The Price of Silence

Camilla's POV

I dragged the thick wool sweater over my head. The rough yarn scraped against the sensitive skin of my collarbone, dragging a sharp, jagged gasp straight from my dry throat. Dark, fresh marks painted my flesh in a gruesome tapestry of deep purples and angry blacks. He had forced those bruises onto my body during the previous night. I layered another heavy oversized cardigan over my shoulders. I needed to hide the grim evidence of his brutality. Last night remained a blurred nightmare of torn flesh, rough hands, and ruthless domination. My fingers shook as I tried to pull the sleeves down to my knuckles. I fumbled with the plastic cap of the painkiller bottle resting on the kitchen counter. Prying it open with trembling thumbs, I tipped two chalky white pills into my damp palm and shoved them past my cracked lips. I swallowed them down without a single drop of water. The dry medicine scraped down my parched throat. It was a pathetic, desperate attempt to numb the throbbing agony radiating through every muscle in my battered frame.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed from the short hallway.

I forced myself to endure his suffocating, overwhelming presence in my own home. Dante strolled out of my bedroom. He moved with a dark, royal, untouchable arrogance. His large hands fastened the buttons of his expensive, tailored dark suit. He smoothed the lapels of his jacket, strutting through my small living space in a display of sheer dominance. He walked around my furniture and breathed my air acting exactly like he owned this place. He acts like he owns me. The undeniable force of his presence sucked the oxygen straight out of the room, leaving me gasping for air in a suffocating vacuum.

My fearful eyes instantly darted away from his imposing figure and locked onto the cold kitchen counter. I stared at the heavy metal of his gun resting there.

The polished steel gleamed menacing under the morning light. A terrifying, bloody memory flooded my mind instantly. The disastrous night I had foolishly tried to end his life. My miserably failed attempt to kill him played out behind my eyelids in a flash of red. He had mercilessly made me pay for that rebellion with every single drop of my blood and dignity. He had cornered me, disarmed me, and broke my spirit piece by piece.

Seeing my panicked gaze fixated on his weapon, Dante shifted his trajectory. He smoothly grabbed the weapon off the marble countertop in a fluid, lethal motion. He quickly closed the distance between us. I stood frozen in place. I could not move a single muscle. I felt like a purchased, helpless slave trapped in the shadow of a cruel king. He stepped right up to where I stood. He raised his large right hand. He placed the freezing cold steel barrel of the gun directly under my chin.

He pushed the metal upward, forcefully tilting my head up to meet his gaze. Mischievous, mocking silver eyes stared back at me. Mischief danced in the center of his dark pupils. He thrived on my terror.

"Wanna use it again?" he smirked. His voice dripped with sadistic challenge.

The metal pressed tightly against my soft skin, sending a jolt of ice straight down my spine. Paralyzed by pure fear, trapped beneath the weight of his threat, my brain short-circuited. I simply shook my head under the terrifying gunpoint. The side-to-side motion rubbed my bruised jaw raw against the rigid gun barrel. I forgot his cardinal rule. I forgot about his zero-tolerance policy for silent answers.

His silver eyes darkened instantly. The mocking amusement vanished, replaced by a ruthless, punishing wrath.

Dante reached out and wrapped his massive hand around a thick fistful of my hair. He wrenched my hair back in a brutal, bone-jarring grip. A terrified, pathetic moan tore past my lips. My scalp burned like fire. Hot tears sprang to my eyes, blurring his sharp features into a menacing halo.

"If you don't want to use your tongue then tell me, I'll pluck it out for you..." he growled in a low pitch. The freezing threat in his tone promised unimaginable agony.

"I am sorry, please don't." I pleaded.

I sobbed openly. My trembling hands flew up, uselessly clutching at his thick, massive wrist. I desperately clung to the very hand ripping at my scalp in a pitiful attempt to alleviate the searing pain. His pulse beat steady and calm beneath my frantic, trembling fingers. He enjoyed my desperate begging. He held the punishing grip for an agonizing stretch of time, letting my sobs fill the silent kitchen. Then, a low, satisfied hum vibrated in his broad chest. He slowly let go, uncurling his long fingers and releasing my hair strand by strand. I gasped for air, tears spilling over my lashes as I tried to massage the throbbing pain away from my roots.

He did not step back to give me room to breathe. Instead, he advanced. Dante swiftly caged my shaking body against the cold kitchen wall. He placed a heavy hand flat onto the plaster right beside my head. He leaned his massive frame in impossibly close. He invaded my personal space until there was not even a breath of air between us. He turned his head and rubbed his jaw against my cheek. His rough morning stubble scratched painfully against my soft, bruised skin. He took a long, deep drag of breath, inhaling my natural scent right from the curve of my neck in a twisted, possessive display of affection. It looked like a lover's embrace to an outside observer, but to me, it felt like a predator marking its fresh kill.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I could not stop my body from trembling. The sheer brutality radiating from his towering form reminded me of the monster hiding beneath the tailored suit. I was still shattered from last night's brutality. I lacked the strength to fight a new battle. But I knew his moods. He was ready to play his sick psychological games again, and I was the designated pawn on his bloody chessboard.

"The rules are, if you give honest answers then I'll let you go and if you lie then I fuck you." he stated casually.

