Ruined Kingdom Read online

  “Second,” he says calmly, his voice a low, deep timbre, vibration more than sound. “When you decide to act, act quickly. Any man here will easily overpower you.” As if to prove his point, he twists again, and this time, I do cry out.

  As soon as I do, he shifts his grip, taking my wrists as if he was waiting just for that. For me to cry uncle.

  My arm throbs. He was too close to breaking it. When he squeezes, the dagger slips from my hand. He bends me over the bed and leans over me, crushing me. His warm breath is at my neck, my cheek, and I hate that I feel a tear slide across the bridge of my nose.

  He’s right, though. I could have done it if I’d moved quickly enough. If I hadn’t been too afraid to.

  “Because really, if you do what you just did, you’re just going to piss off your opponent, and he’ll be forced to punish you.”

  As he says it, his nails dig into the back of my thigh. He drags his fingers up, ripping my stockings as he goes, raising my skirt until he grips my ass cheek hard, then slaps it.

  “That’s for earlier.” He raises his hand and does it again three times in quick succession as I push my face into the bed to wipe away the tears and muffle my sounds. “And that’s for now.”

  He shifts his grip from my wrists to my hair and drags me upright. He turns me to face him, then drives me to my knees as he kicks my dagger just out of reach.

  “Got all that, Dandelion?”

  “My name is Vittoria.”

  I try to pry his hand off. He’s pulling, and it fucking hurts. But he only squeezes harder.

  “A dandelion is a weed. I think it fits.” He leans down so we’re nose to nose. “I asked you a fucking question.”

  “Yes, I got it, asshole!”

  He chuckles, releases me, then picks the dagger up off the ground and steps back.

  “Good girl. Now do as you’re told and undress.”

  I put my hand on the bed to get to my feet, cursing him all along, knowing I’m on the fucking edge of sobbing, and I can’t let him see that.

  Emma. I have to focus on Emma. I need to survive and get back to her. “I need to call my sister. If I do this, you’ll let me call her.”

  “There you go making demands again.”

  “Please.”

  “Better. We will see. After you’ve shown me you can take an order. Count yourself lucky that I’m giving you this opportunity. I don’t like repeating myself.” He checks his watch like he might have somewhere to be, the fucking asshole.

  I grit my teeth and reach back to pull the zipper down the rest of the way. It catches, but I manage, pulling my arms out and letting the dress pool at my ankles. I take the strap and holster off next and stumble as I get the stockings off so I have to sit on the edge of the bed to do it. I stand when I’m in my bra and panties. His eyes are on mine. Not looking me over like I expect him to. Like I expect any man would.

  “Everything.”

  “What could I be hiding in my underwear?”

  He casually shrugs a shoulder. “I just want to get a look at you.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  I slip off my bra and panties, trying not to think about it. Not to think about being naked in front of this man and so completely vulnerable.

  “Satisfied?” I ask, forcing my arms to remain at my sides. I will not cower.

  He lets his gaze move slowly over me. It feels like he’s touching every inch of my skin. It takes all I have not to cover myself, and I feel my face grow hot with fury or shame, I’m going to tell myself it’s the former when he finally meets my eyes.

  “Spin.”

  “I don’t have anything on me. There’s nowhere to hide anything.”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Give yourself more credit than that, Dandelion. I’m sure you can be crafty. Don’t force me to do a more thorough search.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  I hold up my middle finger. This is to humiliate me. To punish me. So instead of doing a quick spin, I look him in the eyes and turn, keeping my gaze over my shoulder, glaring as he takes me in.

  “Seen enough to jerk off to later?”

  “Why jerk off when you’re standing right here? Now face me.”

  My heart thuds at his insinuation, and it takes all I have to face him. To keep my spine straight and look at him.

  “Good girl.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He casually turns to move to the bookshelf. Earlier, I’d seen the single leather-bound volume that looked more like a photo album than anything else, but I hadn’t investigated the contents. He pulls it out and sets it on the table by that vase of wilted, drooping flowers, flipping through a few pages before closing it and turning back to me.

