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...
who hasn't ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?
Clarice Lispector - The Hour of the Star . . .
Leyla
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This was boring.
I didn't even have anything to read.
He had locked his closet, too. And there was nothing on the nightstand.
But there was a window, the window I found out slid open into a balcony so I stood there. The estate was large. The trees surrounded the mansion and after some miles, there was the city.
The wind was strong. This room was really high. I looked down.
That was a long fall.
Jump.
And then hang there like an idiot because of the chains.
I shook my head, setting my elbows on the railing. It had been a few hours since they left me here. The sun was up now. Watching the sunset had calmed me down.
Then, the door opened and a woman entered with breakfast.
"Stop," I said when she was about to leave after placing the food.
She stopped and her eyes fell on the cuffs and the chains. My face heated up. "Yes, Miss Campbell?" Her words were heavily accented, the words broken up in a way that indicated she rarely ever spoke English.
"What's your name?" I asked, desperate to talk to someone.
"I'm Rosa," she said hesitantly. "We are not supposed to talk." Rosa was beautiful. She looked to be a few years older than me. Brilliant blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. But there was something so terribly sad about her.
"Why?"
"Sirs said not to."
Fuck them.
I was angry. I was too angry. But I was sad more.
"They don't have to know."
"They find out everything." Her eyes flickered on the cuffs. "They'll let you go after playing."
"What?" I frowned.
"Mafia men..." She began. "They like to play with common women like us, but they marry Italian virgins from rich mafia families. They will let you go...unless they want you as their mistress." She gulped. "Hope that they won't want you as their mistress."
I knew of the tradition of marrying an Italian virgin woman. A sign of 'purity' it was called because of course these murderers and serial killers had to taint every bit of 'purity'.
I nodded, my wish for talking to her dissolving into nothing. She walked out of the room.
I sat on the bed, looking at the food on the table.
Back home, Gabby and I ate together while trying to make Astrid eat. We'd set up a table in my room and eat. The maids bought us food there unless there was some guest over. It was a simple thing - eating breakfast with my sisters. Yet now that memory felt like gold - so precious that I could feel my heart cry out to live it again.
Pray they won't keep you as their mistress.
Could I live like that? They could get beautiful virgin wives who'd stay with them and give them heirs who'd run the mafia after them and I'd be here, in this room, bound to the bed as if my only destiny was serving them. I'd be nothing but an object of infidelity - someone they'd come to when they were bored of their wives.
Could I live like this? Confined in a room, used and discarded? Now it made sense why they had left as soon as they were done with me. I was not the one they wanted anything with. Anything but one thing.
My heart hurt so much. I covered my face with my hands, the chains felt heavier than before. They scared me so much it was terrible. My body wanted them. It ignited as soon as they looked at me. All my life if there was one thing I had prided myself over was my mind - I could go through anything because I had a strong mind - no one could break me.
But this...these chains...the absolute blur of my future and two dangerous men who didn't care about me and were probably going to keep me for a long time...this was going to break me.
I knew my limits.
And this was not something I knew I'd survive.
. . .
Rosa's words echoed in my head like a broken record for the rest of the day. All I did was eat, lay in the bed and stand at the balcony looking everywhere and anywhere. I wished I could touch it all with my hands. God, when would be the next time I went to a library? Or go for a simple walk in some park?
The door opened late at night and entered Fabiano, dressed in a three-piece suit and every hair in place.
He walked to me. I was again at the balcony, the chain still firmly connected to my tired hands.
He stood behind me, his hands resting beside mine.
He put his head on my shoulder, sighing softly.
"How much do you hate us?" He asked in a whisper.
"So much," I whispered, wiping a tear away. "So much."
