The Baron's Pet

DAMIEN'S POV, AGE 19.

"What a mess," I mutter as I stare down at the blood on my knuckles.

It isn't mine, but it's fresh. Still wet. Still warm.

It smears across the leather steering wheel as I grip it tighter and cut the engine in the back lot behind the Cirelli's club.

The job went clean. Fast. The guy begged, of course; they always do. It didn't matter. He owed. He talked. He died. I am not the one to decide justice.

I am just the hand that delivers it.

I park behind a Bentley that costs more than most people make in a year. Gold trim. Shiny as hell. Enzo is, probably, Cirelli's heir. Or maybe Rinaldo, the Don, is in town.

My pulse ticks up. If the Don's here, something's brewing.

The hallway stinks of smoke and aftershave, cheap cologne on expensive suits. I nod at Nico by the side door. He doesn't say a word.

He just steps aside like he always does. I'm the Consigliere's golden boy.

Been that way since I was sixteen. Rinaldo's errand dog had a silver leash.

They love me when I spill blood in their name. That's the part that gets me later.

I'm about to push open my father's office door. His real name is Stefano Plazo, but he has never earned the title of "father."

They just raised me under the Cirelli crest like a damn stray they took pity on, but that is when I hear my name.

"...Damien's too close to Enzo now," someone says behind the door.

Pause. Shuffle of papers. The clink of a glass.

"He is a weapon, not a son," comes Rinaldo's voice, low and smooth like poison in wine. "We took him for a reason. Don't forget that."

I freeze. Not breath-freeze. My hand is still on the doorknob. My heart drops like it's made of lead.

Took me?

My chest goes cold. Skin prickling. I press closer. It's quiet for a second, and then Stefano speaks. Sounds tired.

"I know. He still believes the sob story. That we found him, gave him a home-"

"That was the plan. Make him loyal. Mould him. And it worked," Rinaldo says, amused. "He was a Bartello. Now he is ours. Why is it bothering you now, Stefan?"

My ears ring.

Bartello?

No.

No, no, no.

The Bartellos are scum. Rivals. Enemies. I've heard that name all my life with disgust. I've put bullets in men for wearing their crests. And now, I am one of them?

I step back before I can stop myself. Wood creaks under my boot. I flinch, but no one comes out.

I'm gone before anyone notices. Out the back, across the alley, into the driver's seat with my mind in shards. I sit there, fists clenched on my lap, breathing like I just ran ten miles.

My reflection in the rearview mirror looks calm. Dead calm. That version of me is already broken.

Two days later, I'm standing in the shadows of a parking garage in Midtown. Private level. High surveillance, low traffic.

Perfect for secret meetings with the man I share blood with.

Antonio Bartello doesn't look like I expected.

He looks like me.

Older, sure, with silver streaks in his black hair and a long scar down his jaw. He is bigger. Harsher.

Eyes like steel and storm. But the face? The bone structure? It's mine. Or I guess, his. He sizes me up like I might be packing C4 under my coat.

"Is this a trap?" he says. A voice like gravel. "Did the Cirellis send you to play mind games?"

I don't flinch. "I am here because I heard the truth."

"From whom?"

"Does it matter?" I hold up the small case in my hand. DNA kit. Quick swab. Third-party lab. No one connected to Cirelli or Bartello. No games.

He hesitates. Then steps closer.

"If this is a trick," he says. "I will find out, and I will kill you."

"For my sake, I hope it is all just a misunderstanding. That I just misheard."

We do the test. No drama. No handshake. No hug. He walks away without another word.

I didn't sleep that night.

And for the days that pass, I play my part. Meetings, cleanups, and on and on.

But when the results came in later that week, they hit like a sledgehammer.

99.99% match.

Antonio calls me the second he sees them. I don't pick up. I drive instead. Late-night back roads. Windows down.

Wind screaming in my ears while my whole world rearranges itself around me.

The next evening, we met again.

Same place. No words for the first minute. Just heavy silence between two men who should have had nineteen years of it and don't know where to start.

"You are my son," Antonio says finally. It sounds like it costs him everything to say it.

I nod. "And you are the reason I was taken?"

His jaw tightens. "No. I spent a decade tearing this city apart looking for you. We were ambushed. You were two. The cops sent me proof later, saying you were gone. We thought you were dead."

I believe him. I don't know why, but I do.

"So, what now?" I say. "What do you want? For me to come back?"

He nods. "You should. You belong with us. I'll protect you."

But that is the thing. I don't want protection. I want payback.

"I'm not leaving," I say. "Not yet."