  “Not-so-light reading for you to pass the time,” he says and heads toward the door. “You can get dressed now.”

  “Wait!” I call out as he opens it, stopping short when I see the guard’s face as he pokes his head in and sees me. I flip him off, then wrap an arm over my breasts and set my hand between my legs.

  He hands the dagger to the soldier and makes a point of leaving the door open when he turns back to me.

  “Yes, Dandelion?”

  “My call. You said I could call my sister.”

  “I said we’d see, and I saw and decided you won’t be making any calls just yet. I mean, where is the lesson to be learned if I just let you make the call? Give you what you want when you throw a tantrum. It’s how you spoil children, isn’t it?”

  Rage uncoils inside me. “You said—”

  “I said we’d see.” He checks his watch again, and this time, when he spins to leave, that rage that starts as a slow burn in my belly courses through my veins, and I find myself charging him. He turns just in time to catch me when I jump, all claws and nails. I get my fingernails into his neck, but he’s too fast and, within moments, has me on my back on the bed, his full weight on me, both of us breathing heavy. He pins my wrists over my head and draws back a little, looking at me as I process what it is I’m feeling. What it is that’s pressing between my legs.

  “I’m going to enjoy you, Dandelion,” he says with a slow thrust of his hips.

  I freeze, unsure what to do. Unsure how far he’s willing to go. And he holds on to me until I finally look away, being the first to break eye contact. Another victory for him.

  He straightens, then adjusts the cuffs of his shirt. I remain where I am as he stands looking down at me. I know I’m beaten.

  He turns to go.

  “Is it money you want? Ransom?” I ask, sitting up. “My brother—”

  At that, he spins angrily back, and I find myself cowering from the sudden storm in his eyes. “Look around you. Does it look like I need your money?” He looks like it’s taking all he has to hold himself back from launching at me, and I wonder if I got off lucky just now when he resumes his walk toward the door.

  “Tell me your name,” I call out. He stops. “I don’t even know your name. I don’t know who you are.”

  He looks back at me. “Amadeo Del Campo Caballero. Now you know my name.” He points at the book he left on the bureau. “In there, you’ll see who I am.”

  He gives me a once-over, and I’m very aware of how naked I am. I draw my knees together and tuck them to myself. His eyes meet mine, and there’s nothing victorious or arrogant in them. Just a deep, unending darkness like a void. And after everything that’s happened now, that makes me shudder. That has me pulling the blanket close and hugging my arms around myself.

  A moment later, he walks out without a word or a backward glance, and the door is once again locked.

  6

  Amadeo

  I take the dagger from the guard. It’s a small but sharp knife, both pretty and deadly like her. I go to my room and slip it into the nightstand drawer, touching the place on my neck where the cut has already closed up. The scratches from her fingernails burn. It’s a good reminder that even stripped
naked, she has claws. I want to take a shower before returning downstairs to clean the filth of the afternoon off me. And I need a minute.

  I’ve known this day was coming for fifteen years. The day I would take my vengeance for what the Russo family did to us. But it's a different reality to have her here, in my home, flesh and blood.

  She may be innocent of the crime that led us to this day, but I remind myself that the fact that she’s oblivious to the violence brought upon my family, the thing that put Hannah in the ground, makes her as guilty. She’s lived her merry little life all these years while we’ve dealt with the consequence of what her brother did. What her father ordered done. It is enough to push me to the edge of the void that is the deep, dark fury inside me. But I can manage that. I knew it would be like this with her. She was too young to remember. Even though she saw it, she didn’t understand, that is certain, and her own memory coupled with her love for her father would have buried the reality of what happened that day in our small kitchen.

  She took a risk coming to Naples. She knew it, she must have. Her brother, the coward, watched from an ocean away. But she honored her father’s wish to be buried in Italian soil. She loved him and he loved her. Probably more than his other children. More than the sister for certain. I can understand why. But Vittoria is no longer a child and she must know the things he’s done, the people he’s hurt. Does it not make her as evil as him to love him regardless?

