Chapter 7 His mad wife?

• ROXANNE
• I heard the lock twisting back in place after Van Dyke strode out, leaving me dizzy, my breath ragged, and my stomach clenching with the remnant of the pleasure he'd forced me to give myself.
• What had just happened to me?
• The Mafia Don, with his overpowering presence, had forced my body to obey and submit without even lifting a finger.
• His every command had swallowed me whole, suffocating and intoxicating at once. I didn’t even have a name for what I just felt, he hasn't even fucked me but I felt more violated than ever. I'd betrayed my own self.
• Panic lurched in my chest, and perhaps it was because I didn't hate the pleasure I'd felt. A filthy part of my brain had been thrilled the moment he'd ordered me to find release.
• When he'd spoken those dirty words, that twisted part of me had truly wanted it to be his cock slapping my clit.
• I shuddered, recalling the heat in his gaze, the raw hunger. It had terrified me, but it had also lit something inside me, a spark I couldn’t control and I hated myself for it.
• Right now, as I knelt with his semen stain on my body, I didn't feel the disgust which I knew I should.
• Nico’s lust had made me shrink and recoil. But Alexander Van Dyke’s touch… it had awakened this hidden fire inside me. I felt different now. Altered.
• If that man laid his hands on me again, I didn’t know what I would do. Would I fight him? Or god help me, would I give in and beg him to take me?
• Another man who would use me, the way Don Piccolo had used my mother before discarding her.
• Yes, my father had seemed to adore her at first. But everything had gone downhill from there, he was unable to protect her from his legal wife, and eventually, he stopped caring about me too.
• No. I have to escape this place. I need to, for my own sanity.
• I hugged my knees, rocking slightly, when would be the perfect opportunity?
• Tonight?
• What if I were caught? What if Van Dyke punished me?
• Still, I couldn’t stay. I would not be a caged bird. Not like my mother.
• I was wiping myself clean with the discarded towel when the door creaked open and I whirled around.
• An older woman shuffled inside, a tray of food balanced in her hands. Her eyes flicked over me with a sharp, disapproving look, muttering something I couldn’t hear.
• My gaze shot to the tray. Bread, broth…and a fork. An escape plot took form in my mind the moment I saw the keys attached to her belt.
• My heart lurched, was fate giving me a chance right now?
• I forced myself up, especially grateful for the change of clothes she had brought as well, my hands were trembling. “I… thank you,” I whispered, putting on the loose-fitted clothes.
• She ignored me and started to head toward the door once more.
• I hesitated, sweat beading on my palms. If I lunged and failed, I’d be beaten, or killed at worst. My mother’s sobs every night filled my ears, and that was what made me move.
• I pushed off the bed, my body shaking but fueled by desperation.
• The second her hand touched the handle, I shoved her aside. She stumbled with a startled cry, and my fingers scrabbled at the handle, yanking it open. My chest nearly burst with panic as I slipped through and slammed the door shut behind me. I twisted the lock just as her fists pounded the wood.
• “Help! She's escaping!” The room wasn't soundproof, her shrill cries filled the corridor instantly.
• Terror surged through me.
• I bolted down the dim hallway, the walls tilting like I was trapped in a nightmare. There were several doors on either side, but they were all locked, totally useless for hiding.
• My leg caught on a rug, and I nearly went sprawling. A curse left my mouth just as I heard a terrifying male voice thundering behind me.
• “Find her!”
• I stumbled faster, my legs burning, and my lungs tearing with each breath. A man appeared at the far end of the corridor. His eyes widened.
• “There!”
• Shouts echoed in response to his scream.
• I spun the other way, my heart caught in my throat. The house twisted like a maze built to trap me. A staircase rose ahead. I scrambled upward, almost on all fours, tears blurring my vision.
• At the top was a single door. Just one.
• Light seeped beneath it, faint but steady. My skin prickled. I thought I heard something beyond it...
• But I had no time to wonder if I’d truly heard a sound or if it was my fearful imagination. I threw myself at the door.
• It swung open easily.
• I staggered inside and dropped to my knees, gasping, the sound of boots and shouts was finally silent..
• Then I looked up.
• And froze.
• A tall, thin woman stood in front of a chair. Wisps of long, stringy hair clung to her shoulders. Her pale face was hollow as she stared at me.
• Recognition slammed through me, it was a popular face I had seen quite a few times in magazines in the past, only now she looked like a ghost about to launch an attack.
• So, the rumours were true.
• Isabella Bellini.
• The wife of Alexander Van Dyke, I remembered Nico once mentioned something about his marriage, but I'd paid little interest and the thought hadn't crossed my mind. Until now
• A jagged giggle burst from her lips, showing broken, yellowing teeth. Her gaze darted over me with twisted delight, like a cat savouring its prey.
• “Look, look,” She croaked, her eerie voice sending a shiver down my spine. “We have a guest today, Gretchen. My darling husband has brought me a girl to play with. A pretty brown-headed girl.”
• She wasn't even looking at me. No, she was whispering to the empty chair in the corner, stroking its armrest as though comforting it.
• My stomach churned when her glazed eyes snapped at me once more, “Will you play with me, pretty girl”
• I couldn't respond, not when fear had formed icy droplets of sweat on my skin.
• Her eyes widened with a gleam of mad hunger as her smile stretched.
• Then suddenly, she lunged.
• A scream tore out of me as her hands shot toward my face.