Page 33 of Code of Silence

“What were you doing in here?” I snap, unable to hold my tongue.

“Haven ….”

“Explain this!” I shout, dumping the trashcan upside down and allowing the contents to scatter on his desk. We’ll get back to the paperwork later. Right now, we’re not even having sex, let alone having children, but he’s fucking someone. The freshly used condom falls onto the contract. Might as well mix some cum with that bloody signature. “You were just fucking her in here!” I scream.

That’s why the blonde was in his office. She fixed herself in the mirror while he freshened up in his bathroom.

My breath quickens, heart races, and my hands clench. I shouldn’t be mad. Or jealous. I don’t want to be his, not like this. But like my father said, the deal is done. The bloodstained signature that sits underneath the used condom proves that.

A smirk grows across his face as if this is some kind of joke. “I left you a present.” He goes to reach into his unzipped slacks. “I know how much you like to lick me clean.”

My entire body stiffens at what he’s implying. I want to fucking stab him in the eyes, but this is how he was raised. This is what his life has taught him about how women should be treated, but I won’t do it. “I’m not a Mafia whore,” I spit out. “I will not be some fucking trophy for you to parade around in public while you fuck around behind my back.” I pick up a glass paperweight and throw it at his head, cussing when I miss him by a mile. Damn drunk aim. I would have been spot-on if I was sober.

His eyes darken, jaw sharpens, and chest bows. I take a step back from his desk. He reaches out, grabbing the netting on my dress, and yanks me forward, making my chest bump into his. “You’re mine,” he growls in my face.

I begin to tremble as his words penetrate my foggy brain.

“I own every inch of you now.”

“I hate you,” I croak out.

He releases me and runs his knuckles down the side of my face. I whimper at his soft touch, waiting for him to hit me. Do whatever he wants with me to beat me into submission. His eyes drill into mine. “Would you rather it had been you bent over that desk?”

“I will never willingly lie down for you again.” I lift my chin even though I want to burst into tears.

His knuckles run lower, tracing my jaw and then my neck. I know he can feel my pulse race. Fuck, I’m panting with fear. Mafia men only marry for one reason; a baby. An heir. We may have talked about marriage in the past, but we never discussed children. And that paperwork proves he’s thought of everything. I should have seen it and realized it sooner. He doesn’t love me. He never did. He just wants to use me. “I won’t give you a family.”

He grips my hair and yanks my head back. I cry out, but his other hands lifts, wrapping around my throat and cutting off my air.

I begin to panic and tear at his shirt. But he spins me around where my back is to his front, holding me in place. I gasp for a single breath but get nothing.

He lowers his lips to my ear. “You will give me as many children as I want. You were born to fucking breed, and that’s exactly what you will do. You’ll give me an army of men who I will train to run this world. Just as I was.”

He shoves me forward, my heels getting caught in the netting of my dress, and I fall to the black rug. My fingers dig into the thick fibers as tears run down my face, and I choke out a sob. Turning, I look up at him. He’s in the process of zipping up his pants when I manage to say, “I won’t do it.” I shake my head. “I won’t allow you to do that to an innocent child.” I scream the last part, but my voice breaks. “And a girl …” I sob. Dear Lord, what if I have a girl? Would she see the same fate I have? I will never pack up her things and ship her off to live with a monster. Not as my mother did to me.

He smirks, reading my thoughts like they’re written all over my face. “You know my mother gave birth to a girl before me.”

My eyes widen. “But … you don’t have any sisters.”

“My father took her out back and threw her into the pool.”

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. I wait for him to tell me that he’s joking, but he doesn’t. And deep down, I know it’s true. Tears spill from my eyes, and my hatred for Mr. Bianchi grows. I always knew that man was sick. How could you hurt an innocent child?