My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 3 Read online

  ***

  I woke up feeling groggy. I touched my head, finding a bandage wrapped around it. A phone rang, making me push out of bed. My body went wobbly. I sat back down, using my hands to steady myself. The phone continued ringing, the shrill noise hurting my head. I got to my feet slowly, making sure I didn’t fall over, then walked clumsily to the phone, my body not working in sync with my brain. I leaned against the desk and picked up the phone, “Prego.”

  The Donatelli don’s voice came over the line. “Buon giorno, Frano,” he said, saying good morning.

  “Buon giorno,” I replied without thought.

  “Are you well enough for my famiglia to visit tonight? We still need to sort out this issue with your cousin.”

  I frowned, feeling like I’d had this conversation before, but not knowing for sure, my mind still groggy from whatever the hell was fucking with my memories, because right now I couldn’t remember shit.

  “Frano? Are you still there?” the don said, practically shouting, the man obviously not wearing his hearing aid.

  I removed the phone from my ear then placed it back, my head killing me. “Mi dispiace,” I apologized. “I got distracted. What issue are you referring to?”

  “Gabriel’s punishment, of course. You agreed to allow my brother to whip him.”

  I placed a hand to my head, rubbing my throbbing temple, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t. “I thought you had Jagger,” I finally said, now wondering whether I’d dreamed my cousin’s screams. I couldn’t remember why he’d been screaming; just that it was to do with the Donatelli.

  “Of course we don’t have him,” the don said, “otherwise why would I be calling?”

  “I ... I don’t know.”

  “Are you still unwell, Frano?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to show him any weakness. “But I must go. Grazie for calling, I will see you tonight.”

  “Buono,” the don said, hanging up.

  I put the phone down and headed for the door, wondering why the hell I was wearing the black pajamas Alberto’s wife had bought me, because I only ever slept in my birthday suit.

  I exited my room, wincing as I called out for Jagger and Alberto. The door two down from mine opened. Alberto’s wife stepped into the hallway, the purse in her hand suggesting she was about to go out. Her long blonde hair was hanging loose and she was wearing a floral dress, the multi-hued satin kissing her curvaceous figure.

  She walked up to me. “I’m happy you’re awake, Frano, but you shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “You had a nasty fall from your horse.”

  “I don’t remember going out riding.”

  “Well, you did. You’ve only just come back from the hospital. You’ve been in an induced coma for three days. Your brain swelled from the knock, which was why you were put into the coma.”

  I shook my head, instantly regretting the movement. “Where’s Jagger? I need to see him,” I need to know if he’s alright, because something was telling me he wasn’t, and the mention of the whipping also felt wrong.

  “He’s in New York dealing with the American slaves.”

  “I thought he’d returned.”

  “No, he’s still there.”

  “But, he needs to be home tonight for the Donatelli.”

  “Well, that’s impossibile.”

  I rubbed my head, feeling like I’d been hit by a bus. “Where’s Alberto? I must talk to him.”

  “He’s around the house somewhere.”

  “And Federico?” I asked, a vague memory—or dream of him being shot returning.

  She frowned. “He’s dead.”

  I shook my head, although my gut was telling me it was true. I could hear the shots firing in my head, just couldn’t see who was pulling the trigger.

  “You ordered his execution,” Bianca added. “He was FBI.”

  I placed my hands on my head. “I wouldn’t have done that, I was using him to pass on false information.”

  “I know, but he found out and tried to run, which was why you had to take him out.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  She placed a hand on my arm. “You really should go back to bed. I’ll call the dottore.”

  “No.” Shrugging her hand off, I headed for the staircase, getting annoyed when she followed. I took a step down the staircase, then reached for the railing, almost losing my footing.

  Bianca grabbed my arm, steadying me. Not wanting help, I pulled free and continued, concentrating on not falling down the stairs. Once I’d reached the bottom, I scanned the dining-room and main lounge. They were empty, just my antique furniture and tapestries filling them, no servants laying the table, the place spookily quiet, like the calm after a storm.

