8. Becca

8

BECCA

T houghts couldn’t form fast enough. After Ivan’s direct question, flat-out inquiring whether Emily was my child, all I could do was stare at him in shock. And breathe. My lungs didn’t seem capable of holding much air for long, and I wondered if he’d fucked me so hard that he’d driven my lungs up into a mess in my ribcage.

Weak and startled by the force of that orgasm, I felt blindsided as I sank into the softness of the bed. Blood drained down my arms, numbing my limbs with my hands still tied over my head. Spinning as I fell hadn’t helped. I’d torqued another twist into the binding. I felt every tight cinch of it, and I worried I’d cut off my circulation.

Ivan didn’t miss my wince and subtle tug on the knots. He stood there, naked and catching his breath too. Every glorious inch of his rugged, chiseled body was there to look at, and I struggled not to stare and get lost in how ripped and big he was.

As he stepped closer, his dick hard and glistening with our combined cum, he reached up for the knots and loosened them.

Wait. Was he tying me up strictly to keep me captive or for some kinky level of pleasure he preferred, fucking women who were bound up? Bondage. I was lacking a varied sex life, but I’d read romance books. I saw movies. I knew what the term was, but I’d never considered that I would ever be a participant in it.

Or that I’d like it so much.

Lying here bare and shivering from the force of coming so hard and quickly, I felt vulnerable and exposed. Inside and out. Those intense stares Ivan bestowed on me were piercing, cutting through me like he was looking at my soul and finding me suspicious.

When would I learn? I hated the realization that he’d gotten me so easily, so fast. I hadn’t done anything to deserve or encourage this situation. I’d only been doing my job, set up to go to that club and even meet this rough man.

But my body… My tender entrance was so sticky with copious juices. I’d wanted it. He hadn’t asked. He’d forced it, but the second I felt his big, hot body bracing behind mine, I was aroused.

I’d wanted him to take me, and when he hadn’t held back, brutal and impatient, I felt… alive.

Not used. Not violated. Unlike when Dom impregnated me with Emily, with Ivan, I had the impression that I was coveted, treasured, even if he’d shown it in a gritty, raw method.

I was betrayed, my body showing me how I stupidly wanted all the gruffness Ivan could give me, but it was different. With Dom, it was worse. He’d spent all that time in psychological warfare, leading me on and tricking me to think that I’d mattered. He was cunning, playing on my goals for my artwork.

Ivan was direct, blunt and taking what he wanted, but also giving me what I hadn’t realized I’d needed. He somehow understood what I wanted and delivered, seeing to my pleasure and expediting a shattering orgasm that should have had me curling up to pass out by now.

I didn’t experience that sickening awareness that I’d been abused. Not like when Dom raped me so awfully and with disdain and scorn.

All I felt was a renewal of energy. Of feeling so alive and invigorated.

And worried.

“Becca.” He lowered my ankle, having my attention. “Is Emily your child?” He repeated it with less of that shocked tone, implying he had a hunch about it and was confident that he was right.

I sat up and lowered my arm, shaking it as the blood flowed through freer. My skin tingled, and I winced as I formulated a response. That silent treatment stuff wasn’t working. All my fight to be firm against him seemed unwise now.

He surprised me, picking up my wrist and rubbing the sore skin there. I hadn’t expected aftercare, any affection at all, and I refused to let it disarm me. He could be playing a solo show of good-cop-bad-cop, being brutish and violent to fuck me then deceptively kind and tender afterward.

His callused, rough fingers on my flesh felt too good to reject, though, and I sighed as I looked him in the eye.

“Emily is my daughter.”

I almost counted on him to react smugly, some kind of an a-ha moment of breaking me down to finally reply. The other questions he’d asked weren’t going to produce new information. He could flog me with inquiries about Steven and I still wouldn’t have anything to tell him. He could pepper me with more about the Rossinis, and my replies would remain limited. Before he’d fucked me, when Dmitri stopped in too, they’d played a stupid scenario of beating this interrogation to death, asking the same things over and over.

