Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Leaving Chiara like that killed me. Having to walk away from her as she silently cried was the most horrendous torture I have ever endured, and that’s saying a lot considering the hell I’ve suffered through at the hands of my enemies. But I’d endure it all again if it meant I could change things and hold on to her for the rest of time.
Dropping into my office chair, I power on my computer as I drum my fingers against the desk. Impatience tears at me, and while I feel helpless and broken, she’s given me something to focus on, a task that could hopefully give me some kind of answers.
I don’t know what she hopes I’m going to find here, but if she thinks it’s important enough to mention it, then I owe it to her to dig as deeply as I can into my surveillance footage.
Once the computer is on and ready, I waste no time bringing up the footage, and after spending the whole trip home debating on where to start, I scroll all the way back to the night she first arrived. Issues didn’t start until after the gala where Monica first met Chiara, and despite wanting to desperately skip ahead to that night, I resist.
The screen comes alive from that night, and I fast-forward through the footage until I see my SUV coming down the driveway. I watch as Chiara steps out onto my property for the very first time in that piece of shit bondage outfit Ezekiel has all his girls wear.
We make our way up the stairs to the door, and after walking inside, I start to fast-forward. Nothing else happened that night that could possibly set off alarm bells. She gave me one hell of a performance that crippled me, and after I walked away, she crashed for the night, not waking until late the next day.
I scroll through as much as I can, following her movements throughout the house and pausing whenever she interacts with anyone. She had lunch out by the pool when I first requested her presence in my bedroom, and that night, I held up my vow to fuck her until she believed she wanted this.
She was so worn out that I carried her back to her bed, the moment we finished talking and I closed the door behind me. I fast-forward through the night, skipping ahead to when she woke.
The sun is just starting to brighten the screen when movement inside her room has me slowing the video down, and I can’t fucking believe what I’m seeing. “What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, watching as Sergiu, the one man I’m supposed to be able to trust with my life, welcomes himself into Chiara’s bedroom.
How the fuck could I not know about this? I sure as hell didn’t approve of it. Sergiu knows my boundaries better than anyone. He knew she was off-limits to him, even if it was an innocent conversation.
I watch closer as Chiara sleeps soundly, unaware that she’s not alone, but a moment later, Sergiu drops down on the edge of her bed, his hand clamped over her mouth to keep her from screaming. Chiara wakes with alarm, her eyes springing open with undiluted terror.
Anger drums through my veins, and I have to force myself to remain in my seat and keep watching, but suddenly Chiara’s fear begins to make sense.
Sergiu leans down toward her, keeping his voice low, and it’s clear as fucking day that he did so to keep me from finding out. Then as he starts to talk, I turn the volume up on my computer, making sure I’m able to make out every last word.
“Hush now, pretty girl. If you even try to make a single peep, I’ll snap your neck before a sound can even leave your mouth.”
He surveys her like cattle, like he has every right to be there, all while she stares back at him in fear. There’s a moment of silence before he continues. “I don’t get it. There is nothing special here,” he tells her in a conniving tone that makes me sick. “What does Killian see in you?”
My hands ball into fists, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Sergiu moves on top of her, crushing her thighs with his knees to keep her pinned, and just like that I realize this is where those bruises came from.
I’d seen them the night of the DeLorenzo Gala. Hell, I’d even fucking asked her about them. She refused to tell me, she straight-up lied about it, and even after calling her out on it, I still didn’t get any answers, but I chose to let it go. I believed that if there was something truly wrong, she would come to me, but she didn’t. Was she too afraid? Too ashamed?