Page 56 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
“Karina, bella mia. What kind of question is that?” Pietro simpers.
He saunters toward me as if he has all the time in the world. Narrowing my eyes, lifting my chin, and channeling all my rage and disgust straight at him, I force myself not to look away. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
He licks his lips and dips his head, his breath hot against my face. Nausea burns in my throat. I want to back up, but there’s nowhere to go. The men hold me tighter. He’s going to kiss me. I’m going to be sick.
“Maybe I’ve missed you, my darling. Maybe my bed has been cold without my little bride,” he says.
“Fuck you.”
The words spear out of me with all the bitterness in my heart. He recoils as if I’ve slapped him. Our eyes lock and my body takes that moment to begin to ache in protest at all the scrapes and bruises I collected while rolling around in the back of that van.
“No. I don’t think I will.” Pietro smiles a dead smile. He’s slipped back into that cold, distant persona of his. It’s probably the same one he uses when he’s torturing somebody or pulling a trigger. “You see…your only purpose was to fulfill an obligation to your family. But you’re tainted now, Karina. You’re a whore. No woman who spreads her legs for a Bellanti can ever be redeemed. You’re nothing to me, and nothing to the Brunos. Nobody wants you.”
Pietro grabs me from my captors and drags me toward a blacked-out Mercedes. He clicks a button on the fob and the trunk pops open.
No! I twist and fight him, but I can’t get any leverage, while Pietro is cool and collected, as if he does this sort of thing every day. Does he really think that his words hurt me? I’m scared, yes. But he won’t tear me down. Never again.
He picks me up like I weigh nothing and dumps me into the trunk.
As he lifts his arm to slam it shut, I cry out, “What did he promise you, Pietro? What was the bargain you made with my uncle?”
He smiles and leans down, and I brace myself for the ugliness of whatever his response is going to be. But instead of answering me, he pushes me onto my side and grabs my left hand in a crushing grip, twisting and prying at my wedding rings. With my wrists bound, I can’t stop him. This feels like more of a violation than any assault I’ve endured so far.
“No! No!”
Pietro ignores my struggling as he works my rings free. I clench my hand into a fist, and he nearly has to break my finger to get what he’s after. But in the end, all I get for my effort is a skinned knuckle and what feels like a painful sprain.
“You bastard.” I spit at him, but he’s too far away.
“Goodbye, Karina,” Pietro says.
I smile prettily. “My husband is going to enjoy killing you for this.”
One of the men steps forward and shoves the gag back in my mouth.
The trunk slams closed, leaving me in darkness, my finger bleeding and bare.