I knew nothing. But this new question about Emily, I could be honest about that.

“She’s my ten-month-old baby, currently with a sitter who’s likely worried to death that I’m not home yet.”

He narrowed his eyes, switching to massage my other wrist. “Is that an attempt to persuade me into letting you go?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve made it clear who’s in charge here.”

“Then don’t be surprised when I expect you to tell me what you’re doing with the Rossinis. Why one called you about your daughter.”

I shook my head, sighing and so damn tired of the ups and downs of this hellish night.

“I don’t know what any Rossini would want with me. I don’t associate with Steven. I don’t associate with any of the people he allies with or tries to arrest and kill. I’ve never been a part of that world. My only fault is sharing DNA with one of New York’s most crooked cops.

“I can’t tell if the Rossinis do want anything to do with me. I can’t tell if it’s all a bluff. I assume half of what I am told is a lie. That habit started with Steven.”

He released my hand and crossed his arms, staring down at me as he listened.

I fought not to glance at his dick, tempted, but too sobered on this topic. After a deep breath, I explained more. “Dominic Rossini is Emily’s father. He ended his ‘relationship’ with me after I conceived her, and I don’t think he ever knew I had a baby. That Emily is his.”

He smirked. “That call suggests otherwise.”

I scowled. “Not really. Come on. Someone calling and saying they are a Rossini? Who answers like that or identifies themselves like that?”

“How did you meet Dom?”

“Steven. Through my interest in art. When I first met him, I thought they had to be friends, and when Dom learned that I was an artist, he took a natural interest in me as a fellow lover of the fine arts. It wasn’t until later that he’d only strung me along to keep an eye on Steven through me. To always stay in the loop.”

“For what?”

I shrugged. “Something I didn’t know about and didn’t want anything to do with. I have lived my whole life hearing about or seeing Steven associating with criminal scum. All kinds of seedy people. I learned early on to look away and cover my ears. That’s not the life I’ve ever wanted to live.”

“You want me to believe you don’t know what Murphy and Rossini were working on together?”

“I don’t even know if they were working together. It was something like a friend of a friend scenario, and I was so gullible to think that Dom wanted to genuinely sponsor my artwork that I stuck around and hung with him in Italy. Whereas, he saw me as a pawn. A tool. Something to tie him to Steven. It’s always lies and bluffs. No trust.”

His guarded expression suggested he viewed me the same. Not trusting me. At least he’d already been honest about his intentions—the part about keeping me as a hostage. I couldn’t equate his bluntness about why he’d taken me captive with any other sentiment of trust or faith, though. Now that he knew about Emily, I felt cornered.

Some of that panic swept back in, chasing away the glow of an intensely satisfying orgasm.

“Please.” I licked my lips and begged him with a direct stare. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

His brows dipped down as he considered me. “Hurt her ?”

“Emily.”

“What about hurting you?”

I parted my mouth but realized the naughty retort that first came to mind wouldn’t be helpful.

Hurt me… like you did driving your dick in like that? Hurt me as in surprising me and taking me without any warning?

“What?” He lowered to grab his pants. “What was that look for?”

It was ridiculous, but a blush warmed my cheeks. “I, uh, I didn’t mind that pain.” I feebly lifted my hands to show the redness on my wrists before placing them over my lap and hiding my bare pussy that still felt so sticky and sore.

He grunted as he pulled his pants on. Maybe it was a laugh.

“Please don’t hurt Emily,” I repeated soberly, needing to secure her safety above all else. “Please don’t let anyone hurt her.”

It felt like a tall order. Begging this Mafia man to provide protection for his hostage’s baby. Who was I to even ask? He couldn’t possibly care. Rubbing my wrists was sweet and unexpected, but going out of his way to make sure Emily was okay was something else.

I remained on edge, wondering again if that call was legitimate. If Emily’s location was something someone from the Rossini outfit had to know.

