Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Seeing her father waiting for them on the edge of the dance floor had helped to bring him back into focus.
No one was going to take the true pleasure away from him. Wiping out Russo, raising a son to one day fight by his side.
“Russo,” he said, as they were shown toward the main office.
Damon had already figured out the best exits and clocked all of Russo’s men. To his surprise, there were not that many. Only three men were close to Russo, which must mean his sources were, in fact, correct.
He was losing the fight to keep his soldiers intact. Some of them had tried to come to his side, but he’d pushed them away. No way in hell was he going to accept them.
Milah sat in her father’s office, her hands clasped together, not even looking at the man she called a parent. Antonio didn’t look at her, which seemed to piss Damon off.
He didn’t understand the family dynamic between the two of them. Even though his own father had been the head of the house, Damon still missed him and would have traded anything to have more time with the old bastard. He loved him that much. The same went for his mother as well.
The Russos were nothing but strangers.
“Don’t you think your daughter looks beautiful?” Damon asked.
“She looks like a slut,” Antonio said.
Those hands clenched. He saw the distinctive whitening of her knuckles.
“Be careful, Russo,” Damon said, standing up. “Do you want a repeat of last time? I don’t believe you have anything else to bargain with. I already own your daughter.”
“And you’re not going to marry her?” Russo asked.
Damon chuckled. “That wasn’t part of the deal, remember?” This was a good time to let Milah see exactly what her father was made of.
He rounded the chairs and put his hands on her shoulders. She tensed up at his touch but still didn’t look at her father.
“Should I tell her exactly what you bargained for? What you were willing to allow your daughter to become, just so you could live your sorry excuse for a life?” He leaned in close to Milah’s ear. His breath fanned across her flesh.
Milah was aroused by him. He had some semblance of power over her. It was only minimal, but it was there, and he intended to exploit it from every possible angle he could.
Even if it meant her nipples showed her attraction to him, or the subtle way she tried to press her thighs together.
When he wasn’t in Milah’s company, he spent a great deal of time watching her. The art of winning was to know what his opponent’s next move was and to read them. He’d been reading Milah, and she was a fascinating book. One he enjoyed immensely.
“I don’t think you know exactly what your father was willing to have you do, Milah.”
“Enough,” Russo said.
“He begged me for his life, and I told him that if he wanted to live, then he was going to have to give me something precious.” He chuckled. “He told me he had nothing. I said to him, what about Milah?” He kissed her neck. “He laughed at me and said no one wants my daughter.”
She turned her head away. He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him so she saw the sincerity in his eyes, even as he tormented her father.
He had more men on the dance floor having fun than Russo had to protect him. It would be so easy to end this dance here and now, but Damon didn’t want to put a premature ending to this.
He intended to enjoy watching Russo fall. Seeing him suffer every single step of the way. That was the real part of his plan.
“But I wanted you,” Damon said. “I looked him in the eye and said I wanted Milah Russo to serve me. To be at my beck and call. To be my mistress. Not my wife, but my little plaything. To fuck, to tease, to be all mine. There is no escape for you, Milah. I made it abundantly clear that once he gave you to me, there was no going back. You are mine, and your job is simple—to worship my cock. That virgin cunt will know no other dick but mine.”
He turned to look at Russo.
“Leave!”
He raised his voice loud enough for the door to open, and then, at his command, his men took Milah out of the office, so it was only him and Russo. After extracting his knife from his jacket, he pressed the tip of the blade against the desk.
Russo attempted to look unaffected, but Damon watched him, knowing he unnerved the pathetic loser before him.
The one and only Antonio Russo was nearly at his knees. Already drowning in debt. Each of his revenue sources had dried up. The men no longer respected him. Why would they when the first real test of strength had shown how weak he was? Begging for his life. Seeing him give up his precious daughter just so he could live.