Sex slave

(Alessio's POV)

I stood by the window of my suite, staring out at the moon. Her face replayed in my mind, as if the moon itself had captured the image of her. It wasn’t the look I had imagined when we would meet again. The expression she wore held a combination of fear and hatred, as if she both feared and despised me at the same time. I couldn’t care less about what she thought of me. She had already made her choice when she agreed to be mine—the moment she allowed me to touch every part of her body. And now, I would never let her go. Was it love? I couldn’t say. But one thing was certain: she would never have the chance to escape from me again.

I had kidnapped her and brought her all the way from California to Italy because she was mine—mine to touch, mine to possess. No one else would kiss her, touch her, or do any of the things I wanted to do to her body.

The memory of that night when I explored her body, marking it as my own, flashed through my mind. The feeling of her beneath me, the way she trembled, it made me hard all over again. I wanted nothing more than to touch her again.

"Boss," Ivan’s voice broke through my thoughts as he entered the suite, bowing his head respectfully.

"What is it?" I asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"It’s Lisa," Ivan said, and the mention of her name made me pause, withdrawing the smoke from my lips.

"What about her?" I asked, my voice growing cold.

"She’s refusing to eat," Ivan explained. "She’s throwing a tantrum, demanding that she doesn't want to eat. What should I do, boss?"

"I’ll handle it," I said, putting out the cigarette. With that, Ivan left. Since I was shirtless, I pulled on a t-shirt before heading to Lisa’s room.

Earlier, I had gone out of my way to decorate her room in her favorite colors. Before I took her, Ivan had informed me of her likes and dislikes—things I never would have cared to know about any other woman. It was crazy. I didn’t even know why I did it.

I had never cared about women before. To me, they were simply tools to satisfy my sexual urges and nothing more. But Lisa? She was something else. I couldn’t explain it, but something about her made me want to keep her close.

As I entered her room, a plate of risotto was thrown toward me, rolling to a stop at my feet. I heard Lisa shouting at the woman who had served her.

"I said I’m not eating! Don’t keep serving me food!" she spat angrily.

I cleared my throat, and the lady, noticing my presence, quickly dropped to her knees. Everyone who worked under me respect me—because they understood that I don't give a second chance to disobedience.

"I’ve done all I can, but she’s refusing every meal," the lady said, her fear evident, knowing I could easily end her life for failing me.

"Leave," I ordered coldly, and she hurriedly got to her feet and ran out of the room. My gaze turned toward Lisa, who was seated on the floor, looking as though she had been mistreated by a cruel king. Even though I could be ruthless, I would never treat her that way.

"It’s been twenty-four hours. Aren’t you going to eat something?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but it still carried an undertone of fear.

"Lisa—" I took a step toward her, but she immediately recoiled, just as she had before. I didn’t want her to fear me. I had always found pleasure in seeing people fall to their knees before me in terror, but not with her. I wanted her to feel safe with me, to believe that I wouldn’t hurt her. But why did I want that when I enjoyed making people afraid of me?

"You don’t have to be afraid of me," I said softly, and that’s when she finally looked up at me. I could see the tear stains on her face.

Was she crying?

"Give me one reason why I shouldn’t be afraid of you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You kidnapped me all the way from California to Italy, and for what? To be your sex slave?"

Her words stung. She didn’t understand. I hadn’t taken her to make her my sex slave. It was more complicated than that, but I didn’t know how to explain it to her. All I knew was that I wanted her near me, every single day, and that wouldn’t happen if she stayed in California. But I wasn’t good with words, so I just stood in silence, watching her.

"I have a dad," she continued, her voice cracking with emotion. "I’m sure he’s going insane, looking for me. I don’t belong here. I just want to go home. What happened between us… it was a mistake."

So, everything we shared was a mistake to her? The kisses, the embraces, the sex—were all just mistakes? That night meant so much to me, but she dismissed it as if it was nothing more than a fleeting moment. Anger welled up inside me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.

"You’re not leaving here, Lisa," I said coldly. "You’re going to stay under my watch, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, and you’ll have to get used to it. You eat your food, or you’ll starve."

More tears fell down her face, and it felt like my heart was being squeezed in a vice. Why was my heart aching at the sight of her tears? I had always believed I didn’t have a heart, not with how I was raised. Yet, here it was—aching for her.

I wanted to walk over to her, wipe away her tears, and tell her everything would be fine, but I stopped myself. It was insane. Was I sick? Why was I feeling this way?

"You’re a monster," she screamed, her voice filled with pain and rage. "I hate you for kidnapping me!"

Her words stung, yet they twisted something deep inside me, and I could feel my chest tighten. Despite the pain, I stood firm. My hands were buried deep in my pockets as I responded in a low, controlled voice.

"Yes, I am a monster. But don’t think for a second that someone like me will ever take you back to California."

As I turned to leave, she threw a plate at me, shouting out her hatred for me, but I didn’t flinch. I ignored her, walking out of the room, my footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Boss," Ivan called, approaching me.

"What kind of food was served to her?" I asked, my voice still tinged with irritation.

"The best Italian dishes," Ivan replied, and I shot him a glare.

"She’s from California. Why the hell would you serve her Italian dishes?!" I shouted, though I knew it wasn’t entirely his fault. I just needed a way to vent my anger, and since I couldn’t take it out on her, Ivan became the target.

"I’m sorry, boss. But the food served was the finest Italian cuisine," Ivan tried to explain.

"Find someone who can prepare California dishes. Make sure they satisfy her." I ordered, still seething.

"On it, boss." Ivan nodded. "Also, I’ve found the hotel where her ex-boyfriend is staying in Italy."

At the mention of him, my blood boiled. He had shattered my woman, and I wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

"Ivan."

"Yes, boss?" he replied, his voice steady.

"Get the car,” I ordered. "It’s time someone learned what happens when they mess with what’s mine"