lets me see the potent and toxic roiling mixture of hate and rage. Massimo Santoro may look like an immaculate, respectable man in his expensive, tailor-made suit and smoothed-back hair, but I see the dark monster within.

I try to take a step back, but there's nowhere to go because I'm already firmly pressed against the wall.

"Do you know who I am, princess ?" It's like the hate swirls out of him with that word.

I don't dare look away from this dangerous beast in front of me.

"Well? I'm waiting."

He's still halfway across the room, but I don't want to give him any reason to come any closer, so I answer, "You're Massimo Santoro."

His eyes flare like another box has been checked. Another point against me.

"And how do you know that, princess? My last name was never said to you, and Gemma used Ricci."

"I've learned what I could about several criminal entities in the States."

"Why? Gathering intel for your father?" His nostrils flare.

"No," I croak and clear my throat. "Because I knew I'd be used as a way for him to make alliances and I wanted to know…" Who my new monster would be , I finish in my head.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't know what else to say to make you believe me." The words could be viewed as defiant, so I lower my chin and tamp down the fire and fight that's flaring back to life.

"What have you heard about me, princess?"

My head snaps up.

"Oh, don't be shy or concerned about my feelings," he taunts again, toying with me and testing me.

It's all a test and a game to men like him and my father.

But unlike with my father, I don't have the lived experience or lessons learned from navigating him and handling the situation to minimize my risk as much as possible. My default to the meek and mild seems to piss Massimo off, and with a massive man like this, the last thing I need is for him to be more pissed off.

"You're… You're newer to your role," I say with a parched throat. "You're the oldest of three sons."

"Oh, surely you can do better than that, princess." He fists his big hands.

I close my eyes and shudder a breath. "They say… You're gruesome when you get your hands dirty," I whisper. "That you're a monster."

When I open my eyes, his smile is malicious and cruel. "A monster. Imagine the feel of my teeth sinking in deep."

My stomach flips, then my heart stops.

He stalks toward me, taking a step with each threatening word. "I am exactly what they say I am."