Valentina POV
The basement interrogation rooms smelled of bleach and old copper, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat.
The concrete floor was stained with dark patches that I knew from street-lore were dried blood.
I knelt on the cold ground, my fingers clenched around the damp wood of a heavy scrub brush.
I dipped it into a bucket of soapy water and scrubbed hard, the repetitive motion a strange comfort.
My muscles ached with a deep, persistent burn, but I did not stop.
Right across the hall was a massive gym enclosed in bulletproof glass, a transparent cage for the beast within.
Enzo was inside, running on a treadmill, his massive chest slick with sweat.
He was trying to run from his own mind, a race he could not win.
I purposefully shifted my position, leaning forward and allowing my soaked shirt to cling tightly to my heavy curves.
I arched my back, making sure the deep neckline of my uniform dipped even lower, exposing the swell of my cleavage.
I glanced up, and in the reflection on the glass, I saw him.
Enzo had stopped running.
He was standing on the treadmill, gripping the handrails so hard his knuckles were bone-white.
His slate-gray eyes were bloodshot and locked onto my every movement, burning with a heat that defied the frigid room.
Each breath he took was a violent suppression of some dark, territorial urge, the muscles in his jaw ticking wildly.
He looked like a starving wolf chained to a wall, straining to break free and devour.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over me, eclipsing the harsh fluorescent light.
Camilla stood above me holding a dirty mop bucket, her lips curled into a cruel smile.
"You missed a spot, whore," she sneered.
She swung the bucket and threw the filthy, gray water directly over my head.
The freezing water soaked my hair and my uniform, plastering the cheap fabric to my skin.
I gasped at the shock of the cold, my lungs seizing.
Camilla dropped the bucket and slapped me hard across the face, the sharp sting echoing in the empty basement.
My survival instinct snapped, erasing any trace of submission.
The icy water struck my eyelashes and ran into my eyes, the sting blurring my vision for a moment. A ringing in my ears drowned out Camilla's triumphant sneer, but I bit down on the soft flesh inside my cheek until I tasted blood, using the pain to straighten my spine.
Operating on pure Vendetta instinct, I stood up, and with a vicious arc of my arm, I backhanded Camilla across the jaw.
The impact was loud and brutal, a sickening crack of bone on flesh.
Camilla screamed and crashed hard onto the wet concrete floor, her limbs flailing.
She scrambled backward, holding her face in shock, her cruel smirk replaced by sheer terror.
Through the transparent walls of his cage, Enzo had witnessed the entire exchange. I saw his bloodshot eyes track the splash of the dirty water, and then the vicious arc of my retaliatory strike. The sight of the violence seemed to snap his restraint.
Enzo burst out of the glass gym.
He ripped the door open so hard the hinges groaned in protest.
"What is going on here?" he demanded, his voice echoing like thunder through the underground corridor.
Camilla immediately started wailing, curling into a pathetic ball and pointing a shaking finger at me.
"She attacked me," Camilla sobbed, playing the perfect victim. "I was just telling her to clean the corner, and she hit me for no reason. Please, Don Salvatore, protect me from this animal."
Enzo looked down at Camilla, then slowly turned his incinerating gaze to me.
I stood tall, refusing to break eye contact.
My soaked uniform clung to every inch of my lush figure, the wet fabric leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Enzo stared at my chest, the raw hunger in his eyes impossible to mask.
His Adam's apple bobbed sharply in his throat.
He swallowed hard, fighting a losing battle against his possessive hunger, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
But he was the Don, and before his men, he had to maintain syndicate order.
He could not take the side of a servant over a Capo's daughter, not with his soldiers watching.
"Lock her in the underground holding cells," Enzo ordered his soldiers, his voice tight and strained with a fury I knew was not directed at me.
Two armed guards stepped forward and grabbed my wet arms, their grips unforgiving.
I did not resist, letting my body go limp.
As they dragged me down the dark corridor toward the cells, I was secretly thrilled, a wicked sense of triumph blooming in my chest.
This isolation was exactly the calculated opening I needed.
They threw me into a small, dark cell and locked the heavy iron door, plunging me into shadows.
I sat on the cold cot and waited, counting the seconds.
Ten minutes later, I heard a soft tapping sound from the ventilation shaft.
I walked over to the grate near the floor, my fingers finding the loose screws.
I pulled the metal cover off, setting it quietly aside.
Inside the dusty shaft was a black package hidden by the Matriarch, right where she promised it would be.
I pulled it out and opened it, the crinkle of wrapping paper the only sound.
Inside was a VIP access card to the Famiglia's illicit casino yacht, gleaming in the low light.
Beneath the card was a highly provocative black bunny outfit, fashioned from tight leather, with a corset that pushed up the breasts and sheer tights.
I held the leather corset up in the dim light, tracing the intricate stitching.
I smirked in the dark cell, my pulse racing with anticipation.
Enzo thought he could lock me away to protect his sanity, but he was grievously mistaken.
I swore to make the Dark Don completely lose his ironclad control in front of the entire New York underworld tonight. And when I was done, there would be no cage strong enough to keep him from me.
