Daddy's Captive: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 2

  Carlos smiled, the slick, greasy smile of a man used to getting his own way. “This will only take but a moment. You have shipment coming in on Wednesday.”

  “I do. If you’d like to discuss it, I will be here most of the morning tomorrow. Please make an appointment with Benito.” Without giving the other man a chance to argue, Emilio turned and worked his way through the small crowd, greeting each individual by name, asking after wives and children.

  Years of working in the type of business where letting your guard down for a second could cost you your life had honed his instincts for danger. As he worked the room, he could feel eyes on him, someone watching his every move. While chatting with his cousin Luca’s delightful and very pregnant wife, Teresa, he let his gaze surreptitiously roam the room. He’d expected it to be Carlos watching him, waiting for an opportunity to pounce again.

  When he discovered instead Amara Vitali glancing his way for the third time in as many minutes, it was something of a shock. Ever since her twenty-first birthday, she’d kept a polite but careful distance between them. He’d embarrassed her, which he felt some remorse for, but she’d been little more than a child and he hadn’t been in the market for a wife. And if he’d taken her to bed as she’d so brazenly suggested that night, they’d be married with two kids at this point. Since he’d been certain that wasn’t what either of them wanted, he’d sent her on her way.

  But perhaps he should reevaluate the situation. The idea of another man marrying the gorgeous Vitali family princess had never set well with him, even after he’d turned down her drunken advances that night. And a union between their two families would be beneficial to both sides. He’d assumed he’d ruined any chance with her, but maybe not, if the way she was watching him was any indication.

  Unfortunately, his duties as host kept him busy the rest of the night, and he was unable to carve out any real time for them to be alone together. There was a moment, just before dinner, when she excused herself to use the bathroom and she had to pass him to leave the parlor.

  Reaching out as she brushed by, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She stopped, spine straight and regal, but he could have sworn he felt her tremble.

  Interesting.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” he asked, dropping his voice low enough for only her to hear.

  “Always. You know you throw the best parties,” she replied with a cool smile that made him wonder if the tremble he’d felt a moment before had, indeed, been a product of an overactive imagination on his part.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry Gio couldn’t join us.”

  Something flashed in her eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came, too quickly for him to properly identify the emotion, but it had looked suspiciously like regret. “Me, too. He doesn’t get sick often, but when he does, he’s down for the count.” Her smile wasn’t as cool this time, but distinctly more forced.

  Little Miss Vitali was up to something, but fuck him if he had the first clue what it could be. “Give him my best when you get home, would you?”

  “Of course. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He released her, watching her as she moved through the crowd. Before she’d disappeared through the entryway, he’d made up his mind. One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of her strange behavior.

  * * *

  By the time the last of the guests had left, Emilio was ready for a large tumbler of whiskey and his bed. After ensuring Benny would provide him with the former, he made his way up the stairs in search of the latter. Tugging off the tie Benny had expertly tied for him earlier in the evening, he pushed open the door to the master suite.

  And froze in the doorway at the sight that greeted him.

  Amara Vitali was stretched out on his bed, the navy blue of the duvet cover a stark contrast to the cream silk of her dress. “Hello, Mr. Rinaldi.”

  Had he thought her icy? The woman in his bed was as far from cold as a woman could be. He could swear he felt the heat coming off her in waves when her lips curved in a smile that was pure feminine invitation.

  “Amara. What are you doing?”

  The smile moved to a pout, which was even more enticing than the seductive smile. “I wanted some time with you. Alone.”

  This wasn’t the right way. A woman like Amara was meant to be courted, properly pursued before asking for her hand. Giorgio Vitali would slit Emilio’s throat without even blinking if he touched her now.

  But she was like a siren, calling a sailor to his death. He crossed the room to stand beside the bed, reaching out to brush her hair from her face. “What are you doing, Amara?” he repeated softly.

  Moving with that inherent grace he’d always admired, she pushed to her knees and lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. The cool blue of her eyes had warmed to beautiful pools of cerulean, and he was so lost in them he almost missed the light glinting off the item she held in her hand.

  He managed to grab her wrist before the needle sank into his neck. It clattered to the floor beside him, and for a moment they stared at each other, both seemingly shocked by what had just happened.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he demanded, yanking on her wrist so she fell forward against his chest.

  Her intention flashed in her eyes a moment before she wrenched her arm free and dove for the needle. Luckily, he was faster and stronger, and he wrapped an arm around her waist before she could reach it.

  “Bastardo! Let me go!” Twisting at what he would have considered an impossible angle if he hadn’t seen it himself, she nearly managed to jerk out of his grasp. But at the last minute he flipped her onto her stomach, trapping her legs against the bed with his and pinning her hands behind her back. Even as effectively stuck as she was, she continued to fight like a wildcat.

  “Calm down!” Emilio growled in her ear, using a tone that usually commanded obedience from even the most stubborn woman in his care.

  But not Amara. “Get your filthy fucking hands off me, Rinaldi.”

