They Are The Monsters.
They Are The Princes.
. . .
Leyla Campbell, daughter of a corrupted politician, never expected her father to give her to them - two of the deadliest men in the world, for the sake of his reputation.
They don't seem safe.
T...
"Maybe the moon is beautiful only because it is far."
- Mahmoud Darwish . . .
Leyla
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Fabiano spent the whole day with me. He was just there, sitting around with me on his lap or between his legs. He talked on his phone in Italian, twirled my hair around his tatted finger, asked me a few questions about the books I was reading, and ate with me.
Giovanni was gone from the mansion. Where? I didn't know. The Creeds had left, too.
It was late at night and I was once again between Fabiano's legs, on the bed, and he had his arm wrapped around my waist. In my hands was a book but I'd be lying if I said I could focus on it. Fabiano's intimidating presence always put me on edge. His eyes were so freaking cold as were his words.
But his body was anything but cold.
He was a wall of muscle, warmth and art. Tall and majestic and powerful...the man felt barely real.
And yet I was here. On the same bed as him, wondering if he could hear the loudness of my heart.
"You read a lot," he murmured in my ear, inked finger tracing my lips as he had been going for a past few minutes. I was lucky he couldn't see my face.
"My father didn't let me go out much," I whispered. "I didn't have friends so all I did was read. Even Gabby and I didn't get along till a few years back. To distract me from...everything, I'd get the most difficult looking book from the shelf - physics or history. And I'd read it, knowing I wasn't going to understand anything. So I tried to, I searched things on the internet, made myself understand every page of whatever book I had chosen. It took a lot of time - but time was all I had." I sealed my lips shut, thinking I had spoken too much. Just because he was being gentle did not mean he was not who he was.
Fabiano Valentino. He took you from your family - from your sisters.
"Have you read all of these?"
I bit my lip. "Half of them are unread."
He chuckled. I shivered at the sound. "Then why do you have so many?"
"I love them. I just don't know them."
He hummed, his hand wrapping lightly around my neck, thumb brushing against my pulse. "Which one is your favourite?"
"A History of Magic," I answered and froze when I realised my mistake.
Oh no.
He got off the bed, walking to the bookshelf. He scanned it for the book and found it. His large hand reached for it and he pulled it out.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was going to die.
I heard a sharp intake of breath.
"Leyla."
I opened my eyes.
In his inked hand was the small phone. He threw the book away and the sound made me flinch.
I didn't look at his face. I kept my eyes fixed on the phone in his hand.
He threw it on the wall and it shattered in million pieces. I flinched, tears already forming in my eyes.
He walked closer. I could see how tense his body was.
He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to the edge of the bed. I didn't struggle, not seeing the point in it. My feet dangled from the bed and he crouched down in front of me.
He grabbed my neck, his grip firm and almost choking.
He made me look into his eyes. His eyes were dead. Completely cold as they looked into my terrified ones. His face held a mask of nothing. Completely nothing.
"You stupid little girl," he hissed. "I should have let Giovanni throw you in a fucking cell." He squeezed sharply and loosed in just a few seconds. I gasped for breath, hand scratching at his hand but he didn't let me go.
"I-I'm sorry-"
He squeezed again. "I don't fucking care."
He picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder like a barbarian, and walked out of the room. I squirmed in his hold but it was too tight.
Was he taking me to a cell?
He opened a door and walked inside. Intense darkness surrounded us. He switched on the light and threw me on a large bed in the middle.
I looked up at him, knowing my eyes were wide with fear.
He walked to a door in the room. The room was grey and white and soulless.
It was his.
And it had a large window.
I focused on that. I forced myself to focus on my anger on the unfairness of everything in my life rather than dwell on the panic on what was going to happen.
He came back and in his hand were...cuffs. Thick cuffs attached to a long chain.
"No."
I tried to get away. He grabbed me and threw me back on the bed, straddling my hips and putting just a tiny amount of weight on me.
He grabbed my wrists and cuffed them. He attached the long chain to the headboard.
He got off me.
He looked at me for a while. At my tear-stained face, trembling lips and wrists bound to the bed.
"I was trying to be nice. It's too fucking obvious you don't deserve it."
He walked out of the room, slamming the door shut.
