Cruel Summer - Page 3

CHAPTER ONE: WINTER

Canyoublamea predator for being a predator just because the prey forgot the predator’s true nature?

The question bounces around in my head as I stare at the man sitting across the table from me.

Beautiful on the outside, with his dark hair and cool, calculating eyes. Ugly on the inside, with the way he treats people.

With the way he treats me.

I’d never believed he was a good man, but the last secret revealed to me made me realize that the devil walks on this earth in human flesh. He wears expensive suits, smokes illegal cigars, and takes innocent women from their families.

Giovanni Costa.

The man who set out to ruin me.

But little does he know, I’ll be the one to destroy him.

His eyes sweep over my face, the corner of his lips flickering slightly as if he can hear my thoughts. His gaze bounces over my shoulder. “We’re through here, take her to her room to get dressed. We have an appearance to make.” I’m used to the way he speaks as if I’m not in the room, but today, it makes my blood boil a little more than usual.

A heavy hand is placed upon my shoulder, the weight of it seeming to press right down on my chest. I inhale a deep breath, my face warm as I climb to my feet.

For now, I must be a good little slave. I can’t let Giovanni know that I know the truth.

I fall into line behind Enzo, keeping my head tilted down. I’m not too worried about the guard noticing anything strange about me though.

The only thing he notices is Maximo Costa.

And frankly, I’m starting to think they’re a perfect match made in hell.

With those two, I know to always keep my guard up for physical abuse. One second they’re hurting me, the next they’re fucking me.

But I guess that case can be made for the entire Costa family. It’s as if they’ve all agreed on this cruel cycle together.

Torment Winter.

Finger her.

Pretend to be nice.

Force her into a blowjob.

Get her off.

Torment her again.

“Winter,” Enzo snaps out, breaking me from my thoughts. I blink at him in confusion before realizing that I’ve stopped walking. I take a swallow, a sigh slipping past my lips. Enzo raises a brow. I tilt my head up and walk past him.

He allows me to lead the rest of the way to my room without saying a word.

“Your dress is inside,” he says. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

I don’t bother with giving him a response, moving into my room and closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

I lean against the door, closing my eyes and soaking in the coolness of the wood against my back. My emotions have been all over the place for the last few weeks. And as the days go by, it becomes harder and harder to keep my anger under control. At times, I feel like a completely different person.

Like a woman on the brink of insanity, on the brink of war.

Because when I came here, when Giovanni Costa backed me into a corner and left me with no choice but to sign my life over, I’d decided to keep my head down. I told myself I would coast through my months, pray I survive them or that my death claimed me quickly.

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