The devil you begged for

013

ISLA

~•~

It had been, at least, two hours after my confrontation with Lorenzo, but I was still trembling. It was like my world came crashing down on me after he admitted to the killing of my family.

I didn’t know if he was brave, stupid, or sick for keeping me under his roof. Wasn’t he scared I’d do something stupid like burning his house down with all of us in it?

After I just tried to stab him, he still turned around, not caring that I could attempt to kill him again. He didn’t believe I was a threat and I honestly didn’t blame him. I hated the way my hand trembled around the knife. I hated how easily he subdued me. I hated how much stronger he was than me. I hated him. I didn’t want to see him.

My throat was dry but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Lorenzo was f*****g with me. Maybe if I stayed invisible, he would leave me alone.

The knock on the door shattered that hope.

“Dinner,” one of his men called out from the other side of the door. I didn’t know what his obsession was with eating dinner together. I had a feeling it had more to do with being in control than anything else though.

“I’m not hungry,” I answered, loud enough for him to hear.

Silence followed, then his footsteps started retreating, making me sigh in relief.

Then again, I should have known better.

Five minutes later, the door handle turned. The lock clicked open. My stomach dropped. I should have expected that he had a key. I was living in his house after all.

He walked in as if he not only owned the room, but me too. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms and a few buttons undone. His expression was calm as he closed the door behind him. “I specifically told you to come down for dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile appearing on his lips. “And since when do you get to decide what you are or aren’t?”

“I’m not eating,” I emphasized, hating the way he wanted to control every aspect of my life, even something as little as eating. As if he hadn’t f****d my life up enough, he wanted to torture me by making me sit at the same table with him and his men.

He was silent for a moment, making the air tense. I pressed myself up against the wall but that didn’t stop him from crossing the room in slow, measured, almost calculated steps. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look angry and somehow, that was worse.

“Then are you going to starve in my house?” He questioned, almost as though he was giving me one last chance to reconsider my answer.

“I’m not hungry,” I repeated.

“You’re going to eat,” his tone was mild, but commanding, leaving no room for disobedience. “Either on your own, or…” when I still didn’t make any move to stand up, he reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me up, “…with help.”

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to claw my hand away from his hold but it was futile.

He didn’t drag me violently, but firmly. My heels scraped against the floor as I tried to dig in but he was stronger. Way too strong for me to make a difference in whatever he was doing.

Humiliation burned in my chest as he pulled me down the stairs, past two men standing guard who didn’t even blink. They saw nothing wrong with their boss manhandling me like a child. If I fought him, was he going to kill me at that very moment?

At that point, I didn’t just hate Lorenzo. I hated myself too. If I hadn’t run to his house, this would have never happened. I knew how much influence he had, which was why I thought he was the best option, but I was wrong. He wasn’t just responsible for my family’s death. He treated it like it was nothing. While in the mafia, it was common for one family to wipe out another, but they didn’t usually take in the remnant of the wiped-out family.

I couldn’t figure out what his intentions were with me. Did my family anger him? Was he trying to humiliate me in return? What was his deal and why was he acting like a brute?

By the time he shoved me into a chair at the long dining table, my breathing was ragged. Plates were already set, and food was placed in the middle. My stomach churned at the idea of eating anything.

I crossed my arms, refusing to move.

He sat adjacent to me, poured himself a glass of wine, swirled it, and finally glanced at me. “Eat,” he said simply.

“No.”

The other men at the table were silent, watching us, and not eating.

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed slightly, the first sign of annoyance I saw from him. “No?”

“No,” I repeated firmly.

He sighed like he was tired of dealing with a disobedient child. “You live in my house, breathe because I allow it, walk into your school every morning because I permit it.” He paused, letting the words sink in, then he leaned in, his voice getting lower, colder. “If you don’t eat, you don’t go back. Simple.”

The words hit me harder than any shove. “You can’t –“

“I can,” he cut in smoothly. “And I will. Refuse again and school is done for you. You won't leave these walls. You’ll spend every day in this house, with me, until you learn obedience.”

My chest tightened. He knew school was the last shred of normalcy I had left. He knew school was my only escape from him, which was why he was taking it away from me. He wasn’t just cruel. He was the devil incarnate. “You can’t treat me like that. I’m not a child.”

“Then quit acting like one and eat.” His gaze was unyielding. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

I stared at the food on my plate, bile rising in my throat. My fingers twitched against my lap. I wanted to throw the food, spit in his face, and scream, but then I pictured the black sedan that waited for me every morning. It was way too easy for him to take it away from me. All the men in this house listened to him. If he told them to watch over me, I wouldn’t be able to set foot outside.

I picked up the fork with trembling hands.

“That’s it.” He murmured, his tone mocking. His eyes were sharp, watching every movement of mine. The first bite of the food was like sand in my mouth. My jaw ached from clenching it so hard. I forced it down, staring at the table instead of him. “Good girl,” he said softly. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

My head snapped up, meeting his eyes. He smiled faintly as though he knew exactly how those words but enraged and shamed me. I shoved another bite in my mouth to stop myself from saying something reckless.

He chuckled softly, then nodded at his men to start eating. The meal stretched on. It was silent except for the clinking of silverware and my own breathing. Lorenzo didn’t eat much. He didn’t have to, because this wasn’t about food. It was about control, power, and he had all of it.

When I finally pushed the plate away, he leaned back satisfied. “See? Not so difficult.”

I swallowed down my retort. “Can I leave now?”

He nodded dismissively and I didn’t waste time standing up. “Don’t forget to come down for breakfast tomorrow.” He said as I left the dining room.

I didn’t cry until I was in my room, door locked, and curtains drawn, which was useless because he was still going to come in as long as he wanted to.

I went into the bathroom and turned on the tap. I scrubbed my palms, my wrists, my arms. I needed to wash his touch off me. When that didn’t work, I stuck my finger in my mouth, hoping to throw up. The food felt heavy in my stomach. It felt like poison.

As I looked in the mirror, I saw my family staring back at me, ashamed that I was eating at the same table with their killer.

For the first time, I realized he wasn’t just keeping me alive. He was teaching me how little control I had left.

And I hated him for it.