His face goes hard. "Why? You are not one of them. You are a Bartello; they took you from us. Why-"

"Because I am close. They trust me. Rinaldo put a gun in my hand when I was fifteen. I've bled for that family. If I walk away now, it's over. But if I stay-"

"You want revenge. You want to remain there so you can burn them down from the inside."

My smile is thin. Cold. "Exactly."

Antonio looks at me for a long time. Then he nods once. Slow. Respectful.

We don't hug.

We don't say we love each other. But we understand each other. That's enough.

That's the night the boy they raised dies, and I become something else entirely.

No more blind loyalty. No more playing soldier.

From this moment on, I'm a Bartello.

And I'm going to make the Cirelli's pay for every lie they ever fed me.

CORA.

"I'm here for Dante," I told the bouncer at the door. He gestured to a nearby thug.

"She says she's here for Dante."

The thug leered at me. I recognized him as the one who smashed the coffee table.

"After you," he sneered.

I walked in front of him, hands in the pockets of my sweats, trying not to let my nervousness show.

A meaty hand squeezed my ass.

I whirled around, eyes blazing. "Do that again, and you'll find yourself missing a few fingers," I threatened.

He guffawed. "You've got a pretty mouth for threats." He reached for my breasts.

"I wonder what Dante will think when he finds out you've been playing with his goods", I said coldly, the degrading words leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

The thug thought twice, then mumbled something and kept his hands to himself.

He led me to a dimly lit room, and out another door.

Finally, we entered a large, almost empty room. I realized this was where the stripping took place.

There were poles at strategic points in the room with chairs surrounding them.

Dante lounged on a chaise at the very back of the room. His eyes lit up when he saw me.

"So you came."

"I keep to my word", I said curtly. "Remains to be seen if you keep to yours. The money."

Amity's needs came first. I tried not to think of the disappointed look on her face as she begged me not to come here.

My mother had ground up another sachet of meth and had been snorting it through her nose.

She'd said nothing as I gently tugged Amity's hands away from me and left the house to sell myself.

Dante chuckled. "You'll get your money, pretty girl. For now, why don't you get undressed."

"Now?" I hissed.

"Would you like to wait till tomorrow?" Dante asked.

"I'm not...dressed for stripping," I bit out. All I had under my sweats were a bra and panties that didn't even match.

I had thought Dante would provide whatever he wanted me to wear.

The man waved a hand. "That doesn't matter. No one's here except me."

"And them," I said pointedly, referring to his thugs.

"They'll close their eyes", Dante laughed. "Won't you, boys?"

Soft music began to play, and I took a deep breath, reminding myself of why I was doing this in the first place.

I peeled my sweatshirt off, swaying gently to the music, and had just gotten my pants over my ankles when the door to the room burst open.

Guns cocked as Dante's thugs faced the intruder. I scooted away from the line of fire, making myself as small as possible in the corner of the room, my heart in my throat.

Of course, something bad would happen to me the one time I would do something like this.

Cold air brushed against my skin and I blushed furiously at the eyes of the men on my underwear.

A suit-clad man strolled into the room, looking like he owned the world.

My breath caught. The man was beautiful. Cold and hard, but beautiful.

His lips looked set in a permanent sneer, and his eyes were hard and clear as ice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you", he warned Dante's men in a voice deeper and smoother than honey.

I shot a glance at Dante. He looked...scared.

He waved at his men nervously. "Put the weapons away. Sir Baron, Sir... I wasn't expecting you."

A chill ran down my spine. Baron? This man was the Baron? There wasn't any New Yorker who had their ears down and hadn't heard of the Baron.

I had thought Dante was ruthless, but he was so far down on the food chain compared to this man.

"Please, sit," Dante was saying, standing from his chair.

I shrunk into myself, my eyes darting around the room for an escape route.

Men with guns were stationed at the only visible exit.

"I have no time for your games, Dante," the Baron said. "You owe me."

I picked up my shirt, wanting to pull it over my head. That small movement seemed to draw his eyes. Gray eyes fell on me.

I stared back, outwardly fearless. Inwardly, my heart was doing a marathon.

The Baron's disinterested gaze left me and focused back on Dante. I pulled my shirt on.

"I...owe you?" Dante asked timidly.

"Product worth two hundred grand was headed here, with the cops tailing it. I took care of that for you. That was very careless of you."

Dante gulped. "I am...in your debt. I assume you want the money from the sales?"

The Baron shot another gaze at me. "That's not why I'm here."

He made an almost imperceptible gesture and one of his men grabbed Dante by the collar and threw him to his knees.

"Do you know what happens to careless people, Dante?"

