The heavy oak door of the office swings open with such violent force it slams into the wall, splintering the plaster.
I scream, dropping the phone.
Cassio is standing in the doorway. He looks like the devil incarnate. His chest is heaving, his dark eyes are wide and completely feral.
He crosses the room before I can even take a step back. He grabs my upper arm in a bruising, iron grip, yanking me away from the desk.
With his other hand, he snatches the burner phone off the floor. He looks at the active call screen. He looks at the number.
I watch the exact moment he realizes who I called.
The color drains from Cassio’s face, replaced by a terrifying, ghostly pallor. The muscle in his jaw ticks so hard I think his teeth might shatter. The air in the room drops ten degrees.
"Who," Cassio whispers, his voice dropping to a demonic, guttural register, "were you talking to?"
"Let me go!" I thrash against his grip, kicking at his shins, panic making me reckless. "You can't keep me cut off from the world! I have a right to—"
"I SAID WHO!" Cassio roars, the sound is so deafening it rattles the windows.
He drops the phone onto the floor and brings his heavy boot down on it, crushing it into a dozen jagged pieces of plastic and glass.
I flinch violently, shrinking away from him, but his grip on my arm is inescapable. He hauls me flush against his chest, hisfingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave deep, black bruises.
"Dario," Cassio hisses, leaning down, his face is inches from mine, his eyes are burning with a possessive, psychotic fury that steals the breath from my lungs. "You called the Lombardi rat. From my house. On my network."
"He’s my friend!" I cry out, tears of pain and terror blurring my vision. "He’s the only one who actually cares what happens to me!"
Cassio’s free hand snaps up, his fingers wrapping around my throat. The sheer violence radiating off his body is suffocating.
"Listen to me, you stupid, defiant little bitch," Cassio snarls, his breath hot against my lips. "You are my wife. You wear my ring. You bleed for my family now. You do not call another man. You do not look at another man. You do not breathe the name of another man while you live under my roof."
"You said I was a pawn!" I scream back, fighting through the terror. "You said you didn't want me!"
"I don't want you," he vows, his thumb pressing dangerously against my pulse point, feeling the frantic flutter of my heartbeat. "But you belong to me. And if I ever catch you trying to contact Lombardi again, I won't just break your phone. I will carve out his fucking heart and serve it to you on a silver platter."
He shoves me backward. I stumble, hitting the edge of the desk to catch my balance, gasping for air.
Cassio stands over me, he points a finger at me, his chest heaving.
"The games are over, Noemi. You are on lockdown. No phones. No internet. You don't leave your suite without an armed escort. You are mine. And you will learn to submit."
He turns on his heel and storms out of the office, barking orders at Matteo in the hallway to strip my room of anything connecting to the outside world.
I slide down the edge of the desk, collapsing onto the floor next to the shattered pieces of the burner phone. I wrap my arms around myself, shaking violently as the reality of my situation finally sinks in.
Cassio doesn't love me. He doesn't even want me. But his twisted, psychopathic pride refuses to let anyone else have me.
7
Cassio
The pieces of the shattered burner phone sit on my mahogany desk like a goddamn taunt.
It’s past two in the morning. The storm outside has finally broken, leaving behind. I am sitting in the dark, a glass of Macallan dangling from my fingers, staring at the jagged black plastic.
Dario fucking Lombardi.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth grind together, a dull ache is radiating up to my temples. I lift the glass and swallow the bourbon, welcoming the burn as it slides down my throat, but itdoes absolutely nothing to quiet the violent, roaring inferno in my blood.