  I switch on the shower, strip and step under the flow. I see her eyes the instant I close mine. That vivid blue so bright. I open them again and pick up the bar of soap to scrub myself clean. My reaction when she mentioned her brother is something I will need to get hold of. I can’t hurt her in a rage. Not when I may need her more than I like.

  The image of her naked body, her spread legs when I stood over her, it makes me want. A voice inside my head reminds me that I can take her. Have her. She is mine. I switch the water to ice cold and suck in a deep breath, turning my face up to it.

  I am not that monster. Because like I told Bastian, that would make us no better than her brother. It would erase what he did to Hannah.

  I switch off the water, grab a towel and dry myself off, looking at my reflection as I wrap the towel around my hips. I pick up my comb and brush my hair back, leaning in close to see the scar Geno Russo ordered his men to carve into my face. Mine and my brother’s. He thought it would frighten us. Make us tuck tail and disappear. But he was wrong. It only enraged us. Drove us to this point. My only regret is that he died before I could kill him.

  Switching off the bathroom light I walk into the bedroom. I own this house, have this life, because of my grandfather, Humberto. What I have should have been Angelo’s. But he didn’t live. That’s another wrong I will right. I have yet to punish all the men who killed my best friend. But it is coming.

  Choosing a light charcoal cashmere sweater and dark jeans, I get dressed and head downstairs, pausing only momentarily at her door.

  “Anything?” I ask the guard.

  He shakes his head. “Not a sound.”

  “Francesca will bring food up. Check the tray when it goes in and when it comes out.” I wouldn’t put it past my little captive to steal a fork to stab me with.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Downstairs, the kitchen door swings open, and my brother steps out, saying something that has my mother and Francesca laughing. When he sees the scratches and the cut to my neck, his expression grows serious.

  “Our Dandelion has claws,” he says casually.

  “That she does.”

  He eyes the damage more closely. “Don’t tell me she ambushed you.”

  “She had a dagger on her.”

  “Hm. I guess I’d be more surprised if she didn’t.”

  “How’s mom?”

  “Not great. She asked when Hannah’s coming down to eat.”

  Our mother’s dementia has progressed to the point that she can’t be left alone. Francesca is her nurse but also a companion to her. I guess I should be grateful she can’t remember that Hannah is dead. That she’s been dead for fifteen years. Maybe it’s a blessing. But seeing her decline too soon is hard.

  “What’s she like?” He gestures upstairs.

  “More ballsy than you’d expect.”

  “She will make trouble for us, brother. I’m telling you now.”

  “I’m sure she will but like I said, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

  “I’m going to go have a shower. We still on to go to Palermo tomorrow?” Palermo is where the man who actually pulled the trigger that killed Angelo is being held. A man they call The Reaper. He’s American. Brought in especially for the job apparently. Stefan Sabbioni, the man who controls Sicily, caught up with him on his property once I’d put the word out. He’s been holding him for me. I want to question him before I kill him.

  I nod. “I’ll go alone, though. I think one of us should stay here and keep an eye on our captive.”

  He glances up the stairs, the idea clearly appealing to him.

  “Besides, I owe The Reaper personally.” Because his was also the bullet that almost killed me.

  “Amadeo,” mom calls out from the kitchen, interrupting us. “Are you coming? Your food’s getting cold.”

  I give her a big smile. “Coming, mom.”

  7

  Vittoria

  I hear a woman’s voice outside my door, followed by a man’s who I assume is the soldier. They speak Italian, and a moment later, the lock turns, and the door opens. I sit in the center of the bed and watch.

  After Amadeo left, I got dressed and resumed my place. I haven’t looked at the book he left here for me. Seeing it from the corner of my eye gives me a little anxiety, to be honest. What’s in there? What will I learn that I don’t want to know? It could be lies, his lies. But he seemed so confident. So sure.