He delivered the vile threat in a conversational tone. The blunt edge of his words sent my stomach churning with crushing nausea. The sickening promise hung heavy in the stifling air between us. My chest heaved up and down. I kept my eyes clamped shut, too terrified to face the monster holding my sanity hostage. Hot tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, tracing damp paths down my stinging cheeks as the rapid-fire interrogation began.

"So tell me, Angel. How did you come home last night?"

I swallowed the massive lump of terror lodged in my dry throat.

"Catherine dropped me off." I breathlessly confessed the truth in a rushed whisper.

A heavy silence stretched. He evaluated my answer, searching for the slightest tremor of deceit in my tone. Then, his large hand cupped my jaw. He leaned in and pressed a dry, approving peck to my trembling lips. It was his twisted version of a reward.

"Good." he murmured.

He brushed his thumb across my cheekbone, smearing my falling tears.

"How many times did you smile yesterday?"

My breath hitched in my chest. He knew the answer before the question even left his mouth. He monitored my every waking second. He had a massive network of eyes watching my routine. He demanded that my smiles belong exclusively to him. A smile directed at a coworker or a stranger on the street was a crime punishable by extreme pain.

"None. Not a single time. I didn't smile at anyone yesterday." I swore to him with pure sincerity.

He rewarded me with another firm peck on the lips. He accepted the grim reality of my isolated, miserable existence. Then, his tone shifted. It dropped a full octave into a dangerous, gravelly register.

"Next question, how badly do you want to leave from here?" he demanded.

My eyes snapped wide open. I stared up into his stormy silver gaze, searching the icy depths for a hidden trap. Why would he ask me this? He knew I felt like a prisoner living in a nightmare. To lie would trigger his wrath and the vile punishment he had just outlined. I had to tell the truth.

"Really bad!" I mumbled honestly.

I prayed to God that the stark, brutal truth would not push him into a sudden rage. I braced for a slap, for a thick hand around my throat, for the metallic taste of my own blood.

Instead of exploding, he simply smirked. The arrogant curl of his lips pushed me further into his suffocating psychological trap. He leaned even closer, pressing his broad chest flush against my ribs.

"How much do you hate me?"

He threw the impossible question directly at my face. Knowing that a single lie meant a brutal punishment, I swallowed my deep fear. I gathered the shredded remnants of my courage and decided to hand him the bitter, unfiltered truth he craved.

"As much as you hate kindness." I gave him the answer, holding his dangerous stare.

A tense beat of silence passed between us. Then, he threw his dark head back. The deep, booming sound of his laughter bounced off the kitchen walls. He chuckled loudly, finding genuine, twisted amusement in my raw hatred for him. He hated the world, and he delighted in the fact that I despised him just as much. He lowered his head and proudly pecked my lips once more, leaving a dark seal of approval on my defiant honesty.

The brief moment of levity vanished in a heartbeat. The air in the kitchen grew thick and heavy once again. He circled back to his cruelest, most dangerous question yet. He raised the gun, lifting the cold steel barrel into my line of sight.

"Now tell me, how many bullets you want to empty in my head..."

My heart crashed against my ribs in a frantic rhythm. There was no escaping this final trap. I slowly opened my eyes wider. I glanced down at the deadly weapon resting dominant in his firm grip, tracing the lethal mechanics of the metal. Then, I dragged my gaze up to meet his. I looked straight into his endlessly amused, psychotic silver eyes. He wanted the darkest, most forbidden part of my soul laid bare in the morning light.

"All." I whispered. My voice emerged as barely a breath in the tense room.

The confession hung heavy in the space between us. It was an act of pure treason. It was a death sentence spoken out loud.

I acted on pure survival instinct. I flinched back, flattening my rigid spine flush against the cold plaster wall. I shut my eyes tightly. I braced my entire body, locking my joints and waiting for the devastating, bone-breaking blow I was sure would follow. I waited for the agonizing pain to explode across my vision.

The strike never came.

Instead of raising a clenched fist to strike me down, his large hand descended upon my head gently. His long, calloused fingers combed through my tangled hair with an almost loving, tender caress. The sheer incongruity of his soft touch against my gritty confession twisted my mind into tight knots.

"My little Vixen." he murmured softly. The dark endearment coated the air.

A loud, obnoxious horn blared from the street outside. The sharp noise cut through the window glass and instantly shattered the heavy, dangerous tension wrapping around us. Catherine was waiting in her car. She was parked right on the curb outside my front door.

I quickly looked up at Dante. My defensive stance broke. My eyes silently, desperately begged for permission to leave his suffocating presence. I needed to escape this torture chamber. I needed fresh air.

Surprisingly, he smoothly stepped out of my way. He lowered the heavy weapon and holstered his gun inside his tailored jacket with a fluid, nonchalant motion.

"You won. Go!" he declared.

I hovered in front of him in stun for a split second. My brain short-circuited trying to process his sudden mercy. He never showed mercy. Another loud honk sounded from the street. The noise snapped me out of my trance. I grabbed my purse from the hook on the wall. I did not look back. I sprinted blindly out of the room, my boots thudding hard against the floorboards.

As I fled toward the exit, I caught a fleeting glimpse of him over my shoulder. He stood in the center of the living room, watching me run. He wore that signature, mischievous, calculating look on his sharp face. His dark eyes tracked my every movement.

He is planning something sinister. A cold shiver raced down my spine as my hand hit the doorknob. There is no way on earth he just let me go this easily.