All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

41. Epilogue

LUCA

The electric pulses course through me, sending shockwaves of unwanted pleasure radiating from my core. I grit my teeth, refusing to make a sound as the machine continues its relentless assault on my body. Cold metal presses against my most intimate areas, extracting what it needs with clinical efficiency.

I try to focus on anything else - the stark white walls, the hum of medical equipment, the ticking of a clock somewhere out of sight. Anything to distract from the violation of my body and my pride.

The door opens with a soft click. Polished shoes tap across the tile floor as The Collector enters, a predatory smile playing on their lips. Their eyes rake over my restrained form with open greed.

"Well, well. The mighty Luca Rossi brought so low," they purr.

Rage and shame battle within me.. I glare at them with all the defiance I can muster, even as another pulse racks my body. The Collector just laughs, clearly relishing my helplessness.

"Such spirit," they muse. "The buyers will love breaking it." They turn to adjust some settings on the infernal machine. "Now, let's see how much more we can wring out of you, shall we?"

I close my eyes, steeling myself against whatever is to come. I will endure. I have to, for my family. For revenge.

The Collector eyes gleam with a predatory satisfaction that makes my skin crawl. I try to speak, to demand answers, but the gag in my mouth reduces my protests to muffled grunts. My body is wracked with involuntary spasms, the electrodes attached to my most sensitive areas sending jolts of unwanted pleasure mixed with pain through my entire being.

"Your sister made me a lot of money," The Collector says, their voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Let's see if the Rossi heir is worth even more."

I glare at them, fury and fear warring within me. What have they done to Vesper? And what do they mean by their cryptic statement? I struggle against my restraints, but it is futile. The machinery hums, continuing its relentless assault on my body, drawing out every last drop as if I am nothing more than a prized breeding animal.

The Collector circles me, their gaze clinical and cold. "You Rossis always did think you were above it all," they muse. "But here you are, reduced to your basest function. It's almost poetic, don't you think?"

I want to spit in their face, to show them that they can't break me. But as another wave of forced pleasure crashes over me, I can't help but wonder how long I can hold out. The shame of my body's betrayal is almost worse than the physical sensations. I had always prided myself on my self-control, on being the strong, stoic heir to the Rossi empire. Now, I am reduced to this, a puppet dancing on The Collector's strings.

The Collector moves closer, their face looming over mine. I can see every pore, every line etched into their cruel features. Their breath ghosts across my skin as they lean in, their voice a low whisper that sends chills down my spine.

"You Rossis always were fighters," they murmur, almost admiringly. "But everyone breaks eventually. I wonder what it will take to break you, Luca?"