“I don't tolerate insolence,” he said softly. “Apologize, and I might think about returning your journal.”
“No,” I said decisively.
His black eyes held mine for a moment, then he smiled. “Because I am in an exceptionally good mood, I'll give you one more chance. If you apologize right now, I won't extort punishment.”
In all the years that followed, I couldn't make myself understand what insanity made me disregard his warning and react with repeated acts of defiance that day. After all, I knew what he was capable of. I had seen him kill a man without breaking a sweat. I would have never done it now, but then—oblivious to what he meant by punishment—I gave no heed to the threat, and only desired to satiate the anger caused by his careless invasion on my privacy.
“You can go to hell!” I spat the words, releasing the frustration that had been growing for days.
He jumped from his chair, his large body hovering above mine in an instant, but he still kept his distance.
“I'm not sure I heard you, tesoro,” he murmured quietly. “Can you repeat that?”
“I said you can...you can go to hell.” Though I fought not to be intimidated by him, the words abated, more uncertain than the first time.
His composure remained unshaken, but his eyes fumed with silent rage.
“Apologize to me right now,” he demanded in a cold voice.
“No.” He was the one who should apologize.
“No?” He arched his eyebrows.
I shook my head, breaking his rule about verbal answers.
He smirked as though accepting a challenge. “We'll see about that.”
His eyes brimmed with frightening darkness, and I backed away from him in unsteady steps. I had never seen him in this dark mood before, and couldn't deny that his threatening demeanor scared me. The expression on his face told me he knew exactly how I felt, and he was savoring the moment, delaying the torture for the sake of his amusement. Then anticipation must have bored him, and he caught up with me, grabbing my shoulders and pinning me to the floor before I could even blink. I fought to wriggle free, but he captured my arm and twisted with no regard to the pain he inflicted.
“Stop it!” I shrieked, and he wrenched my arm even harder. “It hurts! It hurts!”
“You can make it stop, tesoro. Just say you're sorry and ask for my forgiveness,” he instructed, encouraging me to give up and surrender to his will.
“Stop! Please stop,” I begged to make the agony go away.
“Those are not the magic words, Olivia.” He bent harder.
“I'm sorry! Okay, I'm sorry!” I relented because I thought he would break my arm and I couldn't take the pain. But he had no mercy.
“I'm sorry, Alessandro,” he corrected, not easing his grip on me one little bit.
“I'm...I'm s-sorry, Alessandro,” I repeated quickly.
“It won't happen again.”
“It w-won't happen again,” I stammered in pain, and he immediately released my arm.
“There, tesoro. You’re forgiven,” he whispered in my ear, as I shivered beneath him on the floor. “Was it really necessary for you to make this so difficult for yourself?”
I tested my arm, but it hurt so badly I was convinced it was broken. Shocked by what he'd done, I sobbed on the floor. And he did the strangest thing—he whispered something soft in Italian and caressed my hair. That was the beginning of what would become the norm of our sick relationship; unprecedented cruelty mixed with tenderness to make you lose your sanity.
“It's okay, tesoro,” he whispered softly. “Don't be sad. The pain will go away.”
“It's broken. M-My arm is broken,” I stammered in a wobbly voice.
“It's not broken. It's just a bit stretched,” he said reassuringly, and I bawled even harder.
“Look at me.”
I resisted his demand.
He then raised his voice, forcing me into obedience. “Look at me!”
I peered at him through a mist of tears just as Henry entered with a tray of food and found us in this humiliating position on the floor.
“Sir—”
“Not now,” Alessandro bit out without looking away from me. “Leave us.”
The butler strode through the door, and left me alone with Alessandro despite my fear and distress. Alessandro was so close I could smell his spicy cologne, and it made me recall those days in the restaurant when he was the charming, kind man who plagued my thoughts and elicited a smile to my face. Fresh tears emerged in my eyes, and Alessandro wiped them away.
“I'm not that guy, tesoro,” he whispered, like he knew what danced through my head. “I