“Does that call make you think she’s in danger?” he asked as he zipped up.

It was like he’d read my mind. “No? Maybe. I don’t know. But please, if you can spare my life, spare hers too. I need my daughter to grow up knowing love and the little goodness that still exists in the world. That’s all I want.”

He snorted. “I thought you agreed that I’m the one in charge here, that we’re going to do what I want.”

I swallowed, wondering how else I could beg. I had nothing to barter. Nothing to offer. The desperate sensation of being hopeless and powerless gutted me.

He’d distracted me from worrying about Emily. Shoving his dick into me as another attempt to shake out more intel had definitely pulled my attention away from stressing about Emily. Now that the sex was done and the afterglow had faded, my baby was at the forefront of my mind with clarity.

I watched as he paced back and forth through the room. Massaging my wrists felt good, but I couldn’t relax. He’d untied me, but I knew I wouldn’t get far if I tried to bolt for the door.

Ivan didn’t lose that terse and pensive expression as he strode to and fro. Over and over, he stalked and seemed to be deep in thought. Or surrounded with decisions to make about this situation.

He glanced at me in passing, considering me with a critical eye. “You are staying here, Becca. I can’t let you go.”

“But Emily?—”

“No. I told you. Every hostage has a purpose. Yours is to lure your father out of hiding.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my lips. It burst out, almost hysterical. “Steven doesn’t care about me.”

He grunted, shaking his head. “It doesn’t look like it.”

I stiffened. “What does that mean?”

“ I ask the questions around here.”

Lowering my face, I sighed and wished he could see that I wasn’t trying to fight. I’d submitted. I acquiesced. I got the point. He was dominating this situation, and I wasn’t about to usurp that.

“He hasn’t reacted to the calls about your being held captive.”

I lifted my hand as though to say see!

“But maybe he could be interested in your daughter.”

I shook my head. “Emily? No. I doubt it.”

“Not to be a doting grandpa. As leverage. Since the kid is Dominic Rossini’s.”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

He gave me a hard look. “No guessing about it. Your kid would be an important leverage if Murphy wanted to mess with the Rossinis. The baby would be another member of the Rossini bloodline.”

I twined my fingers together, wringing them anxiously. “Please, I beg you. No, I demand. You have to keep her safe. If I’m stuck here to lure Steven out, then can you bring her to me?”

I couldn’t understand how or why Emily would matter in this mess. Dom never acknowledged her. That dimple-cheeked infant was mine and no one else’s.

“You can’t go. I need you to stay here and be a part of my plan. Your father needs to be stopped.”

“But can’t you bring her to me?” I stood, getting into his face. “Please! I’m not asking to leave for the sake of freedom. I’m not asking you to look the other way. I just need to know Emily is all right. To see her and hold her and know no one has used her as any kind of leverage.”

He grabbed his shirt and unwound it. “This isn’t a fucking daycare.”

I stepped closer, not caring about my nudity. Rage cloaked me in a fine garment, and I soaked it up as I fought back, shoving at his chest. “I didn’t ask to be here! I never got involved. I wasn’t standing around hoping I’d be taken against my will.”

He deflected my pushes, holding my hand off to the side as I fumed. “I never asked to be a part of your damn plan.”

My phone rang in the other room, pausing me from railing against him and his easy deflections of my hits. We froze, staring at each other as the ringtone reached us.

“Answer it,” he ordered, tugging me by the hand into the hall where I could see the device lighting up on the table.

He stood next to me as I answered, fear strangling me as I read the name.

Hannah. I knew she’d be worried, and I had no clue what I would even say.

“Hello?”

“Becca!” She cried, groggy but alarmed. “I—I think someone knocked me out. I opened the door and…” She gasped. “Someone hit me on the back of my head. I just woke up. I’m still on the floor next to the pack-n-play.”

“Is Emily okay?” I asked, begging her to confirm that my sweet baby was firm.

“Becca… She’s gone!”