A Taste

Milene's POV

I watched Nicolas leave and forced myself to sit up. “Tate,” I whispered.

Tate knelt in front of me. “Milli,” he said, using the nickname only my brother called me.

I reached for his hand. “Please help me. You were part of the Outfit. You can’t let this happen.”

He pulled away, his eyes cold. “I’m part of the Camorra now.”

He stood, emotionless. “What will happen to me? What does your Nicolas want with me?” I asked, voice cracking.

His eyes softened, and it scared me. “The Outfit attacked us. Nicolas wants revenge.”

“But I’m not involved in your business,” I said.

“You’re Dante’s niece. Your father and fiancé are high ranking members of the outfit”

I looked down at my hands, holding my dress. My knuckles were white. “So, he’s going to hurt me to make them pay?” My voice broke. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn’t.

“He didn’t tell me his plan,” he said. “But Nicolas might use you to force your uncle to give up his territory.

Uncle Dante would never do that, not even for family. I was lost.

Suddenly, I felt dizzy, and I collapsed back on the bed.

I heard Nicolas’s voice. “Change of plans. Let her sleep it off while we drive. We’ve spent too much time here. Damien called again. We need to move now. Helicopter’s coming in Kansas. Cavallaro’s men are searching for her.”

Dante was looking for me. Dad, Daniel and Micheal were out there. Hope wasn’t gone.

I woke up in a car, still in my wedding dress. Tate sat next to me, eyes focused on the road. Nicolas was on the phone.

I wasn’t sure if they drugged me again, or if my body was still fighting the effects. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day.

I wasn’t sure how long we’d been driving, but the next time I woke up, we were in a helicopter. Las Vegas stretched out below as we began to descend.

The helicopter landed. Tate helped me out, and Nicolas was talking on the phone. I needed to clear my head. My wedding dress felt dirty and heavy.

They pushed me into another car. After a while, we stopped at a strip club.

Tate gripped my arm. Nicolas walked ahead without a glance.

“Tate,” I whispered, but he didn’t answer. “I need to go to the bathroom. I don’t feel good.”

I went to the toilet, hating that Tate could hear. There was nothing I could use as a weapon. I finished, breathing deeply, trying to hide my panic.

“Milene,” Tate warned. “Don’t make me come in there. You won’t like it.”

I walked out, feeling weak from dehydration.

I washed my face and drank some water.

“You can have a coke from the bar,” Tate said. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out. My feet ached. I realized they’d been cut on the ground. I scanned the room. A few women stood at the bar, but none looked at me.

I couldn’t count on anyone here.

“Tate,” I whispered.

“Coke,” he ordered the bartender, who grabbed a bottle, opened it, and handed it to Tate. He avoided looking at me.

Where had they taken me?

“Drink,” Tate said, handing me the bottle. I took a few sips, the cold liquid helping me think.

“Come on,” Tate said, pulling me toward another door. We walked down a hall and stopped at another door. When Tate opened it, my stomach twisted.

Inside were two men I didn’t recognize. Both were tall, hard-faced, and carried the cruel air of the Falcones. One had gray eyes, the other looked younger. I tried to remember their names, but when my eyes met Nicolas’s, everything else disappeared.

Nicolas had taken off his shirt. There was a fresh wound on his side, stitched but still bleeding. My heart raced as I looked at his muscles and scars.

“Your twin almost got me,” Nicolas said with a laugh. “But not enough to stop me from taking his beloved sister.”

He spoke the word "beloved" like it was something shameful, something bad.

Tate released his grip on me and walked over to the other men, leaving me standing alone in the center of the room, feeling like a piece of meat for them to examine. A cold weight settled deep inside me perhaps that’s exactly what I was to them.

Nicolas pointed to the man with gray eyes. "That’s Damien, my brother." Then he motioned to the younger man next to him. "And this is Luca, my brother."

Nicolas moved closer, every muscle in his body tight, like a hunter preparing to strike. I stayed firm. I wouldn’t back down. I wouldn’t give him an inch. I wouldn’t show fear or let a tear fall. He couldn’t make me give him that. But I knew I couldn’t stop him from taking anything else.

"Milene Cavallaro." His voice lingered on my name as he circled me. He stopped just behind me, where I couldn’t see him.

A shiver ran through me, but I held it in. "Not Cavallaro. That’s my uncle’s name, not mine."

Nicolas’s breath brushed my neck. "In every way that counts, you belong to the Cavallaro family."

I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms. Damien’s cold gray eyes followed the movement, his expression unchanged. Tate sat on the desk, his eyes on the man behind me, never looking directly at me. Luca studied me, his gaze curious, calculating.

I stayed silent, keeping my focus ahead. Nicolas walked around me, stopping in front. He was tall, and I wished I had my heels. Though I wasn’t short, barefoot I barely reached his chin. I lifted my head slightly, trying to seem taller.

Nicolas’s lips twisted into a small smirk. "I hear you were supposed to marry Daniel Mancini yesterday," he said with a dark grin. "Seems like I took your wedding night away."

I recalled my mother’s comforting words, assuring me Daniel would treat me well, that I wouldn’t have to fear him after our wedding night. Micheal had promised to take care of Daniel if he ever mistreated me.

But looking at Nicolas now, my worries about Daniel seemed small and foolish. The name of their leader was spoken with fear, even among the women in the group. A deep, unfamiliar fear gripped me, but I forced it down. My pride was the only thing I had left, and I would hold on to it as long as I could.

"I wonder if you let Daniel have a taste of you before the wedding," Nicolas murmured, his voice a low threat as his eyes looked over me.