Sold to Moretti Mafia

Elena

The door swings open, and Julian’s large frame comes into view. He’s huge, taking up most of the doorway. His stormy blue eyes find mine as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him.

“Elena, I hope you had a wonderful day.” He smirks, knowing full well I haven’t done a damn thing today. When I don’t respond, he tilts his head to the side as if he’s examining me. “Why are you on the floor again?”

Breaking eye contact, I glance over to the bed. “It’s the only place I can look outside. Also, I don’t want to sleep in the bed with you.”

“Well, you better get used to it.” Watching cautiously, he starts undoing his tie, loosening it up before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Tomorrow night, when I return to the room, you will be in this bed waiting for me. If not, I will tie you to the bed every day before I leave to ensure you’re waiting for me when I return.”This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

I suck in a shaky breath, almost saying something like: you can’t be serious. Then, I remember who I’m talking to, a crazed monster. He is dead serious, I have no doubt.

“Now be a good girl and get up,” he orders while pulling his tie over his head and throwing it onto the chaise lounge.

My body moves on its own, pushing up from the floor. I’m not sure if I’m just scared or if it’s because I’m already conditioned to listen. Either way, I hate it, hate every aspect of this situation. A smile tugs on his lips at my obedience. His gaze rakes over my body, taking in my attire. “I see you found the clothes I got for you.”

He points at what I’m wearing, and I nod, hating the way I’m relieved that he did buy them for me. I shouldn’t care if they belong to some other woman, but I do.

“Did you eat your food the maid brought up?” He looks around the room, searching for the tray. I didn’t finish the whole plate, but I ate what I could with my stomach being in knots. Honestly, I’m surprised I was able to keep anything down at all.

He inspects the half-eaten food and nods, seemingly pleased with the amount I ate. He turns back to face me before taking a step toward me. Instinctively, I try to take a step back, but my back is already pressed against the window.

Closing the distance between us in two large strides, he stands so close, I have to tilt my neck back to look him in the face.

“Give me your hand,” he gruffly demands, and again, I obey without thinking. I offer him my hand, and he takes it, engulfing mine with his much larger one.

Without another word, he turns and tugs me along behind him.

“Where are we going?” I ask when he heads for the door, excitement blooming in my chest at the thought that I’ll finally get to leave the bedroom.

“Dinner.”

He opens the door and pulls me out into the hall. His legs are much longer than mine, and I have a hard time keeping up with his large strides as he drags me through the hallways and down the stairs.

Why is he in such a hurry?

By the time we get to the dining room, I realize that we are completely alone in this large house, or at least I don’t see or hear anyone else. Peering at the huge mahogany table that seats twelve, I find that it is already set…for two. There are covered bowls and trays in the center of the table, making me wonder if someone prepared this and left or if Julian made this for us.

He pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit down. When I take the seat, he pushes the chair in and starts to uncover all the food. Steam billows from each dish and an array of savory flavors fill the air.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Did you cook this?”

Julian looks like he wants to laugh. “Do I look like a chef?”

“No… I just… never mind,” I mumble, my cheeks heating. I feel embarrassed, and all for asking a simple question.

My soon to be husband takes the serving spoon and starts filling my plate with a little bit of everything before filling his own.

“Thank you,” I say, more out of reflex than anything else. I shouldn’t be thanking him for anything. I should be taking my steak knife and stabbing him in the throat.

Grabbing the fork, I pierce a small potato, imagining it’s one of Julian’s eyeballs. I don’t really feel like eating, but I know refusing is futile. He would somehow make me do it regardless. Plus, not eating will ultimately work against me. I need my strength to escape, so if eating gets me there, then I’ll eat.

“Would you care for some wine?” he asks casually.

“No, thanks.” There is no way I’m drinking a drop of alcohol. I’m already at a major disadvantage. I’m not going to add anything to make me even weaker.

“Suit yourself. I got you something,” he announces, grabbing something from his slack pocket. “Put this on, and don’t take it off, ever.” The tone of his voice carries a finality to it. I look up from my plate, and at the small object he is holding between two large fingers. It’s tiny compared to his huge palm-a silver band with a shiny diamond cradled in the center.

“How romantic,” I say under my breath while reaching for the engagement ring.

“It’s either this around your finger or a collar around your neck? I figured you’d prefer this.” He shrugs, and I want to throw the stupid ring in his face.