Property of Don Donovan

Chapter 7 - The Father’s Shadow

It’s the next day, but it’s barely even dawn before I hear the door open again. I really should’ve gotten accustomed to it by now. I am still in bed, curled on top of the covers, my mouth tasting like stale fear and sleep.

Dante doesn’t say a word. He walks over, grabs the duvet, and rips it off the bed, causing me to shiver as the cold air hits my bare legs.

"Get up. My father wants to see the progress," he says with a very flat voice. This man shows no emotions; he’s got to be the coldest person I’ve ever met.

I scramble out of bed, rubbing my eyes. "It’s still dark out. Can't I just…."

His next move is so fast, I don’t see it coming. He grabs my jaw, his fingers squeezing until I feel my teeth pressing together, then leans in, his eyes like two pieces of flint.

"Did I ask if you were tired, Selene? No, I told you to move your ass."

He picks up my wrist and drags me downstairs to the sunroom, where the Old Don is seated with a blanket over his legs and a cup of black coffee in his hand. The old man looks at me like I am a dog he is thinking about putting down.

"She look any better today, Dante?" the Old Don asks.

Dante pushes me forward. I stumble, my knees hitting the hardwood with a loud crash. I just stay there, staring at the floor, my face burning with shame.

"She’s a slow learner," Dante says, with a loud and mocking voice. He walks behind me and kicks the back of my heel. "Stand up, you pathetic brat. Don’t embarrass me in front of my father."

I stand up, my legs wobbling. I look at the Old Don, then quickly look away.

"She’s soft, Father," Dante continues, pacing around me like a predator. "She’s got that weak Vitale blood. All she’s good for is looking pretty and keeping her mouth shut. Isn't that right, Selene?"

I don’t say a word. I just stare at him, biting on my bottom lip so hard that it tastes like copper.

"Answer him!" the Old Don screams, slamming his cup onto the side table.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice cracking.

Dante laughs, a harsh, ugly sound. He moves closer, his hand gripping the back of my neck. He leans down, his breath hot against my ear, but his eyes are fixed on his father.

"See? She’s a quick study when you treat her like the b***h she is.”

Dante squeezes my neck, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin behind my ear. "Women like this... they only understand one thing. Power. You give them an inch, they'll bleed you dry. But when you keep them under your thumb? They become useful."

The Old Don nods in agreement. I look at him, and I can see a slow, yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face. "Good. Don't let her think she’s special just because of her name. She’s a tool, son. Nothing more."

"I know exactly what she is," Dante responds.

He finally loosens his grip on me, but keeps his hand on my neck for a few more seconds. I look up and catch his gaze. I’m almost shocked because for the first time, his eyes aren’t cold. They are full of something dark and twisted, almost like he is upset because I’m hurting.

But then he blinks, and the ice returns.

"Get to the kitchen," he commands, pointing toward the door. "Fix me a drink. And don't f*ck it up, or I'll have you scrubbing the floors with your bare hands. Now move!"

I scurry out of the room like a child trying to escape from being punished. I get to the kitchen and slump against the counter, my heart beating heavily against my ribs. I look down at my hands, and they are shaking so hard I can’t even pick up a glass. I place my hand at the back of my neck, rubbing the area where he’d grabbed me.

I hate him, and I hate this f*cking house. But mostly, I hate the way I always want to feel his touch whenever he gets close to me….