Chapter 5 Victorious

ARIA MORETTI

Aria would have gotten back on her feet, but his hand went up in the air.

The belt was realer than fiction while hanging up there as she saw it. It coiled, uncoiled, furled, twisted, shook and breathed before it bit into her skin, right across the chest. It made her whole body pulsate and cry out, so that she shook like one mighty explosion.

Yet, it did not stop there. It pierced the air two more times, both hitting her skin as she rolled to avoid it hurting the same spot twice. Her back twisted and curved, and she cried out in pain as tears came into her eyes. Her vision blurred and so did everything in her eyes except the one silhouette of the man who was punishing her, dominant and alive.

"There is Nico Romano, the Don, and there you lie, reduced to nothing before me. Your mad, demented, crazed father would work to death and he still would not repay what he owes me, but you think you can defy my orders. You have only one instruction and two options, and you will be wise to do the one that pleases me if you do not want to be whipped to death. You would not be the first, you slut, and definitely not the last."

Aria heard him loud and clear, the tears streaming down from the sides of her eyes. His words jumped out at her, and at the same time, she remembered what Anita had said to her:

'I do not know why, but I will only ask that you be wise. Act as you should, and you will be fine around here.'

He was ready to kill her if she did not do his will, she realized.

She knew he was a part of the Mafia. She knew he would kill her if he so wished and decide whether to dissolve her body in acid or to leave it where it would be posed as a lesson to be taught to all who did not want to learn. She had written enough articles over caffeinated eyes to know all that.

For now, and while she was alive, she could still return to her father and care for him. He needed her more than anything else in the world. He was already too damaged by the loss of Elena and Mabel to be stable enough. How much would he take if she lost her?

She had to do it. For her father.

Slowly, and for so long she thought it would take forever for her to do that which she wanted to, she got to her knees and knelt before him, looking up into his eyes. Then he asked one last time.

"Yes, or No?"

This time, her answer was the exact reverse of the one she had given the past few times. It was a nod, weak, but a nod alright.

"Good," he commented, and all the men went into a round of applause as he returned to his seat. The bowl of grapes was returned to him, and he popped another one of the fruits into his mouth.

His eyes stared down at her, and not without that cruel expression that had marked his face since she entered this room. She knew he wanted to break her spirit. He wanted to see her cry, to shame her before all, and she was determined not to let him win. There was no shame in being naked, really, especially if her reason for doing it was honourable.

This time, it was for her Father.

Her hand went to her hair first, and she undid the ribbon that held it in a lock behind her hair so that the strands of golden hair fell onto her shoulders. Next, she reached for the zipper that kept her clothes on her, and pulled it down, revealing a large red welt that had obviously come from the belt.

She shook a bit, and the cloth fell from her shoulders, revealing her brassiere, and she would have reached to her waist to take off the trousers she wore had a voice not stopped her. His voice.

"Hey," he called. "Do it slowly, you bitch."

She did as he said, rising to her feet and pushing it down so that it fell in a heap around her feet. Her hands went to the brassiere again, and unclasped it one by one, so that her breasts fell free. Last but not the least, she let her panties join the trousers on the floor, and there she stood naked. The belt markings glowed red on her skin in untidy X's, her pink nipples glowed under the light and a triangular trim of golden hair hung between her legs as the men cheered.

By now, she had pulled off each shred of cloth, and even dared to smile at him as she stood there, all the cheering and clapping echoing in her ears. It was nothing seductive, and most definitely meant to be defiant, daring him to do more if he wanted to break her. It was her way of saying that she still felt no shame, that she had emerged victorious.

As she stood naked, covering nothing and exposing her wounds and femininity to all, she felt strong. He could take off her clothes, but not her honour. He could bare her body, but not her soul. He could break her will, but not her resolve.

That was the moment she found what she wanted to see too.

It was the disappointment in his eye, proof that he had been seeking something she did not give him despite all that had just happened.

"Go away," he told her, sweeping his hand through the air.

It was with a feeling of pride in her chest that she walked off naked, only pausing to take her clothes in her hands. As she walked off, her shoulders erect and her face unashamed as the men clapped and cheered. The return journey was just as long as the beginning, and she pushed the doors open and slammed them behind her.

There, with no one to see her shame, she found the closest place to hide before falling in a heap and shedding tears. Indeed, she cried a long time after that.