Snapping Point||Book 1

65.

Romano De Rossi

The excruciating wait was over at last. Ottavio had come out to fetch me. Despite pressing my ear against the solid door, I had no clue what was going on inside. I feared hearing a gunshot, a scream that could shatter the silence, or the sound of a heavy blow.

None had erupted.

I didn't want anyone touching her but me. Most of all, I didn't want my hands to be too tied to help her.

"Ugly?" I asked Ottavio, who had a scowl, and he nodded curtly, his frown deepening. His lack of confidence only heightened my unease.

"She's either not a good actor, or she caves under pressure," he said, pulling me to the wall.

He had said something different the first time she was interrogated by Morelli, which worked in our favor since we were passing her off as someone else. But her inability to match up could raise concerns—it could compromise our safety.

"Morelli wants you there," Ottavio insisted. "He wants to see how she reacts under your command and if our stories align. You better know what she'll say, because I can't start coaching you now."

Xenia had grown accustomed to me; now she only flinched in my presence when nearing climax, not when threatened. When was the last time I even threatened her? We were past that now.

Frankly, she could handle the pressure they wanted me to apply, but only until it seemed like I might actually harm her, and that's the extent of the pressure they wanted me applying. And if I did that, she would stop trusting me; that would be just as dangerous because she could easily betray me.

"So far," Ottavio adjusted my shirt, his tone serious. "She's sticking to the story, but she's not convincing."

What kind of game were we playing here? Was it a dance with danger? Move and risk everything? Push her to snap and face consequences? Or hold back and face even worse?

The intensity was suffocating. I wanted no part in it.

"So, I'm supposed to pretend I have her completely under my control?" I couldn't help but almost laugh. I mean, I was fucking this girl, for Christ's sake. We had an understanding, a mutual respect that didn't involve dominance and submission — to put it mildly, more like king and pawn. "Seriously, Ottavio?"

"It's not you who has to prove it," he said, poking my chest with his index finger. "It's her who needs to show it. Don't screw this up, or you'll drag me down with you."

"Damn it!" I hissed.

"Aren't you Rossi Young anymore?" His snarky comment was a throwback to the days when I gave orders that no woman dared to defy. "You've got the experience; you're just letting your emotions mess with you."

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely!" He sniggered. "Just forget she's Xenia and treat her like any other whore. Imagine she was one of them and go for it. Treat her like you did that girl you strangled in the office. Cristiano's wife? Or Carmen, who you shot between orgasms."

"God, shut up, Ottavio," I spat, his so-called motivational speech only fanning the flames.

"Seriously, Roe, if you do that, you'll regain Morelli's trust. You've got to make him believe in you again, or you're going down with the Consigliere. And Xenia, too. What's the point of saving her if you both end up dead?"

"Hm." I was speechless. Maybe accepting he was right could actually get me somewhere.

In simple terms, he wanted me to show no sympathy toward Xenia. If I did, Morelli would question why I was involved with her and might suspect I had killed her twin on the night of my inauguration.