CHAPTER 15
Days turned into a week, but my routine remained unchanged. My head was healing remarkably well; the wounds were fading, though occasional headaches still gnawed at me. Salvatore came home late every night, sometimes dripping with fresh blood, other times his eyes red and furious. Without fail, there was never a night he didn’t take me—hard, rough, different positions, draining himself of whatever dark desire haunted him. Afterwards, he’d pull me close to his hard chest and fall into a deep, almost peaceful sleep.
Sometimes I wondered how he could rest so easily with me in his arms, knowing I could stab him in his sleep for everything he’d done. But then I remembered: my family was his hostage. That knowledge suffocated any fleeting hope of freedom.
Laura, the maid, had start
