Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

RILEY

His face. His handsome face. Bruised yellow and black, and swollen like a monster’s.

Which is fitting because he is one.

Al never existed, did he? I invited a violent mob boss home, let him fuck me so hard my teeth rattled, and thought that was it. But it wasn’t—he came back. The things we’ve done, how I gave myself up completely to him, thinking I knew him despite not knowing much about his life outside my bed. How could I be so naive? How could I not worry how dangerous he was? How could I trust a complete stranger?

I was chasing extremes—something, anything to spark life into me.

And he radiated power like a lethal warhead.

Reckless, so reckless.

Because Alessandro Beneventi is exactly why you don’t invite strangers home.

Tears wet on my cheeks, I pull my legs into my chest and readjust positions in this cramped cage. I crawled on my knees like an animal for him. Fetched a bone . But this wasn’t a game to make me submit.

This was an expression of anger … loathing .

He hates me.

“Won’t you listen to me?” I call out, throat hoarse.

The soft creak of his office chair is the only sign he’s still present.

My throat tightens as I remember Ciro’s lifeless body swinging from the rafters. Will that be my fate? How will I survive?

Panic licks up my spine. Ciro is the link between us. And Lord knows he has the morals of a hungry pit bull.

Had the morals … I cover my mouth to block my cry. This is Ciro’s fault, and his murderer believes I’m involved.

What did Alessandro say earlier? Stop putting on an innocent act?

Does he not know me at all?

Tears fall without censor, and then I’m full-out bawling.

A door slams, a sign he’s left me alone, but caged.

Leaving me to reconcile the man I never truly knew with the monster I don’t recognize at all.

A door crashes open, followed by laughter, and I’m jolted awake. Pins and needles shoot through my stiff limbs as I unfurl from the ball I curled into hours ago and sit back on my haunches. It takes me a moment to catch on to what’s happening. Alessandro enters, but he’s not alone. In tow are two brunettes. Their uniforms unzipped to the navel and breasts bouncing, as laughter accompanies them into the room.

Pain catches me off guard like a punch to the stomach. I never imagined him with other women, not even when he disappeared those few weeks. More stupidity on my part, believing our relationship was exclusive. Thinking—naively and with little sexual experience—I could hold his interest. That our souls connected on a deeper level.

Wrong, Riley. He has a staff of vicious brunettes on call. Like he’s choosing his favorite popsicle, with each one shaped the same and packaged in white.

The truth crushes me.

We weren’t in a relationship. Our souls didn’t connect in some deep, profound way. I meant nothing to him. My heart squeezes, and I’m helpless to do anything other than watch.

They stop a few feet away.

He pushes them off him. “Chinarsi sulla gabbia.”

“Che cosa?” one asks. I’ve no idea what’s being said, but her expression reads confused. I glance at the second woman, the same one who’d been vacuuming. If looks could kill, I’d escape this nightmare.

“Sandro,” she whines, and points to me. “Non con questa stronza che ci guarda!”

He growls her name in warning. “Barbara.”

“Non Barbara,” she sniffles. “Brigetta.”

“Whatever your goddamn name is, bend the fuck over or leave.” I hit my head on the top of the cage at his shout.

Both brunettes lean over the cage and flatten their chests against the top.

Lord, this isn’t happening.

“On your toes.”

No. No. No. No way am I watching this. I grab the bars and rattle the cage. “Let me out of here,” I demand.

His belt swings from his hand.

All the aggressive, borderline violent games we played fall short of this kind of pain.

“Don’t,” I plead. “You’re hurting me.”

His bruised eyes lock on mine. “Baby, you don’t know the definition of hurt. Not yet.”

Baby? He decimates the endearment with such a cruel and uncaring tone that my heart pauses with disbelief. And he’s wrong … If he weren’t so angry, he’d realize it. Because not only do I know the definition of hurt, I’ve written books on the topic.

My eyes brighten with tears.

His bruised lips curl, enjoying my distress.

No more. He’s not worth it.

