The chain clinks as I secure the collar to him. He doesn’t beg, doesn’t fight—doesn’t even try to resist. If anything, he helps, bending his head as I secure the lock behind his neck.
And that small submission just angers me more.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly. There’s something in his voice. Not fear—something like disappointment.
I lean over him, letting him see exactly what he’s dealing with. “I don’t have to. But Iwantto.” I straighten, step back. “Think about how you want the rest of this year to go, golden boy. Because it will go likethisif you don’t behave. You’ll stay chained there to the wall instead of having the luxury of a bed. Now, when I feel like it, I’ll come back down and see if you’re ready to apologize.”
I leave the light on, a small kindness that he’d better fucking appreciate. I’m almost at the elevator when his voice stops me cold.
“I wasworriedabout you, you asshole. That’s all.”
I don’t turn around, but my finger pauses over the elevator button until I have to force myself to push it.
He was worried.
About me.
Or so he says.
I go straight back to the kitchen so Rosa can look at my damn arm, whichisbleeding. But when I get there, she crosses her arms and gives me a look that tells me exactly what she’s thinking.
“You need anything for the boy?”
“He’s not a boy.” I pour myself out a coffee from the drip machine rather than ask her to make me an espresso like she did for Caligula—judging by the abandoned cup on the counter. But after one sip, I set my mug down. I feel off-balance.
It’s the disrespect he showed. It’s got nothing to do with how he begged me not to put him back down there. Or the way he said he was worried about me.
Rosa’s disapproval wafts over to me along with the scent of her special tomato sauce. “I need to check your arm,” she says.
“You need to remember your place!” I snap. “And he needs to learn his.”
She shakes her head. “I know my place,” she tells me. “And you can get out of it. Go on—get out of my kitchen. Let me get on with my work if you don’t want my help.”
I dump out the coffee in the sink before I go, just to show her that she can’t bully me like she bullies Vito and Sammy. Who the hell does Rosa think she is? She’s been pushing back more and more since Caligula got here, acting like a mother who can guilt me into doing what she wants me to do.
Well, she’snotmy mother. And I don’t feel guilty. I’d need a conscience for that.
A soul.
I’ve done the right thing. Reasserted control. Reminded that manipulative little snake who’s in charge. I head up to my bedroom, go into the viewing room, and check him on the monitor. He’s slumped against the wall, still in my robe—which I forgot to strip from him, damn it—head down, arms wrapped around himself.
So what if he noticed me bleeding? That’s not why he was down there in the kitchen pestering Rosa. I’m no fool, though he keeps treating me like one. Still…maybe he wasn’t trying to escape. Maybe he was just bored. Curious.
No. He’s a Clemenza. They always have an angle. And I confirm it by playing back the video of this morning, watch Caligula Clemenza wandering aroundmyhouse as though he owns it, looking in each room, testing locked doors…
He’s looking for a way out.
That’swhat he wants. Escape.
That’s why he offered himself to me last night. And that’s why he was down there flirting with Rosa. Buttering her up so he can use her. I bet if Sammy hadn’t arrived, he would have persuaded her to raise the shutters and let him walk right out of here.
I catch myself. That, at least, is unfair of me. He was right about that one thing—Rosa is devoted. She would never willingly let him leave the house.
And as for Sammy…
I play the video forward, watch Sammy come into the kitchen and stop dead at the sight of Caligula. He didn’t hang around pestering Rosa this morning, when usually he likes to wait until I come down for my coffee. And he barely spoke to Caligula—but that clever little Clemenza picked it up fast, the stupid crush Sammy has on me.
Like all Clemenzas, he was looking for leverage. Sammy gave it to him unconsciously. But…therewassomething strange in his voice when Caligula asked me who Sammy was. Not just curiosity—something sharper.