Chapter 6

 

Salvatore's POV

The shipping contracts from Rotterdam required my immediate attention. Each page detailed cargo manifests that, to the untrained eye, appeared to contain nothing more valuable than automotive parts and electronics. The reality was far more lucrative and infinitely more dangerous.

The soft click of the hidden panel behind my desk barely registered in my consciousness.

I continued reviewing the contracts, my fountain pen making notations in the margins. The silence stretched on, and I assumed whoever had entered had simply retreated. It wouldn't be the first time someone had second thoughts about disturbing me during business hours.

Hands, bold and eager, fumbled with my belt buckle. I glanced down to see a cascade of red hair and pale skin barely concealed by a crimson bikini.

The woman was voluptuous, her massive fake tits spilling out of the skimpy fabric, but her technique was amateur at best. Without hesitation, I kicked my chair back and sent her sprawling across the marble floor.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She scrambled to her knees, her green eyes gleaming with a mix of terror and hungry lust. Good. Fear was a useful emotion, but that slutty spark made it interesting.

I stood slowly. With one hand, I grabbed her by the throat and hauled her to her feet.

"Answer me."

"I... I was told to... please you, sir. Let me suck your cock like the whore I am."

I dragged her through the hidden panel into my private quarters.

"Are you new?" I released her and walked to the bar cart in the corner. "Didn't Lilith teach you proper protocol?"

The woman's head bobbed eagerly, nodding—to acknowledge that Lilith had taught her what to do—and shaking off any denial. She licked her lips, already eyeing me like a bitch in heat. I poured myself three fingers of aged Amarone and settled onto the sofa.

"Show me what Lilith taught you."

The redhead's hands moved with slutty confidence as she peeled away the bikini top, then the bottoms, thrusting her fake tits forward like trophies. Her body was everything most men would drool over and she knew it, arching her back to make those silicone jugs bounce. The only sensation I felt was a passing curiosity about how those fake tits would jiggle under punishment.

She climbed onto the coffee table like a eager slut, positioning herself where I could see every filthy detail. Her hands roamed her body with practiced lewdness, squeezing her massive fake tits until the nipples hardened, then sliding down to her dripping cunt. Her slutty pussy was a wet, pink mess, slick with arousal rather than just sweat. She rubbed her clit with rough, circular motions, moaning like a p**n star, "Oh fuck, sir, watch me finger my tight little hole."

When she shoved her fingers into her mouth, deepthroating them until she gagged and drooled, she pulled them out with a pop and grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying the degradation.

"Pathetic."

I stood and walked to her slowly. The wine in my glass caught the light from the floor lamps, deep red like blood. I upended the glass, letting the expensive liquor cascade over her bare skin. It ran down her body, staining her fake tits and stomach. Her nipples stiffened from the cold, and she gasped, but instead of flinching, she arched into it, rubbing the wine into her skin like a horny bitch. "Mmm, pour more on my slutty body, sir."

From the drawer in the side table, I retrieved the riding crop. I used the handle to deliver short, sharp strikes to her genitals. The skin reddened. Her breathing hitched, but she moaned, spreading her legs wider, "Hit my dirty cunt harder, please."

I held it out to her. "Take it."

Her fingers closed around the handle with eager steadiness. Whatever Lilith had taught her, she understood this part and loved it, winking as she did.

With a silent understanding, she rammed the handle into her soaking pussy. The smooth, cylindrical wood slid past her swollen lips with a wet, slurping sound. Her muscles clenched around it greedily, and I could see the handle disappear, leaving only a few inches visible. Her hips bucked up wildly, fucking herself on it, gasping, "Oh god, it feels so good stretching my slutty hole."

It was not enough. I took the thick candle and the ornate lighter. The hot wax dripped onto her stomach, and she shivered violently, her fake tits trembling uncontrollably. But she pushed her chest out, begging, "Drip it on my fake tits, sir—make me burn for you."

I let the wax fall in a trail down her body, coating her nipples until the heat scorched them raw, blistering the sensitive tips. She whimpered but ground her hips harder. Then I tilted the candle lower, letting the flame lick directly at her pubic hair, singeing the curls until they smoked and curled away in acrid wisps. That's when the real pain hit—she screamed, but still tried to play tough.

I ignored her. The whip came to life. The leather bit into her back, leaving a red line. I hit her again. The line deepened. The skin split, a thin crimson line appearing. And again. The sound of the lash was sharp in the quiet room.

She twisted and moaned at first,  but as the strikes piled on, she was no longer egging me on, only sobbing in terror, curling into a ball.

"Please... stop! I can't take it anymore! Mercy, sir—I'm begging you!"

She was a pile of broken things on the floor, her body covered in blood, wax, and burns. She lay at my feet, a red smear on the mahogany.

The silence returned, heavier than before. She was a motionless heap on the floor. Her breathing was shallow. I called Marco.

"Marco. Clean up required in my private quarters."

"Yes, sir. Also, Mrs. Venturi is waiting to see you."

Lena. I had forgotten about her message entirely.

I looked down at my suit. It was ruined. It was stained with wine, blood, and her body fluids. I changed, putting on fresh trousers and a shirt.

I walked to the office door, opened it, and stepped into the hall.

And there she was.

I straightened my cufflinks and walked through the main office doors.

Lena sat in the reception area exactly as I would have expected her to: legs pressed together, hands folded in her lap, posture perfect. She wore a simple black dress that managed to be both modest and elegant, her dark hair pulled back in a low chignon that emphasized the graceful line of her neck.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

The thought struck me with unexpected force. In all the time she had been married to Nico, I had maintained a careful distance, treating her with the respect due to my brother's wife. But seeing her here, in my domain, something shifted in my perception.

For the first time in thirteen years, I felt something stir in the cold emptiness where my heart used to be.