I was sent to capture the CIA's most wanted fugitive.
But things took a tragic turn,
My entire team was murdered before my eyes, and I was kidnapped by said fugitive.
It seemed like my government had forgotten me and I became a puppet for the fugi...
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Andreas has been MIA since yesterday. I'm aware of that because I've been watching the door like a hawk, waiting for the familiar creak of the hinges but there's been nothing. Just silence. I've been trapped in bed with nothing but conflicting thoughts of him. The kidnapping and now, the sex, the little shred of control he lost is all I can seem to think about.
I used to be sex-crazed when I was much younger. Sex was my only escape, a different routine, the only way I could feel something.
But sex with Andreas? It's different, like a fucking awakening, wild, unhinged. There's no control, no discipline. It strips me of the walls the CIA built, keeping the animal in me in check. Yesterday, every line I've ever drawn between my body and my duty and my sanity was blurred, erased. He pushed me to the edge and I leapt willingly. It was like he knew just how far to go, how much I can take before I reach my yield point, and then he takes me a little further.
It's utterly maddening, the way he gets under my skin. There's no coldness when he's inside me, no numbness that used to seep in after every kill in my past life. There's just raw heat, unfiltered desire and the absolute certainty that nothing else matters. Until right after. I could see his face in the mirror, the way he processed what just happened, the shift in the air, our now complicated positions.
God, how I hate him. The bastard took everything from me- the control, the power, the sense of who I am, or rather who I used to be. Now I am just a shell of myself, filled with nothing but the memory of his touch, the way he owned me. I should be disgusted at myself, at the way I bite my lip and clench my thighs at the memory. My body betrays me, when I know I shouldn't want him. They don't call him Un Diavolo just for the fun of it; he is the devil, my captor.
I should want to kill him. It's what I'm trained to do, isn't it? Neutralize the threat. End the enemy.
But why can't I?
I turn over in bed, staring at the door again, wondering if he'll come back tonight. This is a golden opportunity to run away, but to where? I know no one in Italy and from the negotiation, Andreas must have killed off our Italian assets, to facilitate his plan to marry me. But Andreas Hidalgo does not just act: during the time I studied him, I learnt somethings. The very fact that he doesn't just act, that all his actions are either an end result or a scheme in a long thread of plans.
What I'm I to Andreas Hidalgo?
Who I'm I to the Cosa Nostra?
That night there was no argument or disagreement, nothing of the sort, they all succumbed to his will. But was it out of fear or duty?
And if there is a bigger scheme to this marriage, what is it?
The door creaks open, and my heart leaps into my throat. For a mere second, I think it's Andreas. My body reacts instinctively, tense yet ready for him. But it's not him.
It's Helena Hidalgo. His mother.
She steps in, a tray of food balanced in her perfectly manicured hands. Her sharp eyes scan the room before they land on me. I tense further, though I try to hide it. Helena's presence is a bit more unsettling than her son's. She's silent, always watching- like a viper waiting to strike.