I could almost see beads of sweat forming on Dante's brow. He gulped.

"Y-yes, Baron."

"Good", The Baron replied. "Then you know I can't let you go without teaching you a lesson."

"A lesson, s-sir?", Dante stammered.

"I want her", the Baron said, completely going off tangent.

"W-who?"

"Your little whore over there," He snapped.

My head snapped up as I stared at the man. He was talking about me? My already pale skin grew ashen.

Dante looked over at me. "Um...Baron, Sir, she isn't really..."

One of the Baron's men cocked his gun and trained it at Dante's forehead.

"What I meant to say is," he hastily amended, "she's all yours."

What?!

The Baron nodded. "Good. I hope for your sake I don't pay you another visit." He turned to leave, then snapped at me. "You, whore! Come with me."

"I'm not a whore!", I snapped back. The silence in the room was deafening. "And I'm not coming with you!"

Dante yelped, giving me an alarmed look.

With as much dignity as I could maintain while wearing only a sweatshirt over my underwear, I stood, clutching my pants in a death grip.

"Excuse me?" He said, his deep voice almost sending shivers to my toes.

"You heard me," I spat. "I don't work here, and I'll be damned if I let you take me."

"Is that so?" The Baron said quietly.

"Don't fight it, girl," Dante said to me.

I whirled around to face him. "You better tell him I'm not one of your girls, Dante! Tell him now or I'll scream this place down! We had an agreement! We..."

"Take her," The Baron said.

Two words.

One of his men stepped forward and a strong arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me in the air.

I screamed.

They began to walk, taking me with them.

"This is kidnapping," I yelled. "Let me go! Let me go! Dante!"

"Shut her up," The Baron ordered.

He turned back to Dante, then gestured to one of his men. "And make sure he can't walk for a few weeks."

The horror dawning on Dante's face was a mirror image of mine.

He screamed as he was surrounded, overpowered, then dragged away.

There was a dull thud as something hard hit my head, and all went black.

CORA.

I woke to the feeling of being carried somewhere. A door clicked and I was gently set down on something soft.

"Leave us," a now familiar, cold voice ordered.

There were sounds of shuffling and footsteps. Moments later, the door shut again. I was alone with him.

"I know you're awake," he said calmly.

I kept my eyes stubbornly shut, my hands damp with sweat, my heart racing.

Dante's horrified face was stuck in my memory.

How had I ever thought he was so powerful?

The Baron sighed. "I was hoping we wouldn't have to do this the hard way."

I remained silent, barely able to breathe through my terror. From what I had seen, the rumors about this man weren't exaggerated.

"Well, since you insist."

There was silence for about five seconds before a warm hand stroked my cheek softly, trailing down my neck.

I jumped and my eyes snapped open, making me look like a deer in headlights.

The Baron leaned over me, an amused expression over his sneer.

"Welcome back," he said, then leaned back.

I darted a furtive glance around the room. I couldn't tell much about it except that the furnishings were lush and the door was locked.

I was lying on a couch and the Baron had taken a seat in an armchair next to it.

"Where am I?", I demanded, trying and failing at my attempt at bravado as my voice cracked.

"Still in New York," The Baron replied dryly. "This is my penthouse."

"What do you want with me? Didn't Dante tell you I'm not one of his girls?"

"His whores, you mean?" The Baron raised an eyebrow, bringing a whiskey glass to his lips.

Impotent fury flowed through me, clashing with my underlying fear. "I am not a whore," I spat, even as I felt a trickle of sweat roll down my neck despite the pleasantly cool room.

"And yet I found you on your knees, with your clothes on the floor in front of you. Tell me, how much did he promise to pay you?"

My face flushed. The Baron's words hit too close to home. Amity's warning pleas came back to me and I fought back tears.

"Just send me back home, please," I said quietly. "I won't tell the cops, I promise."

The Baron scoffed. "You think I care about the cops? I would walk you into a police station right now and no one would breathe a word of protest."

"Wh-what are you going to do with me?"

The Baron's eyes flashed. "Whatever I want. But for now, I'll settle for the same thing you were about to give Dante."

I looked up at him. "You want me to strip for you?"

His eyes trailed down my naked legs and I self-consciously pulled my knees to myself. Up until now, I'd forgotten that I hadn't gotten to put on my pants.

"Among other things," he said.

"I..." I swallowed. "I'll strip for you, Mr... Baron. But I won't sleep with you. I'm not a whore," I repeated.

The Baron's eyes raised. "Who said there'll be much sleeping involved? And weren't you going to sleep with Dante?"

"Dante and I had an agreement," I replied, looking down at my sweaty clenched fists, then forcing my gaze up to meet his.