  I headed for the cells, wanting to see the new slave, my mind unable to bring up her name, just the memory of her tight body on top of me, riding my cock, making me groan... I stopped and leaned against the wall, rubbing my head again, frustrated that my memories were all a jumbled blur with giant chunks missing.

  Bianca touched my arm again.

  I spun around on her. “Stop following me!”

  She took a step back, looking shocked, but I didn’t care, other than seeing the new slave, the one that Jagger had ... was meant to bring back.

  I stumbled down the basement staircase, my footing still clumsy. I wondered whether I’d been drugged, because my mind felt weighed down, making it hard to remember anything let alone putting one foot in front of the other.

  Outside the cells stood a guard I didn’t know, his bright blue eyes reminding me of the Donatelli. “Who are you?” I asked.

  The guard straightened. “Carlo.”

  “You’re not the guard for here, Federico is.”

  “He’s dead.”

  Bianca’s words came back to me. I knew Federico was dead, the feeling way too strong, but for some goddamned reason my heart hurt. I didn’t understand why, because he was a FBI agent, but sorrow still filled me, telling me I’d lost more than a guard.

  I pushed the unease to the back of my mind, deciding to deal with it later, because I wanted to ... NO ... I needed to see the brunette slave first. “Open the door,” I said to the guard.

  The guard unlocked the door, and pulled it open for me. I stepped into the room, then stopped in my tracks, the naked woman on the bed taking me by surprise. Jagger’s Honey sat up, the blonde slave tensing, her fear almost tangible.

  “You...” I said. “You’re supposed to be in Spain.”

  She opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a word, fear probably silencing her.

  The guard placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don.”

  I spun around. “Don’t touch me! Why is everyone touching me?!”

  The guard stepped back, his expression worried. “Do you need a dottore?”

  “No, I need my head to work!” I placed my hands on my head, just wanting everything to make sense.

  Heavy footsteps sounded, then Alberto appeared in the doorway, my brother’s bulky form heading straight for me.

  I took a step back, not understanding why I was weary of him. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said, reaching for me.

  I stepped to the side, avoiding his hands. “Tell me why Federico was killed?” I said, needing to hear it from my brother’s mouth, the only person I trusted.

  “He found out we knew he was an informant. He panicked and ran. We had to shoot him.”

  “But, why don’t I remember giving the order?”

  “You took a heavy knock to your head when you fell off your horse. The dottore said you might suffer some memory loss.”

  “Some? I can’t remember anything!”

  “Calm down, it’ll come back. Just go back to bed; maybe things’ll be clearer tomorrow.”

  “No, the Donatelli are coming, and they’re expecting Jagger to be here.”

  “I will sort things out, you j
ust rest.” He placed a hand on my back, moving me toward the door.

  I pulled away and looked back at Honey, who was staring at us. She dropped her gaze when she noticed me looking. “Why isn’t that slave in Spain?” I said.

  “Her sale fell through. I’m arranging for her to be sent to the Black Russian, but she needs to be retrained for his tastes, and since Jagger and Mario are away, you said you would do it.”

  “Where’s Mario?”

  “In Japan acquiring new slaves.”

  “Then get Jagger back.”

  “I can’t, he’s tied up with the American orders. They’re coming in too fast, which is why he’s staying in the New York compound for a while.”

  My gaze moved back to the blonde slave, wishing she was... “Where is Rita?” I said, the name suddenly coming back to me.

  “Who’s Rita?”

  “The new slave: the fake brunette.”

  “We don’t have any brunettes, only blondes at the moment.”

  The memory of Rita’s long brown hair returned, and the way it blanketed her back as she bounced on my cock. “She rode me in my bathtub and gave me a blowjob right there,” I said, pointing to the floor a few feet away.

  Alberto laughed. “I think you were having a wet dream, brother.”

  “No, it was real.”

  Alberto placed a hand on my back again. “No, it isn’t, so go back to bed, and when you feel better you can start retraining Honey.”