  The woman nods to me. She’s the one from downstairs who came running after the other one. The soldier gives me a bored look from his place at the door.

  I track her as she carries a tray of delicious-smelling food to the table, pushes the leather-bound tome aside, and sets the tray down. She glances at me briefly, then hurries back out, and the door is closed and locked again.

  My stomach growls as I get to my feet. I pad barefoot over the carpeted floor to the table. On the tray are a fork and spoon, no knife, a tall glass of water, a small salad, garlic bread, and, under a lid to keep the food warm, a huge bowl of spaghetti covered in what smells like the most delicious tomato sauce I’ve ever had. Or it could be that I haven’t eaten in I don’t even know how long. Since yesterday maybe. I don’t remember having breakfast this morning. I pull the chair out, pick up the fork, and twirl the pasta. It’s piping hot and richly flavored. I eat fast, devouring the spaghetti, followed by the salad and the grilled garlic bread.

  When I’m done, I sit back with a hand over my belly and look out the window at the beautiful night. It’s quiet in here. I bet it’s quiet out there, too. We live in a high-rise in the city back in New York, and although it’s quiet within our penthouse, it’s a different sort of silence. And the sky over the city doesn’t boast even an eighth of the stars that sparkle like diamonds in black velvet here. Looking at the horizon, I can’t tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins, but I see the lights of distant ships and yachts, just a few in the vast sea. It is beautiful, even if a little lonely.

  I put the lid back over the dish and rub my eyes. I’m tired and want to sleep, but I need to shower first. Need to scrub the day off me. I knew today wouldn’t be happy. I knew I was taking a risk coming to Naples. And maybe it was naïve of me, but I never expected what happened to happen. I had guards to protect me, and what could anyone want with me? My brother, I could understand. But I have nothing to do with that side of the family’s affairs. Had my father gotten into trouble with this family? Done something so horrible they did what they did?

  Dandelions in a field blur my vision.

  Getting to my feet, I pu
sh all those thoughts aside. I need to focus on what’s important right now and that is getting out of here and back to Emma. And until I can get back, I need to find a way to make contact with her to make sure she’s okay, make sure she knows I am too. Because one thing I know for sure is that Lucien won’t be looking after her. At least she’ll have Hyacinth, the nanny, with her. She was going to spend the nights with her while I was gone, but now who knows how long I’ll be or if I’ll return at all. What then?

  But I can’t think about that. I need to focus all my energy on getting out of here.

  I walk into the bathroom, lock the door, and strip off my clothes to shower. No shampoo or conditioner can be found, so I use the bar of soap to scrub my hair and my body, then comb my fingers through my hair as best as I can. A glance in the mirror proves it’s not very effective. My hair is a thick mass of tangled blond waves around my head and rebellious in the best of times which this is far from. Since I have no other clothes, I put my underthings and dress back on because I’m not sleeping naked. I return to the bedroom, my gaze landing on that leather-bound book once more before I climb into bed. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the hard, uncomfortable pillow.

  The following morning and afternoon pass uneventfully with the same woman bringing me food and taking the old tray for both breakfast and lunch. The soldier at the door remains watching, and she doesn’t speak a word to me. Hardly looks at me. I don’t know what I expect, but Amadeo doesn’t return all day. I don’t even know what I want. I’m afraid of him returning, but I also need him to. He’s my way out. I know that.

  I wonder if he was on the helicopter I saw take off late in the afternoon. I guess it’s the fastest way to get places from such a remote location.

  So when I hear men’s voices outside my door several hours after dinner that night, I sit up at attention and watch as the door opens. But it’s not Amadeo who enters. It’s the other one. His brother, I’m pretty sure. They look so similar, but this one has strange amber eyes, whereas Amadeo’s are that steely gray. He’s also younger. He shares that same darkness I sense from Amadeo, but this one has something reckless about him, too. Something as dangerous as Amadeo but wilder. Unharnessed and unpredictable.