The Mafia King’s Doll

Skylar

There’s a camera showing my bedroom.

My mouth grows dry when I think Renzo probably watched me get dressed.

Has he seen me naked? Shit.

My fear spirals a little as the question teeters on the tip of my tongue.

As Renzo drops the remote on the coffee table before shrugging off his jacket, the question bursts from me, “Did you watch me get dressed?”

His eyes touch on me for a second, then he casually takes his phone from the inside pocket before draping the jacket over the back of a couch.

He sets the device down next to the remote, and only then does he look at me again. I can’t place his expression, but the longer he just stares at me, the faster my heart beats.

His gaze burns down my body and stops on my bare legs, where there are still droplets of dried blood.

Finally his lips part, and he says, “I suppose we have to get you something clean to wear.”

He’s not answering my question. That has to mean he did see me naked.

Right?

He grabs his phone again and dials a number. A moment later, he says, “While you’re dropping off Davies, pack Skylar’s clothes and toiletries and bring them to my place.”

He ends the call, and his eyes settle on the TV screen again.

“You didn’t answer me,” I whisper, my heart in my throat and my hands fisted at my sides.

I watch as the corner of his mouth lifts, his gaze still locked on the screen. “Mmh…wouldn’t you like to know.”

My eyebrows draw together, and just as I begin to feel utterly violated, his eyes meet mine. He tilts his head, taking in my reaction as if he finds it fascinating.

Lifting my arms, I wrap them tightly around my waist, and I hunch my shoulders while lowering my eyes to the gleaming tiles beneath my feet.

“No. I have zero desire to see you naked.”

My gaze flies to his, and intense relief shudders through me. That means he won’t force himself on me.

Thank God.

I glance around the living room, that’s decorated in light gray and cream tones. A stylish glass partitioning gives me a view of the state-of-the-art kitchen and a dining room.

This penthouse must easily cost ten times more than our mansion, seeing as it’s situated in Manhattan.

The TV screen draws my attention, and when I see Dad being forcefully shoved into the foyer of our home, my hand flies up to cover my mouth.

His eye is swollen shut, and blood trickles from a cut above his eyebrow. He looks disheveled and nothing like the strong man who raised me.

Louisa comes out of the kitchen, and shock registers on her face when she sees Renzo’s men and the state Dad’s in. A couple of the men head up the stairs to my bedroom, while two stay in the foyer.

“So what do you think, topolina? Is your father going to run to the police and risk your life?” Renzo tilts his head, his eyes locked on the live stream. “Or maybe the housekeeper will be the one responsible for your death.”

My voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper as I say, “They won’t do anything to risk my life.”

“You sound so sure,” he murmurs. Letting out a sigh, he adds, “It’s going to be fun watching it all unfold.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Turning to face me, his predatory gaze locks on me. “I’ll leave the TV on so you can watch your father from your tower, principessa. If you turn up the volume, you’ll be able to hear them.”

At least I’ll get to see Dad.

He pushes his hands into his pockets, and even though his stance is casual, it doesn’t fool me. I know he’s capable of great violence at the drop of a hat.

“You’ll stay in the penthouse. Men will guard it around the clock, and if you try to leave, your father will die.” His eyes narrow on me. “And I won’t give him a quick death. I’ll fucking dismember him right in front of you.”

Horror shudders through me because I know he will carry out the threat. He lets his terrifying words sink in before he continues, “You are not my guest. You’ll prepare every meal. You’ll keep the place spotless. If your health deteriorates, your father dies. If I see you crying, your father will pay for each tear you spill.” He takes a few steps closer to me, and I have to tip

my head back to keep eye contact. “Do you understand?”

My dry lips part, and the single word trembles between us. “Yes.”

“Don’t get in my way, and you might survive living here,” he murmurs darkly.

I seriously doubt that.

He begins to walk, and his arm brushes against mine as he passes me. “Come, topolina.”

My eyes flick to the TV, and I see Louisa cleaning Dad’s face. They’re quiet, and she keeps glancing nervously at Renzo’s two men, who are still watching them.

I wonder what Dad’s going to tell her. How will he explain why I’m not home?

Again, I’m struck hard with the realization that Dad bought a kidney on the black market. Renzo’s little brother was killed so I could live.

And now I’m a prisoner of a deranged man. God help me.

“Skylar!” Renzo’s voice cracks like thunder in the air.

I jerk with fright and quickly rush to catch up to him, where he’s already halfway up the stairs.

At this rate, I’m going to die of a heart attack.

I follow Renzo to a bedroom that’s more luxurious than mine at home.

Crime must really pay well.

There’s a king-sized bed with light gray and cream bedding and pillows. A window and sliding door give me a stunning view of a balcony where potted ferns surround an outdoor lounge suite. I see skyscrapers and can only imagine how beautiful the view must be at night.

The wall behind the bed is made of slated granite, and to my left is a spacious walk-in closet that doesn’t look like it’s been used before.

I see another door, and cautiously moving closer, I peek into the ensuite bathroom, fitted with a shower and a tub that can easily pass for a jacuzzi.

Not bad for a prison cell.

“Your belongings will be here soon,” Renzo mutters before he steps away from the open door and disappears down the hallway.

I walk to the doorway and watch as he enters the room at the end of the hallway, which I’m guessing is his.

Letting out a sigh, I step back into the bedroom and shut the door. I dart to the bathroom to relieve my poor bladder that’s been put through the wringer.

While I wash my face, my eyes lock on my disheveled reflection, and all the hell I’ve been forced to endure the past twenty-four hours floods back like a destructive tsunami.

He shot Dr. Bentall as if it was nothing. Renzo just killed him.

I squeeze my eyes shut as tears threaten to fall.

I’m a prisoner in a cold-hearted monster’s penthouse.

God! After surviving the past three years and getting a second chance at life, this madness happens?

I hear movement in the bedroom and suck in a deep breath of air before I go to check who it is.

Men throw trash bags filled with my clothes and belongings on the floor. They don’t glance in my direction once, and when they leave, they don’t bother shutting the door.

Staring at my clothes, I realize this is really happening. It’s not a nightmare I’ll wake from. It’s not my imagination playing tricks on me.

I’ve been taken captive by a ruthless mafia boss who kills without blinking an eye.

I lied.