“Fate vedere il culo, troie mie.”

The women wiggle and claim my attention. A strangling protest escapes my throat as they raise their uniforms. Horrified, I shift my eyes back to Alessandro, only to discover he’s looking at me.

“Let’s make a deal.”

“What?” I gasp.

He snaps the belt in the air.

I stiffen, as do the two brunettes.

“Never blistered your ass, have I?”

Does he actually expect an answer?

“If you want out, I’ll grant your request.” His eyes flash darkly. “If you join us.”

“Join you?” I’m momentarily speechless.

His expression hardens, and I’m slow to acknowledge the monster he truly is.

“How can you be so cruel?”

His knuckles tighten around the belt. “And how can you be such a beautiful liar?”

“I’m not,” I say.

“Right.”

Our eyes lock.

Energy charges the space between us. Anger mixed with mistrust and rolled up into this undeniable attraction. If only he’d let me explain my troubled relationship with Ciro instead of this torture …

A woman wiggles her bottom, demanding Alessandro’s attention.

God, this shouldn’t hurt so much.

“If only you’d listen,” I mutter.

He steps closer. “You listen. Either join us or enjoy the show.”

I flinch.

“That’s what I thought. Now don’t speak unless spoken to.”

With that, he shifts back and, with the snap of his belt, quickly and efficiently begins whipping the women.

Legs to chest, I curl up into a ball. He warned he’d break me many times in the past. I wanted him to, I eagerly submitted to his power.

But with every smack, pieces of my obsession with the monster fragment.

The women gasp and moan.

And I feel like screaming.

Everything that follows happens as a blur, but I watch it all unfold, barely breathing. The prolonged spanking. His belt hitting the floor. The brunettes touching themselves and each other, an orgy breaking out against the cage. Him, freeing his erection, and then stroking himself aggressively while examining his handiwork. His attention wavering until it fixes on me before snapping back to them. Then back on me, longer this time.

Moans fill the room, and I cover my ears and close my eyes.

My lips move, and words flow silently.

How could you?

I hate you.

I hate you.

A symphony of our hate and their pleasure crescendos. This is torture. Like a soldier losing her mind from sleep deprivation caused by heartbreaking, soul-crushing noises.

I rock back and forth and escape inward. But no matter how deep I go, it’s not far enough.

Until his thunderous bellow breaks through. “Leave.”

My eyes flash open as two confused women hurry from the room.

“Hate me, is that right?”

Through all that awful moaning, he heard me?

I glare at him as he strokes himself. Unashamed.

Unforgiving.

“Not as much as you will hate me.”

I’m close, if not already there. “Whatever you think I’ve done, you’re wrong.”

“A week from now, tell me that same lie, and we’ll reevaluate where we’re at.” He moves closer to the cage, his fist quickening the pace. “Squeeze your breasts together.”

Confusion washes over me.

“Be a good dog and do it. As a reward, I’ll bring you a bowl of water and food. Fuck, I’ll even pat your head.”

A tear leaks out. But I obey, because it’s unclear how long I’ll be in here. I cup my breasts and push them together.

“Fuck. Keep looking at me with those big, sorrowful eyes.”

“You won’t … You can’t be this twisted…”

“Tell me the truth,” he grinds out, his movements borderline frantic. “You miss the taste of me?”

My lips part.

“That’s it. Open wide. I could feed you nothing but my come.” His warm seed hits lower, missing my lips for my chin, before he unleashes on my breasts.

He always praises me afterward: What a good girl you are, taking a shower in my come. Look at you, decorated with my seed.

I’m frozen in place, his come dripping from my chin and nipples; sticky and vulnerable, so vulnerable. While he tucks himself away and hooks his belt through the loops, like he’s ending a business transaction.

Silence echoes loudly in the room.

Finally, he tosses his shirt at me. “I don’t want your stench stinking up my office. My man will bring you to a bedroom to shower. You’ll have an hour of freedom, then it’s back to the cage.”

Then he leaves me here.

Dirty.

Degraded.

Destroyed.