Sold by Clarissa Wild

Harper

Marcello extends a hand. I pause and stare at him for a moment.

I know he’s waiting for me to grasp it. The question is, does he realize I’m not as feeble as he thinks?

I may look like an easy target, someone who gets swept away at the moment by lust, but I’ve trained my body and my mind to fight back against anyone who wants to hurt me. And I know better than to see him as some kind of gentleman just because he’s wealthy and has some manners.

Manners aren’t the only thing that makes a man a man.

And when any man claims to own me … it only makes me want to fight back harder.

So I keep my head held high and march right past him, ignoring his obvious gaze, which by now must be locked on my back. I don’t care. Let him watch as I step down these stairs independently. I don’t need a man to guide me, no matter how high the heels and no matter how shaky my legs.

But as I reach the middle of the stairs, Marcello’s right beside me once again, smiling at me with that same devious grin. He’s up to something, but I can’t tell what. And even though I tell myself not to look, I can’t stop glancing his way, wondering what it means when he looks at me like that.

I stop on the final step. “What do you want from me?”

“You already asked me that question, and you know the answer, kitten.”

“Why me?” I ask.

His brows rise. “Why not you?”

My lips purse. I want to smack him. I hate it when he’s being evasive. As though he doesn’t know exactly what I asked. But that’s just it—he doesn’t want me to know. He likes keeping me in the dark. Maybe it’s because he fears what I’d do to him if the playing field was level.

“You could’ve picked any other girl in that club, yet you chose me,” I say as we both walk to the dining area. “And on that stage. Me again. Why?”

“I didn’t want those other girls,” he says like it’s obvious, almost like he’s bored with having to explain himself. “They were there to serve customers. You were there to serve me.”

My heart rate shoots up immediately. He has this way of speaking that makes me weak. Serve me… it’s like he’s bypassing my brain and speaking directly to my body. And my body wants to obey all his orders.

The devilish smirk on his face is both irresistible and slap-worthy. He opens the doors to the dining room for me and waits until I step inside. “Ladies first.”

“You weren’t so chivalrous earlier. What made you change?” I retort.

It’s petty, but I can’t help myself. This man stole my freedom away from me, and getting under his skin is the only way I can fight back.

He cocks his head, and his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “You.”

That one word is enough to make my heart go haywire.

Stop it, Harper! He’s the enemy.

He walks to the table and scoots a chair backward, glancing at me in a seductive way. “Sit.”

I gulp and think about my options, but I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. If I try to run, there’s nowhere to go, and he’ll force me to stop. If I do what he says, I might get closer to the answers I seek, but it also means getting closer to him. Can I take that risk, considering the effect he has on me?

A sigh escapes my mouth, and I sink into my seat, ignoring the shallow breaths and increasing beats my heart makes the closer I get to him. He waits until I’ve settled down to scoot the chair forward, just a little farther than comfortable, almost as if to remind me that I’m under his control.

He sits down right across from me. Of all the places he could choose to sit at this very long table, of course, he sits down on the closest chair.

And even though the arrogant look on his face is aggravating, I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try. With his eyes alone, he’s got me under his spell.

“You want to know why I picked you?” he asks.

I nod, desperate for more information, despite knowing the consequence is losing myself to this man.

“The way you hurt that man who tried to touch you at the club … I liked that,” he says. “You’re feisty.”

I frown, then let out an incredulous burst of laughter. “Wait, that’s it?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes a connection is as simple as that. I look, you see me looking, end of story.”

“It can’t be that simple,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

He leans over the table, tapping his fingers against each other. “You know what? You’re right, kitten. It’s not that simple. It wasn’t just that I liked when you hurt that stupid drunk bastard in that repulsive club. It was all the things it made me think of.”

He seizes my wrist and pulls me in toward him. His face fills my vision. Cruelly handsome, cold, and distant, like staring into the eyes of a devil statue come to life. A man sent to punish and torture me with all the sensations my body is capable of feeling.

“It made me think of moments like this. I wanted to pin you here and take away your defenses one, by one, by one.” Each time he counts, he strokes the underside of my forearm softly and sensuously. A part of me wants to blush. The other part wants to scream.

“And I wanted to watch you squirm as you realized how helpless you truly were. Until it came down to it and you realized you had only one defense left.” He grins as he slowly releases my wrist. “Go on then, kitten. Ask me what your last defense will be.”

