Her Mafia Daddy - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

I rocked back and forth and tried not to think about that. How has this become my life? Two days ago I was an eighteen-year-old woman with a boyfriend on her way to a prestigious college. I planned to study botany. Something with plants and science where I could be outdoors. Now I was locked in a dungeon in Italy, being forced to marry some mafia prince I didn't want.
Tiny claws skittered across the stone and I froze. Oh, my God. What was that? A mouse? No, it sounded big, more like a rat. I curled up as tight as I could, holding my shaking knees to my chest. I hoped Ravazzani found my rat-eaten corpse. It would serve him right, the asshole. My brain must have checked out at that point, because I don't remember anything else until strong arms lifted me off the ground. A warm muscled chest met the side of my face and I didn't fight. I couldn't. I clung to my rescuer, desperate for escape. "I am so sorry, signorina."
The voice was new, one I didn't recognize, but I didn't care. Someone had come to save me, thank sweet baby Jesus And it wasn't Rafael
Ravazzani. He began carrying me up the stairs. "My father can be a real bastard sometimes."
The words were spoken quietly, as if he were speaking to himself. "You are Dimitri ." I hiccuped into the rough skin of his throat, tears still leaking from my eyes.
"I am. You must be Valentina Mancini." I nodded and tried to burrow closer into him, desperate to purge the lingering cold from my bones. "Th-thank you for rescuing me."
"You never should have been down there in the first place. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."
"Your father…."
"Has a temper And you stabbed him with a pen. Not that I am excusing his behaviour." We reached the top of the stairs and the wide expanse of stars stretched overhead in the dark sky. The knot in my chest loosened and I dragged in my first real deep breath since getting off the plane. I could smell dirt and grass, a balm to my ragged nerves. You're okay. You aren't locked in any more. "You can put me down," I told him through my chattering teeth.
"I can walk."
"Forgive me if I don't believe you. You were practically catatonic when I found you a few moments ago." I was? I sighed and rested my head on my arm. "I don't do well in small spaces."
Dimitri cursed in Italian. "I apologise, Valentina . I would like to think he wouldn't have put you there had he known…."
Valentina's POV
The implication was clear that Rafael Ravazzani was no stranger to cruelty. That he would gladly use a person's weakness against them. Jesus, What a prize. Before I could comment, we entered the castle. A small room led into a kitchen, which was surprisingly modern for a place with an actual dungeon. "I'll have Zia bring up hot tea," Dimitri said as he continued into the house.
"That's my aunt. She lives with us and does most of the cooking." Calming down, I began to look around curious about this different type of prison. The contrast with the dungeon was startling. What I could see was light and airy with gleaming wood accents and light plaster walls.
Huge oval windows were framed with tasteful draperies and tile covered the floor. It was even nicer than our home in Toronto. Surprisingly, I didn't see any security cameras. That was information I stored away for future use. "This is my wing of the house," Dimitri said.
"My father stays on the other side." Thank God. I had no desire to see Rafael Ravazzani ever again. Dimitri carried me past several rooms, including a study with shelves of books and a music room. He paused in the middle of the corridor. "That is my room, the large door at the end. This one here is your room."
The room was bigger than I expected, with a king-sized bed that had an ornate metal headboard. An antique chaise and vintage dressing table made up the other side. It was both feminine yet classic and I couldn't help but admire it. As much as one can admire a prison. Dimitri continued through the room to a small bathroom.
The size of the room quickened my heartbeat again, so I took a deep breath as he set me on the tile countertop. I was out of the dungeon and never, ever going back. Dimitri stepped away and thrust his hands into his pockets. Messy dark brown hair fell across his forehead effortlessly, a look that actors and rock stars probably paid a stylist a shit ton of money for. He had his dad's jaw and eyes, but his face was longer.
More elegant. Whereas Ravazzani was brutally handsome, Dimitri was refined and gorgeous And his body was rangy and thin, not yet filled out with the strength of his father. Various tattoos ran along his forearms. Gia was right, Dimitri was a total snack. "Are you a model?" I blurted, only half-joking.
The side of his mouth hitched. "I could ask you the same, Valentina Mancini. After all, modelling is in your blood and I am told you look like your mother."