  “But...”

  “No buts, I’m your brother; I’m here to look out for you.” When I didn’t reply, he took a hold of my face and looked into my eyes. “Frano, you must let me take care of you, it’s what you would do for me. So, please, go back to bed and leave things to me.”

  I nodded, knowing I could trust him with my life.

  4

  Rita

  I woke up groaning, my aching head making me want to cradle it. But I couldn’t, the rope around my wrists keeping my hands behind my back. I opened my eyes, a rank smell of piss making my stomach turn. I shifted away from my spot on the cold damp floor, and scanned the dark room apprehensively. Shadows in the shape of people spotted the floor. Some were curled up while others lay huddled together, probably to combat the cold.

  “Where am I?” I said.

  “Hell,” a female voice answered.

  I squinted through the dark, searching for its source. “Where are you?”

  “By the door.”

  Across the room, I spotted the darkened form of a person leaning next to a door, light leaking underneath it.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Red. I’m Mario’s slave.”

  “I know you.”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” she said, her German accent strong.

  “What happened?”

  “The Donatelli took us. They took our Masters too. I hear Mario yelling from the next cell, Jagger too.” She let out a sob. “They hurt him the most.”

  “What about Frano?”

  “I haven’t heard him.”

  My stomach dropped at the thought that he could be dead. “Why are we here, what do the Donatelli want from us?”

  “To use as prostitutes.” She let out another sob. “Mario may have been cruel at times, but I love him, and he showed me he loved me back, but these people.... They aren’t even people, they too evil to be. When they come for you don’t complain, don’t make a sound, even when it hurts, or they will make it hurt more or worse, they will render you voiceless.”

  “Voiceless?”

  “One of Mario’s other slaves, the skinny one, complained because too many men were inside of her. They cut her throat as an example for the rest of us to be quiet.”

  My heart sank, remembering the woman the Donatelli man had turned down because she was too skinny. My mind went to Mario’s other slave. “And the black girl? Is she alive?”

  “Yes. She’s kept elsewhere. I saw her once when a man wanted more than one woman. Her eyes are dead, and we have only been here three days.”

  “I’ve been unconscious for three days?”

  “Yes. I thought you were dead. It would’ve been better for you if you were.”

  I ignored her comment. “Who are these women?” I asked, indicating to the huddled forms.

  “Prostitutes. The Donatelli call them fori, which means holes. They are rented out to common men.” She exhaled loudly. “Thankfully, I have not been used in that manner—yet.”

  A scream went up, making me stiffen. It was masculine.

  “That’s Jagger,” Red said. “I wish they would kill him, it would be a mercy for that poor man.”

  “Wish for better things, like the priest’s death.” I pushed up and walked over to her. “Move away from the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when the guard opens it I’m going to take him out.”

  “Your hands are tied and he’s armed.”

  “I’ve untied myself with very little before, I’ll do it again.”

  “No, you’ll just waste their bullets and lose your life, and possibly mine. Just sit down and wait for them, see what they are like before you act.”

  Knowing she was right, I slid down the wall to sit next to her. My thoughts shifted to Frano, and how he’d tried to protect me from my traitorous husband. “My husband betrayed me,” I said, feeling like crying. “I thought he was sent to the Donatelli as a slave, but he wasn’t—he is a Donatelli.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Matt.”

  “Matteo?”

  “Yes, they call him that.”

  “The girls said he trains the male slaves.”

  Another scream went up, Jagger pleading for mercy.

  “I wish they would kill him,” Red repeated. “It would be kinder.”

  “You want everyone dead.”

  “No, only the ones in agony, and at least I don’t hear Mario scream, I couldn’t handle that. I only hear him shouting, not screaming like Jagger or that Russian man.”

  I clenched my fists, wishing I had stomped on the priest’s neck when I had the opportunity—regardless of the consequences.

  The door next to us opened, the light from the hallway breaking through the darkness. As though it would burn them, the women scurried to the opposite side of the room, only Red remaining by my side. She looked up at the guard in expectation, making me wonder whether she was sitting by the door to get noticed. I wanted to ask why she wasn’t like the rest, but remained silent.

