Darkness engulfed me, a cloak drawn tight by terror. My eyelids flickered open to the unwelcome comfort of Vincent's lap, his breath a metronome in the charged silence of his office. The coppery tang of blood invaded my senses, a sharp contrast to the musty papers scattered across his desk.
"You're awake, piccolina." Vincent's voice rumbled from above me, his chin resting on my shoulder, the intimacy at odds with the cold, hard reality.
"What are you doing?" My words were a whisper, my eyes trailing the crimson stains marring his hands, stark against the pristine white of his shirt.
"Mere trifles, Samantha. The day-to-day of empire building." His fingers traced the line of my collarbone, unsettling in their gentleness.
A shiver raced down my spine as he dipped his head, lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Are you afraid of blood, carina?"
I nodded, unable to summon a lie. His chuckle, a sound edged with darkness, filled the room.
"And yet here you are, the sweetest cutest little thing married to me, Vincent Russo. The deadliest mafia boss in all of New York and America"
Vincent says while laughing to himself as he licks my cheek causing me to whimper.
His hands roamed, possessive, leaving smears of scarlet in their wake. "So pure, so innocent." The growl in his chest vibrated through me as he inhaled deeply, savoring my scent like a fine wine. "And yet you reek of fear, your heart racing, adrenaline flooding those delicious veins."
A whimper escaped my lips as his teeth grazed my neck. "P-please..."
"Shh, shh, carina." His fingers tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back to expose the column of my throat. "Do you know how intoxicating that delicate whimper is to me?"
My breath came in shallow pants as his tongue traced the throbbing vein, the heat of his mouth a brand. "I could devour you, drain you of every sweet drop until that racing heart lies still in my hands."
A strangled cry tore from me as his grip tightened, his obsidian gaze boring into mine with feral intensity. "But where would be the fun in that?" he purred. "No, I want to savor this terror, let it linger on your tongue like the finest vintage. I want you to drown in it, Samantha, until you crave the depths the way a drowning man craves air."
Tears burned my eyes as the office blurred, morphing into a twisted kaleidoscope of crimson and black. "W-why?" The word was barely audible, shredded by the terror clawing at my throat.
Vincent threw back his head with a booming laugh that reverberated through the room. "Because you're mine, piccola moglie. And I will drink deeply of your fear until the mere cadence of my voice has you trembling."
His thumb swiped away the tear trailing down my cheek, smearing it like a grotesque war paint. "Be a good girl and show your husband that delicious terror while I work. Let those pretty eyes go wide, let that pulse flutter like a trapped bird." His grin was all teeth as he angled my face towards the grisly documents strewn before us. "After all, shouldn't a wife know the depths of her husband's empire?"
Vincent's words slithered through me like a venomous serpent, each syllable a fresh injection of venom into my veins. I trembled in his embrace, a rag doll in the clutches of a madman, as his calloused fingers traced the curve of my jaw.
"Look at them, Samantha." His grip tightened, forcing my gaze towards the gruesome photos that littered his desk like macabre playing cards. "Drink in the canvas my empire was built upon."
Bile burned the back of my throat as the vivid crimson splashes assaulted my senses. Broken bodies contorted in rictus agonies, glassy eyes staring into nothingness while rusty rivulets seeped into the cracks of sun-baked concrete. A silent scream echoed through the photographs, a cacophony of brutality that resonated in the marrow of my bones.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Vincent crooned, his lips trailing a blazing path along the column of my throat. "True art is borne of sacrifice, piccola moglie. Each stroke of my brush, a life extinguished to solidify my reign."
A whimper bubbled up, unbidden, as his teeth grazed the throbbing vein in my neck. "No more tears now," he chided, his tongue lapping at the salty tracks staining my cheeks. "Give me that fear I so crave. Let it pour from you in waves until you're drunk on the intoxicating depths of your terror."
His free hand fisted in my hair, wrenching my head back as his obsidian gaze bored into mine. "I can smell it, you know," he growled, his warm breath fanning across my parted lips. "That delectable aroma of your dread, more intoxicating than the finest perfume."
A tremor wracked my frame as his tongue blazed a molten trail along the sharp line of my jaw. "My beautiful, terrified wife." The words were a guttural purr that reverberated through me like the death knell of a condemned soul. "You'll learn to embrace the darkness, to revel in the shadows that birthed your new reality."
His grip shifted, fingers encircling my throat as he angled my face towards the grisly tableau once more. "Look upon the masterpiece that is my world, Samantha," he commanded, his voice a seductive lullaby laced with poison. "Let it seep into your bones until the very marrow turns to ice. For in this twisted tapestry of carnage and fear, you will find the darkness that completes you, piccolina."
The room tilted on its axis as the grotesque images consumed my vision, the coppery tang of blood thick on my tongue. A scream clawed at the base of my throat, desperate to escape the madness that had become my existence. But even as the shadows closed in, smothering me in their suffocating embrace, a glimmer of defiance flickered in the depths of my soul.
I was Samantha St. Onge, now Samantha Russo a young woman with dreams and aspirations that stretched far beyond the gilded cage of Vincent Russo's obsession. And though the darkness threatened to swallow me whole, a part of me vowed to never surrender, to cling to that fragile light of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find my way back from the abyss.
