Breaking Donatella

“I want a month.” Cristian said.

“For what?” I probably shouldn’t have asked. It was almost guaranteed the answer wouldn’t make me happy.

“Consider it a honeymoon. I want thirty days to convince you to forget everything else you asked for. We will share a bed—”

“Absolutely not. That’s a deal breaker.”

“We will share a bed,” he repeated, pinching my chin between two fingers. “We will share meals, our time, and our lives for thirty days, and you will not refuse anything I ask.”

“I said no.” Jerking away, I got up and crossed the room in a futile effort to put distance between us. “That will never be part of any deal I make with you.”

His expression never changing, he cornered me easily, resting his hands on either side of my head. “Or I can go back to my original plan and break you.” He leaned close, brushing his lips over my temple. “I will take your will, your autonomy, and your soul. I will lock a collar around your neck, and you will carry it to your grave. You will never enjoy a day without pain, and you will never breathe outside air again.” Giving my earlobe a sharp nip, he added, “And you will beg, oh so sweetly, to obey my every single filthy desire.”

I swallowed hard, desperate to keep the contents of my stomach in place. Unwilling to let him see my abject terror, I asked, “What’s stopping you from doing that now?”

“I’d rather have your willing consent.” He backed away, giving me a boyish smile that hid the monster behind it. “After all, a broken toy is no fun to play with.”

Throwing a hand over my mouth, I raced to the bathroom and fell to my knees, then retched uncontrollably until it felt like my toenails were going to come up. When I thought I could breathe without puking, I huddled on the floor, my forehead on my knees.

“If you’re finished, I’d like your decision,” Moretti said, his shoulder propped against the doorframe.

I lifted my head and stared at him. My thoughts raced, imagining myself chained in this basement. He’d trot our children down to visit their mother, and tell them all about what happened to women who didn’t obey their husbands.

I’d be just like Rochester’s crazy, locked-up wife, and nobody would stop him because he was a fucking Moretti don.

How could a man so handsome be so wrong inside? Worse, I still found him sexy as hell, even after knowing all he was capable of. He wanted to do those disgusting, horrifying things too. I could see it.

And he’d make me like it.