  Fury turned his vision red at the edges. “Need I remind you, you’re the one who came to my bed, and tried to stab me in the neck with a needle?” Tightening his grip on her hands, he pressed her further into the bed. “What’s in the syringe, Amara?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. What is it? Who sent you?”

  It was the last question that had her going still as a statue beneath him. “Nobody sent me. I swear it.”

  Instinct told him she was lying, but he couldn’t think straight through the cloud of rage in his mind. Keeping her hands pinned in one of his own, he worked his thin dress belt free from his pants. Once he had the stiff leather wrapped around his hand, leaving only a short tail hanging free, he shifted to the side for a better angle. “Tell me, Amara. What’s in the needle? Who sent you?”

  “Nobody sent me. Let me go!”

  The desperation in her voice did little to sway him. He raised his arm and brought the short strip of leather down across her silk-clad bottom three quick times in succession. To her credit, she didn’t scream, barely even grunted at what he knew had to be a fierce burn. “Tell me, Amara.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Another three, lower this time, catching the fullest part of her ass. When the sixth stroke landed, he was rewarded with a hiss of air escaping her clenched teeth. “Tell me.”

  “Never,” she spat at him.

  If it had been any other scenario than one where she’d just tried to stab him, he might have appreciated her resolve. As it was, he was going to get the truth from her, one way or another. This time when he whipped her, he gave her a full six, making sure to land three of them across the tops of her thighs. At which point he finally managed to rip a short, high scream from her.

  The sound was immensely satisfying, but he wasn’t done. “Tell me, Amara, and I will stop.”

  Beneath his hand, her back rose and fell with each shaky breath. “It-it was just to put you to sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Frowning down
at her, he tapped the belt against her backside, a reminder that he wasn’t fucking around. “Why would you want me to sleep?”

  “I-I was going to rob you. It’s just a-a-a kind of game.”

  “A game? What the fuck are you talking about, Amara?”

  “I get bored, you know? Uncle Gio never lets me do anything, so I have to make my own fun. I’m sorry, please let me go.”

  Her explanation, while odd, sounded sincere enough. Some of the rage faded, allowing him to think a little more clearly.

  He couldn’t let her go. Not until he was a hundred percent sure she was telling the truth. And not until he saw she was well and thoroughly punished for her little escapade, whatever it turned out to be. But he had... options.

  “All right.”

  Her body sagged with relief. “You’re going to let me go?

  “Not quite.” If she’d been standing, no doubt she would have spat in his face when she spotted his smug smile. “I’ll give you a choice.”

  “What kind of choice?” she asked, obviously skeptical.

  “I can let you go, and turn you over to the police.” Ignoring her outraged gasp, he continued, “Or you can stay and tomorrow you can accept your punishment for this little stunt.”

  “Or you could just let me return home and I swear I’ll never bother you again.”

  “Not an option. Which is it? The police or me?”

  There was a long pause before she spoke again. “If I stay, what are you going to do to me?”

  He tapped the thin leather against her upturned bottom. “I believe I’ve already given you a taste of my discipline, but I can spell it out for you, if you’d like.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “It’s either my strap or the cops, Amara. Choose.”

  He let the silence stretch until she finally took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll accept your punishment. Couldn’t we just get it over with tonight, though?”

  “No. I need to take some time to decide on a proper punishment.”

  “For fuck’s sake. This is ridiculous. Just whip me and get it over with so I can go home.”

  “Not going to happen. I plan on making sure this is a punishment you don’t forget any time soon. I’ll let Gio know you had a bit too much to drink and decided to stay for the evening.”

  “He won’t believe you. I don’t drink that much anymore.”

  “I can be a very convincing liar when I need to be.” Leaving her hands pinned to the small of her back, he helped her stand and led her from the bedroom. Benny was standing just to the side of the doorway, his expression as carefully blank as ever.

  “Ms. Vitali will be staying the night. She’s not to leave her room without my permission.”

  Benny inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Of course, sir. Will she be using one of the guest rooms?”

  “No. She’ll be staying in the pink room.”

  To his credit, Benny barely blinked. “Very well. Would you like me to send up a cup of warm milk?”

  “Not tonight. Naughty little girls don’t get treats at bedtime.”

  The corner of Benny’s lips lifted in the slightest smirk. “Very true, sir. Do you need me for anything else this evening?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve got everything under control.”

  With another small nod, Benny disappeared down the stairs. Once he was gone, Emilio opened the door to the bedroom just next to his and guided his charge inside.

  Her gasp gave him a sense of grim satisfaction. “What the actual fuck, Rinaldi?”

  Chapter Three

  Staring in horror at the room in front of her, Amara tried to back out of the doorway, but her captor was still holding her arms in a grip like iron. Fuck. How the hell had she managed to go from predator to prey so fucking quickly?

  And why was she staring at a room that looked like it had been decorated by a five-year-old on a sugar high?

  Her mind raced, searching desperately for some kind of explanation that might make an ounce of sense. “I didn’t know you had children.” He didn’t. She’d known him her entire life, for fuck’s sake. If he had children, she would know. But nothing else made any sense.