  A heavy-set man with a potbelly looked down at me and Red. “You two. Up.”

  Red helped me to my feet, her hands not tied. We followed the guard out of the cell, which appeared to be one of many, eight at a quick glance.

  “Forward,” the guard said, indicating with his gun.

  We headed up the staircase, both of us naked. Turning the corner, we came upon a large room filled with beds, a number of them occupied. A few feet away from me, a fat man grunted on top of a woman, the woman remaining still, her eyes dead. Another man headed down an aisle, stopping by a black woman—not Mario’s slave. The man took his clothes off then climbed on top her, the woman not moving.

  I looked at the guard, knowing I would fight to the death to stop that from happening to me, but instead of pushing me towards a bed he shoved me up another staircase. Red walked ahead of us as though she knew where to go, the guard ordering her to slow down.

  I stopped at the top, the opulence stunning me. It looked like the decorator had thrown up the worst of the Baroque period, everything over the top, the large room nothing but an eyesore. Golds and reds filled the space, while floral curves abounded. Large white sculptures with expressions belonging to people in ecstasy were positioned between uncomfortable-looking furniture, the settees not giving the appearance they were made to be sat on.

  Both Red and I were directed across the lounge, then up another flight of stairs and down a passage. We came to a stop in front of a door, where another guard stood, a grisly man who
reminded me of Federico. A stab of pain speared me, the memory of seeing Matt shooting Federico making me want to cry. I may not have known him for long, but right now I wished he was alive and Matt was dead. That thought hurt too, because I didn’t understand how I could go from loving a man to wanting him dead within such a short space of time. I had laughed with him, told him my biggest secrets, cuddled him—and had made love to him. He may not have thought of it as love, but I did, and the memory of that old Matt, even if he was a lie, was hard to let go.

  The Federico clone opened the door for us, telling someone inside: “The women are here.”

  “Enter,” a voice came from within.

  The first guard pushed both me and Red through the doorway. My eyes instantly went to Matt. He was sitting on the bed dressed in camo pants and a tight black top, smiling at me as though everything was a big fat joke. He pointed to the floor. “Kneel.”

  The guard shoved me and Red to our knees.

  Matt wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You stink of piss. Move back,” he said, waving his hand at us.

  Red shuffled back, but I remained still, glaring at the bastard. I wanted to yell and scream at him, but I couldn’t even utter a word, my anger making me mute. I’d mourned the bastard when all along he’d been playing me, laughing at my pain and leading me to hurt another man over his deceit.

  “Move her back,” Matt said to the guard.

  The guard grabbed my hair and forced me to where Red was.

  “That’ll do for now,” Matt said, “I don’t plan on staying long.” A mischievous grin spread across his face, one that I used to love. “I hear you’ve been cheating on me with Frano.”

  “I wasn’t cheating, he raped me.”

  “I didn’t see that footage, only the one where you raped him. Father Michael wanted to see Jagger fucking, so when I was ‘working’ for Frano I installed some cameras in the cells.”

  I stared at him in horror.

  “Not going to defend yourself?” He tsked. “Not like you could anyway. I watched how you sucker-punched Frano, then tied him up to have your wicked way with him, which almost led to Father Michael fucking him. Then you came to his rescue. I never took you for the love at first sight kind of girl; it took you three months to drop your knickers for me,” he pulled a face, looking as if he found the thought repulsive, “yet with Frano you tied him up on the second day, then finger-fucked him until he came—twice actually, because I also saw you groping his ass when you were made to blow him. But I can hardly blame you, considering he does have a very nice toosh,” he said, camping up his voice. “Definitely worthy of fucking.” He waved a hand at me. “Don’t worry, dear, I like getting fucked, not fucking, you kind of put me off that for good. Still, I feel rather insulted you fucked Frano harder than me. You never made me come on my own face...” He cracked up, his laughter now replacing his words.