The Don and His Angel

Chapter 4

His eyebrows furrow, almost as if he's confused.

"My name is Luciano DiSilva," he finally says, reaching his hand out to shake mine, "but please just call me Luca."

Now it's my turn to furrow my brow in confusion.

DiSilva? As in my boss and my boss's boss and my brother and fathers boss? That fucking  DiSilva?

"I'm Victoria," I reply, placing my hand in his. Instead of shaking, he lifts my hand to his lips and gently kisses my knuckles. He releases my hand and I pull it to my lap, eyeing him cautiously.

He studies me again and his eyes turn dark. He stands abruptly, causing me to jump which only seems to anger him further. He rounds the desk and crouches down so we are the same height.

His hand comes towards me and I close my eyes in preparation for a strike. But none comes. Once again he regards me with a gentle touch as he examines my neck. He wipes away the makeup with his thumb to see better. I open my eyes as he lifts the bottom of my shirt. But he doesn't do anything more than look at my bruises and scars.

"Who did this?" He asks softly. His blue eyes meet mine and all that is in there is pure fury. But I don't think it's directed at me.

"These are too old to have been from my men. Who did this Victoria?" He asks again, still looking in my eyes.

Unable to stand the strength of his gaze I look away. But he simply grabs my chin and forces me to look at him again, our faces inches apart. 

"Ho bisogno di sapere chi ti ha fatto questo," he says, his voice void of any emotion other than rage.
(I need to know who did this to you.)

I don't know what to say. The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue, but they won't come out. I'm frozen, my words and my body. Luca stands and walks over to a bar cart. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and takes a sip. He returns to his seat and begins to study me yet again.

He radiates anger but doesn't look the part. He is entirely calm, stoic even as his eyes burn with fire. The only other thing that gives away his current state are his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

It's fucking terrifying.

"Why?" I ask, a sudden burst of confidence rushing through me. He seems taken aback by that.

"Why won't you tell me?" He retorts, almost playfully.

I stare at him for a moment, gauging my next words. He's the fucking Don for Christ's sake. I can't lie to him and I really shouldn't test him like this. I've heard stories about his heartlessness and brutality and I don't want to be one of those stories.

"My father mostly," I tell him, looking down at the ground.

"What's his name?" he asks, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He looks at me expectantly when I don't respond immediately.

"Victor Ricci," I say quietly. His eyebrows raise at that and he looks a bit surprised.

"My Capo?" He clarifies. I just nod, keeping my gaze down. I hear him scribbling on the paper before he stands from the desk again and gently takes my wrist in his hand. He guides me from the chair and towards the door of his office.

"I'm not your fucking property," I exclaim, pulling out of his grip. He lets go, not struggling against me.

"I never said you were," he replies, tilting his head.

"Then let me go home!" I exclaim.

"No," he says simply. He takes me in his grasp again and leads me out of the room. Two armed men stand guard right outside the doors. They both nod in acknowledgment of him as we walk past.

He finally stops in front of a new door. He smiles at me softly before opening the door. Inside is a huge dining room. There have to be at least twenty tables lining the room. A few men sit at some of the tables, chatting and drinking beers but quickly leave when they notice Luca.

"Are you hungry?" He asks as he pulls me through the room towards another door. This one opens to a huge restaurant style kitchen. He releases me and goes over to one of the refrigerators.

"I'm not that great of a cook but I make a mean grilled cheese," he says as he looks through the fridge. When I don't reply he looks over his shoulder as if to make sure I'm still there.

"Look I'm not going to hurt you," he says with a sigh as he shuts the fridge door. He places the ingredients on the kitchen counter and takes the few steps to where I'm standing.

We're inches apart; so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," he says softly as his blue eyes bore into mine, "never again."

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. My body and mind seem to be at war because all I want to do is run away and go back to my bed to wake up from this twisted dream but my legs won't move and my mouth won't open. I'm stuck.

I'm hit with the sudden realization that I could never escape from this place. Because this is not a mansion like I thought before, this is a compound. The Don's compound to be specific. I'm at least an hour away from anything or anyone that I know and there are dozens of armed men all over.

Luca just gives me a sympathetic smile before going to the stove.

I stand there as he cooks, watching the confusing sight in front of me. This giant of a man, in a very expensive suit, is stooped over the stove making grilled cheeses.

When he's done, he places the sandwiches on plates and nods for me to follow him. We return to the large dining hall and he leads me to the head of one of the tables.

He places the two plates down and pulls out the chair to his left for me to sit. I comply, somewhere between confused and afraid, and take my seat next to him. He begins to eat but stops mid bite.

"What's wrong?" He asks, nodding at the sandwich. I follow his gaze and stare down at my plate.

"Ah, you think I put something in your food," he comes to this conclusion. Before I can reply, he grabs the sandwich off my plate and takes a big bite before putting it back.

"There, I wouldn't poison myself now would I?" He says before taking a bite of his own sandwich.

That's a fair rationale and my grumbling stomach agrees. We sit in silence eating the sandwiches.

Once we are finished Luca is the first to speak, "would you like to go to bed now?"

My heart catches in my throat and I find myself unable to breathe. I knew it, I fucking knew it. He was being nice so he could use me without me fighting back. Of course he's attractive, practically a God, but he is a monster. He bought me! How many other human beings has he bought? I can't. I can't sleep with him, he can't take that from me too.

"Woah, hey take a deep breath. I didn't mean like that," he assures me, "I mean sleep. It's like 3am and you must be tired."

My breathing steadies out a little but I don't move and I don't respond. What is there to say?

"In your own room of course," he adds, his eyes searching my face. I relent and nod.