falling and skidded to a halt as she entered her bedroom. Paolo sat on the edge of her bed. His gaze jumped to her face and he lookedâterrifying.
His face was dark, almost red with anger. The anger radiated throughout her room, filling the air until she nearly choked on it.
âWhat are you doing in here?â she asked.
Even as she spoke, she found herself looking beyond him to the bed where he sat. Her comforter, the one her grandmother had given her, was shredded, great long tears right down the center of it. She looked around her. The room was in shambles. The walls had rake marks, as if a giant cat had scraped its claws from ceiling to floor, peeling paint and wood off in strips.
âShut the door.â
Her heart seemed to stop for a minute and then began to pound. She tasted fear in her mouth. Paolo lookedâevil. When she didnât move, he stood up, stalked to the door and slammed it closed behind her. He came close to her, inhaling her scent as he walked around her.
He was close. Too close. She felt his body heat. His rage. She wanted to move, but her feet refused to cooperate. She could actually hear herself screaming inside.
âI can smell his stench on you,â he spat out.
She remained silent, the tremors seizing her body worsening. Something terrible was happening and she didnât know how to stop it.
âDid he fuck you?â
She took a breath and remained silent.
âDid you let him fuck you?â Paolo roared the question, his voice like thunder, his features contorted with anger.
âThatâs not your business,â she replied in a whisper. She couldnât look at him. She could never look at another man again.
âYou
fucking
whore.â
He slapped her hard, the blow sending her flying. She landed on her side, beside the dresser, facing away from him. She didnât see the immaculate Italian leather shoe coming at her. She felt it though, kicking her twice, and then he rained blows on her with his fists. She curled into a ball, hands over her face as he beat her. She sobbed. Pleaded. He didnât stop for what seemed an eternity but could only have been a couple of minutes.
Finally.
Finally
, there was no more, just the sound of his heavy breathing and her broken sobs. The worst of it was she didnât know if she was crying because she hurt everywhere, or because of the terrible things Elijah had said to her, or seeing Marco, a man she actually liked, dead on the floor in a pool of blood. She was utterly and totally humiliated. Utterly and totally beaten down. Sheâd never felt so small or so scared in her life.
Paolo crouched close to her, gripping her hair in his hand and pulling her head up so he could look down into her face. âYou. Belong. To.
Me.
If you insist on acting like a slut, Iâll treat you that way. This is what sluts get, so make up your mind what youâre going to be, Siena. My adored wife, or my slut I use any way I see fit.â
There was disgust in his voice. So much. He made her feel filthy. She didnât understand her behavior with Elijah.Sheâd never done anything like that in her life. Never. Sheâd never even dreamt of having sex like that. Wild. Abandoned. Out of control. But just the thought of Elijah had her body burning, wanting more. Paolo was right. She was a slut and a whore. She was everything he said, and she wasnât any good at it either. She would neverâeverâmake that mistake again. She felt vulnerable, fragile, and Paolo had just taken anything she had left of herself away from her.
Paolo released his grip on her hair, spit in her face and then was gone, leaving her lying there, hurting so bad she didnât think she would ever be able to move, with spittle running down her cheek. Her stomach lurched. The waves of itching grew stronger as if something raced beneath her skin, pushing and shoving to escape. She hurt so bad everywhere, but now, she was aware of every