My throat is dry as a desert. I lick my lips, swallow, and croak, “What is it?”

His grin intensifies, and his eyes flash. “That pretty little mouth. I want you to beg me. Beg for your life. Beg for your release.”

We sit there in the tensest silence of my life for an excruciatingly long moment. He doesn’t blink or look away. It feels like we’re in a tug-of-war for control. And I’m losing—badly.

But then I remember I’m not out of weapons yet. I still have my body and my wits. I shift in my seat and cross my legs to expose one long slice of thigh through the slit. His eyes immediately lower toward the naked skin.

Two can play this game.

I only have a tiny little opening here. I have to push back and let him know I’m not going to roll over at his command.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

A devious smile forms on his lips. “Come now, kitten. Don’t play dumb. You know who I am.”

“A mobster.” The word rolls off my tongue like a secret finally spoken out loud.

The silence that follows is deafening. The only perpetual noise is his fingers tapping against each other.

Marcello leans back in his seat again. “Then you know what I’m capable of.”

My lip twitches. He didn’t deny it, so it’s true. “Is that a threat?”

His brows rise playfully. “Perhaps.”

“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You still haven’t answered my first question. Why me? As a mafioso, you can get any girl you want. You’ve got money, right?”

“I don’t want a girl who’s only after my money,” he says.

I make a face. “But you also know the way to a girl’s heart can never be won by force.”

He takes in a deep breath and pauses before answering. “Touché, kitten. Perhaps I’ll try with food, then.”

A faint smile forms on my lips, but it disappears quickly. Two men walk in that I don’t recognize, but they don’t seem bothered by my presence, just like the other staff I’ve met so far. Marcello’s really paying them well for them to accept the fact he takes women as prisoners.

They bring plates with copious amounts of food to the table and neatly place it down between us. My mouth waters, but I’m not going to touch it. What if it’s poisoned? What if they only mean to drug me again until I faint, and Marcello can have his way with me?

Marcello picks up some salmon and cuts it into thin pieces, spearing a piece. He brings it to his mouth like it’s a little cloud of heaven, and it almost makes me jealous to watch him eat. And he knows it. He revels in it.

“Are you not going to eat?” he asks.

“I’m not hungry,” I lie without blinking.

He knows I’m hungry because I can see him smile.

“Of course you are. They didn’t feed you on that boat. You must be starving.” He grabs a plate of chicken and slides it my way across the table. The scent almost sets me off into a ravenous binge, but I stop myself by closing my eyes and breathing through my mouth instead.

“C’mon now, kitten. It’s not poisoned,” he jests.

“It might be,” I retort.

He laughs. It’s the first real, genuine laugh he’s given me. “You know, I’ve been accused of many things but never poisoning women.” He puts down his fork. “Poison is a woman’s method of murder.” He reaches for his belt, and I hold my breath when he pulls out a gun and places it on the table. “Men like to be a bit more obvious.”

“So, what do you want?” I mutter, staring at the gun as though it could go off at any moment.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already,” he says with a stern look on his face. “Relax. Don’t be so uptight.”

That’s easy for him to say. He’s in charge, ruling over his little kingdom with me as his pet. And I’ve never felt more out of balance and out of control than now.

“Eat something. It’s good for you, I promise,” he says.

“So you can drug me?” I snarl.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Why would I want to do that?”

“So you can have your way with me,” I add.

He smirks. “Kitten, I can have you any way I want, whenever I want.”

My heart almost beats out of my chest, and I swear my pussy thumped from those words, but I willfully ignore it.

“I will never resort to drugging you. I have plenty of other ways to make you get on your knees.”

When he looks up from his food and gazes at me with that same hungry, seductive look, all the moments we’ve shared together—him touching my leg, his tongue brushing over my neck, and the fact that we almost kissed—flash through my mind. My legs squeeze together in an effort to keep the lust at bay.

“Trust me,” he says after a while.

“Trust? You’re asking me to trust you?” I say through gritted teeth.

I can’t believe he’d ask that. As if I could ever trust a mobster.

“That’s how relationships are built,” he replies.

I make a face and shake my head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Believe what you want, kitten, but I’ve never and will never resort to poisoning or drugging any girl, let alone you. You’re special to me.”