  Behind her, Emilio chuckled and the sound sent a shiver of fear down her spine. “I don’t. Come, let’s get you into something more appropriate, and then you can use the restroom.”

  “I can dress myself, Emilio.”

  His breath tickled her ear when he leaned in. “Need I remind you, I’m not above whipping your pretty little bottom to ensure your obedience, Amara?”

  Of course he didn’t need to remind her. The stripes he’d laid down on her ass still burned. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” With more force than she felt was necessary, he pushed her toward the long, cream-colored dresser set along the far wall of the bedroom. Without releasing his hold on her, he bent and opened a drawer, revealing an explosion of ruffles and—fuck her—more pink.

  He expertly plucked two items from the drawer before shutting it again, leaving her to wonder exactly how many times he’d performed this dance with other women. None with women who’d tried to kill him, she was willing to wager, but that seemed like a minor detail in lieu of her current situation.

  “I’m going to release your hands, and you’re going to lift your arms over your head. Capisci?”

  “Sì.”

  “Good girl,” he murmured, and her traitorous heart fluttered at his praise.

  When he released her, she immediately lifted her hands over her head as instructed. For now, she needed to just go along with whatever this plan of his was. As soon as he went to bed, she could work on escaping.

  With a whisper of silk, her dress was lifted off of her, leaving her in only the white strapless bra and matching lace panties she’d donned earlier in the evening.

  “You look beautiful, Amara. But such contraptions aren’t appropriate for little girls.”

  Before she could voice her outrage at being spoken to like a child, the bra loosened and the cool air caressed her nipples into hard points. Her underwear soon followed, leaving her naked to his gaze.

  “Enjoying the show?” she snapped, glaring over her shoulder at him.

  “Indeed.” Seemingly unfazed by her indignation, he moved in front of her and crouched down, holding out a pair of shorts adorned with more ruffles than an eighties prom dress. “Step in.”

  Surely he had to be joking. “I am not wearing those.”

  Even kneeling at her feet, he exuded absolute control. “I’ll give you a choice, then.”

  “What?”

  “You can either put your pajamas on like a good girl, or I can spank you and then you can put them on over a hot, sore bottom.”

  To her utter shock and horror, tears filled her eyes. “That’s not a choice!”

  “The only choice little girls have in this house is to do as they are told before or after their naughty bottoms get turned nice and red.”

  She absolutely did not want another spanking, especially since those ruffles looked kind of scratchy. “Fine. But for the record, I hate pink.”

  “Duly noted,” he said with a chuckle as she stepped into the poufy concoction. After he tugged the shorts up over her welted backside, he pulled the matching tank top over her head.

  Taking a step back, he tilted his head, studying her with a satisfied smile. “Perfect. Go potty and then I’ll put you to bed.”

  “What sick kind of game are you playing here, Rinaldi?”

  His eyes hardened a moment before his hand gripped her chin, squeezing her cheeks together uncomfortably. “You behaved like a foolish child tonight, so I’m treating you in kind. You should be grateful I didn’t call the police.”

  “Uncle Gio will see you dead for treating me this way.” Gio meant to see him dead, anyway, but it seemed unwise to share that information.

  “I’m sure Giorgio and I can reach an understanding.” Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her toward a door across the room and p
ropelled her forward with a heavy-handed slap to her backside. “Potty, then bed.”

  She sent him another icy stare over her shoulder before shutting the door sharply behind her. Moving silently, she searched the cabinets for anything that might possibly be used as a weapon. All she found were some towels and toilet paper. Worst case scenario, she might be able to strangle him with a towel but it wasn’t ideal. Emilio was taller and stronger than her, and it would take far too long to kill him that way.

  Giving up on the weapon hunt for a moment, she considered her options for escape. There was a window to the right of the sink, but despite her trim figure, she wasn’t sure she could squeeze through. Unfortunately, no other options made themselves known.

  She climbed onto the sink, which thankfully had a good bit of counter space. Placing the heels of her hands under the window sash, she gave the window a hard shove.

  Nothing. It didn’t budge an inch.

  “Think, Amara,” she mumbled to herself. A man like Emilio wouldn’t leave his house unprotected. Of course the windows were locked. Balancing precariously on the countertop, she searched for some kind of mechanism to release the window from the inside, but she couldn’t find anything.

  She slammed her hand against the glass. “Fuck!”

  “It doesn’t open.”

  It was a miracle she didn’t tumble right off the sink at the sound of his voice. Carefully twisting to face him, she shot him a glare. “You’re a sick son of a bitch.”

  Leaning against the doorframe, he gave a careless shrug. “Perhaps.” He pushed away from the door, stalking toward her.

  Trapped, she had no choice but to let him help her down from the counter. Once again, she found her chin caught in his grasp, forcing her to look up into his eyes.

  She’d expected anger, but she found instead a glint of excitement that was far more terrifying than his rage had been.