Natalia

 

The sound of the door opening froze me in place. I was sitting on the ground with my knees to my chest, still naked. I was shivering as much from the fear as from the cold. Once again, I was being thrust into a situation where the rules were unknown and everyone around me was more powerful than I was. I wondered if I would ever be more than just a victim.

 

The hinges were greased and silent. The door swung a tiny bit inward, then shut again. I’d been expecting the haunting man who’d bought me to enter and have his way with me. But the person who actually came in was even worse.

 

“Serves you right, you murdering whore,” Alessandra said. She crossed her arms and snaked towards me, placing one heeled foot in front of the other. Her stilettos were midnight black and their spikes descended into a vicious point where they met the ground.

 

“I’m not a murderer,” I said quietly.

 

She pounced across the distance remaining between us, bent over, and seized my cheeks between her fingers. Her sharp nails dug into my flesh, drawing pinpricks of blood. Her eyes were wild and furious. Taut lines of anger were etched into her face. “You are whatever I say you are, do you understand that?” she spat. “You are a slut. You are a murderer. Say it.”

 

I stayed silent.

 

“Say it!” she roared, shaking my head and squeezing harder.

 

“I’m a slut,” I sobbed. “I’m a murderer.”

 

She released me and straightened up. The insane wrinkles disappeared from her temples and she became the picture of calm once again. Just a prim, attractive woman, too small for anyone to suspect the demon lurking inside of her. “Good.” She nodded, satisfied. “That is good for you to admit those things.”

 

She turned and began pacing around the room. As she passed the torture utensils hung up on the wall, she stroked them lovingly between her fingers, like the braided leather whips were precious to her. They might have been. Maybe she’d used them before, or maybe she just liked the idea of objects that inflicted pain. Neither one would have surprised me.

 

“You know, Natalia,” she said as she continued to round the small cell, “I never liked you. From the very beginning, you swayed Marco under your spell. I don’t know how you did it, but I hated you for it.” She spun to face me again.

 

“I didn’t,” I protested.

 

“Why did you kill him?” she asked. Her voice was soft and buttery smooth.

 

“I swear to you, I didn’t kill him.”

 

She tilted her head to the side. I noticed the tic was the exact same one that Cosimo had. I wondered if she’d learned it from him or the other way around, or if all psychopaths had the same mannerisms.

 

“Let’s change the subject,” she said abruptly. She knelt in front of me again. This time, instead of grabbing me roughly, she cupped my chin gently between her fingertips. “You are very beautiful, I must admit,” she said.

 

I sniffled my tears and didn’t say a word. I was terrified of pressing the wrong button and unleashing the river of rage that ran so close to her surface.

 

“I hope your new owner will treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

 

Still, I kept quiet.

 

“Which is, of course, like a whore.” The anger wasn’t lashing out suddenly, but I could feel it slowly simmering again, building back up to an intense inferno. She whipped around and stalked over to a chest of drawers shoved against the far wall. Opening one up, she pulled something out. When she turned to walk back to me, I saw something leather dangling in her hands.

 

A collar.

 

It was hard to breathe as she leaned over and buckled it around my neck. Not because of the tightness of the leather strap, but because of everything it represented. She wanted me to feel less than human. Like an animal headed for the slaughter. It was working. I could feel myself crumbling.

 

“I want you to know that when your man gets in here, he is going to ravage you. You will be lucky to walk out alive. Do you know that, dear?” she said. “Oh, tut, tut, darling, you’re crying!” She wiped away a solitary tear as it trekked down my face. “You mustn’t cry. Men don’t like that at all. No, when he fills you, I want you to beg for more, like the slut you are.”

 

I was collared, naked, and vulnerable to the entire world. I couldn’t help myself now. I had to ask her. “Why are you doing all this?” I said in a choked voice.

 

She was quiet for a moment as she stood once again, considering me where I sat on the floor. She began to retreat towards the door, one step at a time, without breaking eye contact.

 

“I didn’t kill Marco, I swear,” I sobbed again.

 

“I know you didn’t,” she told me. “I did.” Then the door shut.