“Oh, yeah?” I rub my lips together. “Then how did you bring me to this mansion? By drugging me.” I grab a fork and stick it into the chicken just to make a point.

He shifts in his seat. “That was different. I had to bring you to safety, out of the claws of the Russians, which you must understand.”

“I don’t.” I haven’t touched the food, and I don’t intend to just yet.

He merely glances up at me and continues cutting his salmon and eating small bites. “You might not now, but you will, eventually.”

“I doubt it,” I say, looking away.

“Kitten,” he says, though I ignore him. “I’ll tell you now, I’ll never, ever, drug you and use you like that. That’s not how I choose to live.”

“Then how do you choose to live?” I scoff, raising a brow at him.

“With you. Being fully present. Choosing me. Choosing … desire,” he replies, and he sticks another piece of salmon into his mouth, running his tongue along the tines of the fork like he’s showing me what I’m missing.

“Not a chance.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, and he clears his throat. “Now eat your food before it gets cold.” He looks at me for a second. “That’s not a request.”

I think about it for a few more seconds. Maybe he’s right. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would go behind anyone’s back and betray them. He wants to face things head-on, including me. He likes the challenge. To overpower me and win. That’s what gets him excited.

So I grab the knife and cut off the piece of chicken, placing it on my plate before gently spearing a piece with my fork and putting it in my mouth. It’s delicious, well-seasoned, and it makes me hunger for more, but I have to control myself and show Marcello I’m not bothered by my own needs.

“Happy now?” I muse to rub it in that he’s forcing me.

“Are you asking me because you want to know the truth or because you hope I lie?” he asks, putting down his fork.

“Amuse me,” I reply. If he wants a game, he can get one. “It’s not like you’re going to tell me the truth, even if I asked for it, am I right?”

He smirks again. “You’re a spicy kitten, aren’t you?” He picks up some green veggies and places them on his plate. “Fine, ask away.”

“How do I know you won’t lie?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You just have to trust me, I guess.” Right as he’s about to put more food in his mouth, he pauses and lowers his fork again. “You know what? Let’s play a game. Truth or dare. You ask me a question, I ask you.” He grabs two tiny glasses and scoots one over to me. “If you don’t answer, you take a shot.”

He snaps his fingers. Two men are back with two giant bottles of whiskey, each one placed before us, the shot glasses filled to the brim.

Getting drunk in front of this man could be dangerous. But I wouldn’t be Harper if I didn’t give myself wholeheartedly into weeding out the truth among the lies.

So I say, “Fine. Bring it.”

He grins. “I like your enthusiasm. I’ll let you go first.”

“Did you know I was going to be sold on that boat the night you left me stranded in that club?” I ask.

He cocks his head, touching the glass as though he means to take a sip. Instead, his lips part. “No. The Russians bringing you there was their choice. Me being there was mine. But I never expected to find you on the boat. I thought you escaped the club.”

“You thought wrong,” I hiss.

“My turn,” he says, ignoring my rage. “Did you follow me to that club because you knew who I was?”

If I answer that, I’ll blow my entire investigation. So I take the shot instead. It’s hot and burns in my chest, and I can barely keep it down, but still, I manage.

Marcello laughs and taps the table, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, kitten, you disappoint me.”

I smack the glass on the table and say, “My turn. Did you buy me for your own pleasure instead of to save me from the Russians?”

His jaw tightens, and he picks up the glass and chugs it down in one go, unfazed.

“Kitten, did you come for me because you enjoyed it?”

I grind my teeth. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of my own body’s betrayal. So I take the shot again. And it’s still horrible, but better than seeing the smirk on his face if I told him he was right.

I need to steer this conversation in a different direction.

“Did you recognize me when you first saw me in that club?” I ask.

His jaw tightens, and his body freezes. Seconds feel like minutes. He takes another shot.

Bastard.

“Tell me, kitten … do you have a problem with me?”

I don’t answer. I take another shot even though I can feel myself getting drunker by the second.

He smiles viciously as if the amount of alcohol in his blood doesn’t even faze him.

I’m certain my next question will. In fact, I’m pretty sure it will shock him to his core. “Did you kill my parents?”

He scoffs. “I don’t have any idea who your parents are.”

He’s lying—I know it in my bones. “I think you do,” I say. “I think you know exactly who Molly and Frank Fitzgerald were.”