Chapter 24: Punish and Kisses
I sat in the corner of the opulent, albeit cold, bedroom, nursing the stinging sensation on my cheek where Vincent's hand had made contact. The room was shrouded in the pungent aroma of cigar smoke and the subtle hint of sandalwood from Vincent's cologne, but all I could focus on was the throb of fear pulsating through my veins.
Vincent towered over me, every inch the looming mafioso in his sharp black suit, his eyes dark pools of seeming regret and something more dangerous. "Samantha..." His voice was in a dark and deadly tone, the one he uses when he kills people who have made him mad.
. Vincent's tongue flicked out, disturbingly tender as it swept across my cheek, lapping at the welling droplet of blood. My stomach lurched, a visceral reaction not just to the act, but to the dissonance of his gentleness and what I knew lay beneath.
I flinched instinctively, trying to recoil further into the corner, but the plush carpet beneath me offered no real sanctuary. Vincent crouched down before me, the crisp fabric of his trousers whispering with every subtle movement. "You've been very bad, Samantha," he rumbled, the hint of anger still lacing his voice. "You know what happens when you disobey me."
Tears streamed down my face as I nodded, a silent acknowledgment of my reality-his rules, his punishment, his domain. There was a softness in his eyes, a paradox that only made my heart race faster.
"Please, Vincent... I-I won't do it again. I just..." My voice hitched, fear curbing the flow of words.
He reached out, a large hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing away tears. "Shh, piccola. I know, I know." His words were a soothing balm, even as they imprisoned me. "It's okay now. You're here... with me."
I should have been repelled by him, by the weight of his presence, but in that moment, desperation eclipsed reason, and I sought refuge in the eye of the storm. I leaned into his touch, craving the comfort of something, anything. Even if it was from him. "Just-just for tonight," I whispered, a plea hanging between us.
"Of course, my love, just for tonight." Vincent's voice was a velvet caress, a promise lined with darkness.
He stood, lifting me with an ease that spoke of his power. I was powerless in his hold, a doll made of glass, fragile under his grip. He carried me to his walk-in closet, a space larger than my own bedroom, filled with the scents of leather and luxury.
"You'll need something more appropriate to wear," Vincent mused, holding me still against his chest as he browsed his expansive collection of clothing with his free hand, all silks and fine cottons. He selected a shirt, far too large for me but soft to the touch. "This will do."
He set me down just long enough to change me into the shirt. As I slipped my arms through the sleeves, the fabric enveloped my form, a shroud of him. My hands drowned in the cuffs, and the hem hung low on my thighs. I felt lost within it, and yet, it brought an odd sense of security.
Vincent hummed with approval, his eyes lighting up. "Adorable," he declared, and the word sounded foreign, coming from a man of his ruthlessness.
The sound of his suit jacket hitting the floor was a whisper against the opulent silence of the room. Now in his dress pants, he seemed less the mafia boss and more... No, he would always be the mafia boss.
"Bedtime," he announced, guiding me back to the bedroom. The chains lay on the bed, a cold reminder of my captivity. He fastened them gently around my wrists, the click echoing ominously in the room.
With the chains in place, my resolve crumbled. I crawled into his lap, my head burying into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent that was now familiarity and fear intermingled. Vincent wrapped his arms around me, his embrace a vice I could not escape. The feel of his muscular body was strangely comforting.
My apology came out muffled against the fabric of Vincent's shirt, "I'm sorry for trying to escape... I know I can't get away from you, Vincent."
His hand stilled on my back, a low hum acknowledging my words. "You are mine, Samantha. It's a truth you can't run from," he replied, his voice rumbling deep within his chest.
I felt his chin rest atop my head, a gesture of possession. I was bound to him, not just by the chains that secured me, but by the invisible yoke of his power and obsessive need.
"There's nowhere in this world you can go where I won't find you," Vincent continued, each word a silent stranglehold tightening around my future. "Do you understand that?"
A shiver crept down my spine. "Yes," I whispered, resignation seeping into the corners of my heart. "I understand."
Vincent's grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent cheer for my submission. "Good. Accepting it is the first step to making this easier on yourself."
I nodded limply, sinking into his hold. The fight within me dwindled, gasping for breath in a room filled with his dominance. My silence was as loud as a scream in the stillness, a testament to the power Vincent Russo wielded over me.
He rocked me slowly, his hands stroking my back in small circles. "Sleep, my angel. I've got you," he crooned, a serenade of the damned.
His reassurance was the lullaby that coaxed me closer to the edge of sleep, but a spark of consciousness remained, gripping onto the last tendrils of awareness. "Vincent... tom-tomorrow, the wedding..." My voice was a mere breath against his skin, dread painting each syllable.
"Hush now," he hushed, his lips pressing to my forehead. "Tomorrow, you'll be my wife. My Samantha Russo. But tonight, you're still mine to comfort. No more tears, okay?"
I nodded against him, too weary to protest or to parse through the twisted normalcy of this moment. For tonight, I would allow myself this simulated solace, for tomorrow held its own terrors, and I needed to gather the shards of my splintered spirit.
Vincent's chest rose and fell in steady, hypnotic motions, a paradoxical lullaby that lulled me into a fraught slumber. And as I drifted away, I couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last night I'd ever be Samantha St.Onge.
