Page 1 of Twisted Addiction

Chapter 1

PENELOPE

When my eyes fluttered open, the world was swallowed in darkness so thick, that for a heart-stopping moment, I thought I’d gone blind.

Panic raced through me, cold as ice in my veins, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as I tried to make sense of the void.

I was lying down, my back pressed against what felt like a hard mattress, the air stale and heavy with the scent of damp stone and rust.

I bolted upright—or tried to—only to be yanked back by the bite of ropes around my wrists and ankles, the coarse fibers digging into my skin like teeth.

The poles of the bed frame creaked under the strain as I thrashed, my body jerking in futile rebellion, the restraints holding firm.

My mind raced, fragments of memory crashing over me like a tidal wave.

The miscarriage—the thick, warm blood gushing between my legs, soaking my nightgown, the emptiness inside me where my baby had been.

I’d staggered from the villa, numb and broken, toward the lake’s inviting darkness, its waters whispering of escape from the pain.

But I’d veered into the woods instead, the twisted oaks and shadows calling me deeper, my bare feet bleeding on thorns as I mumbled like a madwoman, lost in grief.

Then Antonio—his cruel smirk, his degrading taunts, his hands slamming me down, the gun cracking against my skull.

Blackness.

Had he brought me to Rome? His family’s stronghold in Italy, far from Lake Como’s gilded prison?

Fear gripped me, twisting my stomach as I imagined the horrors waiting—Antonio’s threats of rape, of men taking turns on me, of stuffing me like a pig to mock my body.

And the miscarriage—had it been real?

The blood, the cramps, the void inside me—it had to be.

But what if he’d done something while I was unconscious? Touched me, violated me? The thought sent bile rising in my throat, my body shaking violently against the ropes.

“Help!” I screamed, my voice echoing off unseen walls, desperate. “Someone please help!” I thrashed harder, my wrists burning as the ropes rubbed my skin raw, my ankles straining until I felt the warm trickle of blood.

The restraints didn’t give, only tightened with each pull, the bed frame groaning like a beast mocking my efforts.

“Please! Anyone!” My screams turned to sobs, the darkness pressing in, suffocating, as if the room itself fed on my fear.

Minutes—or hours?—passed in that void, my throat raw from crying out, my body exhausted but my mind racing with terror.

What if no one came?

What if this was Antonio’s plan—to leave me tied, starving, breaking in the dark? Then, without warning, a blinding light exploded into the room, searing my eyes like fire.

I gasped, squeezing them shut as the world turned white, spots dancing behind my lids.

The intensity was overwhelming, my head pounding as I forced my eyes open gradually, blinking against the glare, tears streaming down my face as my vision adjusted.

The room came into focus—a dingy chamber with cracked stone walls, a single bare bulb swinging from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows.

I was on a rusted iron bed, its frame cold, the ropes thick and knotted around my limbs.

Footsteps echoed, deliberate, each thud vibrating through the floor like a death knell.

My pulse spiked as two massive figures emerged from the shadows.