I regretted it immediately. His eyes were the eyes of a hard man with no definition of mercy.

He spread his hands magnanimously. Once again, I was struck by how handsome the man was.

He also didn't look as though he were older than thirty. I wondered how such a young man had come into such power.

"So, let's have an agreement," he said.

My mind spiraled with the meaning behind those words. I began to throb longingly, then beat myself up for it.

"No."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you refusing me?"

"Y-yes. You can't make me do what I don't want to."

The Baron took another sip of his drink, seemingly disinterested. "Is that so? You don't seem scared enough. I wonder if it's guts or just plain stupidity."

Gracefully, the Baron stood, walked to a small bar, and poured himself another drink. He walked back with two glasses, extending one to me.

With a shaky hand, I reached for it, then set it down in front of me without drinking.

"Cora Sinclair," The Baron said. "Single. Aged twenty-five. Waitress by day, bartender by night. Twin sister, Amity Sinclair, is sick with leukemia. Mother, Rose Sinclair, meth addict and gambler. Deadbeat father. You have a degree in Music but haven't gotten around to using it yet. Shall I continue?"

"You don't scare me", I lied quietly, clenching my shaky hands even more.

He loomed over me. "I can see that. Would you like that to change, Cora?"

I forced myself to shake my head.

He pushed a shopping bag towards me. "That's what I thought. Now be a good girl, and go change into these."

"What are those?" I asked suspiciously.

The Baron sipped his drink. "Something a bit better than the frumpy things you have under that shirt."

I wasn't brave enough to shoot him a glare at his words, so I stood and grabbed the bag.

He didn't stop me as I marched towards a door I hoped led to a bedroom and yanked it open, slamming it shut behind me.

I immediately sprung into action, dumping the bag on a large king-size bed in the middle of the room and opening drawers in search of a weapon of some sort.

I found an ivory letter opener in the bottom drawer of his nightstand and closed my fist around it.

I checked the windows. They were locked, but were so high up, I would have been crazy to even think of escaping through there.

The bathroom was next. I found nothing for weaponry, and the windows were shut.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled off my shirt and underwear, keeping a wary eye on the door since it had no keys in the lock.

The things in the bag were nothing more than red scraps of silky fabric.

I would never have been caught dead in them had the Baron not forced me to put them on. I was under his power, even though so far, he hadn't made a move to be violent.

Except for knocking me unconscious and kidnapping me, that is. I also couldn't forget his orders about Dante.

What were his men going to do? Break Dante's legs? I shuddered.

I finished putting on the lingerie - a matching bra and panties set with lace garters and a tiny teddy to wear over it, grabbed the letter opener again, and slowly pushed the door open.

The Baron was nowhere to be seen. I almost began to relax, thinking he had decided to leave me alone.

I took my first step back into the room, my hand with the tiny knife behind me, and a large hand gripped my arm painfully from behind, whirling me around and yanking.

Pain shot up my arm and the letter opener clattered to the floor.

The Baron stared down at me, his face hard and expressionless.

I knew then without a doubt that unless a miracle occurred, I wouldn't be leaving this place unless he gave his express permission.

That didn't mean I had to meekly agree though.

Shrieking, I pulled my knee back and drove my foot forward towards his crotch.

Instead of shying away, he yanked me to him, throwing me off balance, and caught my leg between his thighs.

His eyes flashed dangerously.

I headbutted him, yanking my arms out of his grip and clawing at his face. Sharp pain singled my skull as he pulled my hair hard.

His other arm snaked around me and crushed me to him so both my hands were tight in his embrace.

"I do not like to hit women," he told me gruffly. "But if you do that again, I will make you suffer."

I struggled against him. A hard object poking my stomach made me realize how much he was enjoying our proximity.

I was wearing next to nothing and was pressed against him.

"You don't hit women," I panted, "you just pay people to do that for you. Let me go, you brute!"

The Baron studied me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to change his mind and hit me for my choice of words.

His grip tightened for a short moment before it loosened and he stepped back. I immediately rubbed at my sore scalp.

"Do what you're here for," he ordered, leaning against a wall.

"Y-you'll let me go afterward?" I asked hopefully.

"I'll consider it," he said coldly. "Now, stop making me wait."

I took a shaky step forward, then stopped. The room was silent, save for my scared breathing. There was no music.

Did he expect me to just get out of the sorry excuse of underwear I was wearing?

I almost refused again, but my scalp still hurt. Amity's broken expression also flashed through my mind, reminding me that I wasn't doing this for myself.

Slowly, and for the second time that night, I began to get naked...