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CHAPTER THIRTY
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THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
At first she froze, afraid he wouldn’t stop with kissing, but after a few seconds of his lips caressing over hers, he pulled away.“We’ve got to work on that. No one will believe that kiss.”The heat rose to her face, and she looked down at her hands. “I-I’ll do better.”“Yes, you will,” he said. “Go get your papers. You can go back to your room. I expect you to study and know everything in that packet by tomorrow evening.”Genevieve got up without a word and retreated to the kitchen. When she got back to her room she locked the door. He might be mad if he found it locked to him, but it was the only way she’d feel safe enough to sleep.***Clint contemplated the enigma that lived in his house. She had to be a sub. Somewhere deep down. He’d been surprised from her answers that she had dated more than one man.Her level of fear toward him had led him to believe she might be an introvert to men. She’d in fact had several boyfriends in college, and was what he’d call experienced. Ev
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Clint paced the entry hall, the usually unobtrusive Christmas music beginning to set his teeth on edge. His brothers would arrive in less than an hour. He still second-guessed the plan. Genevieve had improved. When he’d instructed her to do a better acting job, she’d delivered. He couldn’t imagine how afraid she must be of the dungeon to be so compliant. And she’d never even seen the dungeon.She probably imagined it as a far worse place than it was. In her mind, Clint had no doubt she saw damp stones with water dripping from some unknown source and algae growing through the cracks and crevices. There would be a dripping sound, a dank, putrid smell, a dirt or concrete floor, a chill that wouldn’t leave the air, and heavy chains.He’d not bothered to disabuse her of that notion. The scarier the dungeon was to her, the easier it would be to get her cooperation. In reality, the dungeon was none of those things. If what he’d been told by the servants who had gone to get her belongings
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
As soon as Genevieve excused herself from Beatrice and everyone she made her way to the smaller kitchen. It sat tucked away to one side of the house, far from everyone else. She poured a glass of tea from the refrigerator; the cool liquid was soothing as it went down. She tried to breathe and stared out the window at the setting sun and the herb garden.It was too many people. Her fears had gone from Clint killing her or hurting her for messing up, to the blind terror of being surrounded by so many people—most of them too inquisitive . A throat cleared behind her and she jumped and dropped the glass in the sink, causing it to shatter.Beatrice spun around, at first thinking it was Clint, but the man’s eyes were dead, and he didn’t have a scar. Raffalle . It was impossible to explain how Raffalle could look more frightening when he was so perfect, and Clint could seem safer with the wicked scar slicing down his neck . She gripped one ofthe larger glass shards, ignoring the pain as
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
The washcloth was soothing and cool against Genevieve’s heated flesh. It blocked out the world and gave her a place to hide. And in that place she was able to calm down.Clint’s thumb skimming over the back of her hand made her feel strangely safe. In spite of the kinds of things she knew he enjoyed doing to a woman, and in spite of his family, when he touched her like this, she couldn’t help feeling like everything would be okay.His voice penetrated the bubble she’d put around herself. “Do you think you can sit up now and let me fix your face?”He released her when she pulled her hand out of his and pushed herself against the headboard. Reluctantly she pulled the washcloth away. Clint patted her face dry with another piece of gauze. He must have bought stock in a first aid kit manufacturer. Both his home and Angelo’s were like a triage unit.He didn’t speak as he laid out the items of her makeup bag. She had several concealers and foundations, but she didn’t think he’d know what
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Genevieve had gone straight to her room, Max following behind her. It was night, but with the outdoor floodlights she could see giant puffs of snow drifting down in a steady pattern.While she’d been at dinner, one of the servants had started a fire in the fireplace. Moments like this obscured reality as if she were visiting royalty instead of a prisoner.But she was trapped inside a Christmas card. What could be wrong with that? What kind of idiot complained or felt sad about that? She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Clint to come blazing in to claim what was his, to make her pay with her body for all the kindnesses he’d bestowed. After all, she was his property, his ill-conceived early Christmas gift from his psychotic brother.Max laid his head on her lap, and she absently stroked the soft, gold fur. He’d become her shadow these past few weeks, as if checking to make sure she was okay and then reporting back to his master with a daily status update. It had take
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Genevieve had been lying in bed tossing and turning for close to an hour when there was a knock on the door."Clint?” she said as she approached, wrapping a robe around her. She was a split second from opening it when she heard a drunk voice on the other end.“You stupid cunt,” Raffalle slurred from the other side. “I ought to kill you. Do you know the trouble you’ve caused for this family? You owe him gratitude and whatever fucked-up shit he’s into for stepping in to save you.”Genevieve backed away, stumbling over the foot of the bed in her attempt to get to the intercom.A groggy Demetri answered when she pressed the button. “Yes, Miss Newton ?”“Raffalle is outside my door, drunk,” she whispered.Demetri became alert, and the touch of annoyance evaporated from his voice. “It’ll be taken care of.”A few minutes later there was arguing on the other side of the door and then silence and then another knock. This time,Genevieve didn’t make a move, having learned that lesson—almo
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
“ Genevieve ? What are you doing here?”He was still a few steps down from her. Enough that she had space to get up, so she did. She ran up the rest of the stairs, down the hallways, through the entryway, and up another flight to the east wing. She locked the door behind her even though it was useless.That other woman knew Genevieve had been there. What must she think? Was she going to be angry about it? Embarrassed?A moment later, the key turned in the lock and Clint stepped into the room, sucking all the air out. Snowball and Squish hid under the bed. Whether they were responding to his energy or her fear, Genevieve couldn’t be sure.She eyed the cane firmly clasped in Clint’s hand. This could be the moment he lost control. She dropped to her knees, her legs not able to support her in the face of what might come next. She held her arms defensively in front of her. “Please, I’m sorry...”He looked down, as if only now noticing he still held the cane. He crossed the room and se
THE MAFIA AND THE ARTIST CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Clint descended the stairs into the dungeon to find Miss Fin sitting on the red leather couch against the wall, her feet pulled up with her. Shehadn’t bothered to get dressed, but had put down a towel from the bathroomto sit on.She looked up when he entered the room, and he felt a moment’s guilt for what he was about to do. Fin was the whole package, and if not for Genevieve, he might have tried to see what could develop. But taking hisownership of Genevieve to the next level had become an all-consuming obsession.Her consent upstairs had been given with a large amount of fear, but an equal amount of dignified determination. He was almost tempted to call itoff again, but he needed this. How could he know what she could and couldn’t handle if he didn’t give her the chance?“I’m not going to see you again, am I?” Fin asked. Hearing Genevieve crying on the stairs was all she’d needed to start putting pieces together.“We keep missing each other. I’m with someone or you are. Pe
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