Page 21 of The Beast Who Begged Me

I wish Caligula could see that as clearly as I do.

CHAPTER 9

CALIGULA

I’m discharged the next morning with such haste it feels like an eviction. Just as the last form is signed, Vito comes into my room with a black garment bag slung over his arm. He’s changed clothes himself since I last saw him. Dami told me that Sammy, Vito, and Rosa have already been received at the mansion on the Upper West Side.

“Put it over there,” Dami tells Vito, pointing.

Vito obediently drapes the bag over a chair in the corner of the room, careful not to let it touch the floor, and only then do I realize what Dami has done.

He bought new clothes for Vito and me. And, presumably, for Rosa and Sammy. Because that’s how he holds us all together: with provision.

Whether it’s asked for or not.

Vito gives me a nod and a smile, and then leaves the room. And I wonder how much Damiano Orsini has drained his accounts in the last few months. Ten million gone to the Bratva. Twenty for my childhood home.

His resources are not endless.

“Let’s get you into this,” Dami says, oblivious to my thoughts. He goes to the bag and unzips it, pulling out a pair of pants in deep chocolate brown, made of warm-looking wool. Then a simple cream shirt, a camel-colored sweater, a heavy coat the same color as the pants, which will ward off the winter chill.

“You asked the Benedettis to shop for us all,” I say.

“We needed clothes. They know what they’re doing. Made sense.”

I’m standing in my underwear already, so when he turns back to me, all I have to do is slide my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Dami,” I murmur into his neck as I hug him.

“You grateful enough to call off this whole mansion thing?” His hands come up to my waist, and he rests them there, not pressing for more. Just holding me.

“Not a chance,” I say, pulling back to look at him.

“Then you’re still a pain in my ass.” He sighs, but it’s a warm, familiar sound. He’s already given in.

“But you’ll take care of me, right?” I tilt my head and look up at him through my lashes. “Keep me safe in the enemy castle?”

His eyes darken, a storm gathering. “Don’t fucking test me, golden boy.”

“Or what?” I murmur, tracing a line over the buttons of his shirt. “You’ll spray yourself all over me and leave me unsatisfied? Again?”

He makes a low, warning sound deep in his chest, but before he can do anything else, a sharp knock interrupts us. “Driver’s here,” Ferraro shouts.

“Tell him to wait,” Dami calls back, and kisses me, hard and fast, a punishment and a promise. Then he helps me dress, all the way down to my socks and shoes.

“I can do it myself,” I protest. Once. The look he gives me makes me shut my mouth.

I felt like a broken doll down in the basement. Now I feel like a prized possession once more.

The thing is, I like it.

A healthy man would simply want to be cherished, not owned. But I settled into being owned by Dami like it was natural. Whatever else he did to me, he made me into something that fit his hands exactly.

Or maybe I was always this shape inside, and I just didn’t know it.

It’s almost lunchtime when we leave the hospital, Vito walking a few paces ahead, scanning the street for threats. The Morelli town car is waiting at the curb, a long, black Lincoln polished to a glassy shine.

“Gio Carlucci,” the driver introduces himself. “I’m taking you over to the D’Amatos’ place.”

Dami shakes his hand, looking him head to toe, and then gives an almost unconscious nod of approval. Carlucci holds the back door open for us, checking the streets just as keenly as Vito and Dami do.