He started with a blowjob, fisting her hair and force-feeding Beth his erection until she’d taken him down to the root. He fucked her face, taking pleasure in her scrabbling hands and the muted whimpers that escaped anytime she didn’t have his length shoved down her throat.

She’d married a monster.

A sadist, anyway. There were limits to his perversions. At least, that’s what she told herself. She couldn’t envision him permanently marking or disfiguring her. When he’d bound her to the St. Andrew’s cross with her nipples clamped, an anal plug up her ass, and a pussy full of frozen grapes, he was careful to not leave marks where they would be seen by anyone but him.

He’d used a flogger, a paddle, a crop, a more aggressive paddle, a tawse, and a cane until her skin bloomed red, white, and blue with bruises and weals. When her flesh was marked just the way he wanted, he’d replaced the anal plug with his cock and had taken her where she stood.

Now she was lying on her back with her weight on her abused flesh, bound spread-eagle to the four corners of the bed.

At least the nipple clamps were off.

Matteo selected his next toy. Pricking her skin with a Wartenberg wheel, he traversed her body like a surveyor making his marks. Occasionally, he stopped and pulled out another grape, succulent with her juices, and popped it in his mouth.

Eventually, he ate them all.

Matteo had made a soundtrack for tonight. The current album was by a Russian acoustical guitarist whose arrangements were as clever as some of Matteo’s kinks.

Beth was learning about her husband, but more than that, she was learning about herself. In the four months that they’d been together, he had conditioned her to yearn for his touch. She didn’t consider herself a painslut, but she enjoyed when he started getting rough. When it crossed the line and became something that she needed to bear, she had learned to be patient, knowing that her compliance would eventually be rewarded. When she’d told herself that she would do anything to keep alive and stay with her son, she never realized that she would come to crave Matteo like a drug.

He left her for a moment. She whimpered at the loss. The soundtrack changed again, this time to an Italian female vocalist, Alessandra Amoroso. Beth recognized the song. The sultry pop ballad with its driving rhythm was one of his favorite songs to fuck to.

Just that fast, her body reacted, nerve endings lighting up like a Vegas slot machine announcing that a payout was at hand. Mounting the bed, Matteo climbed between her legs, notched the head of his cock in her pussy, and claimed her in a single, searing thrust that reached her very soul.

She cried out from the force of it.

The weight of his body pinned her hips to the mattress. When he started driving into her, the soft bottom sheet abraded the tender flesh of her backside. Every move became exquisite torture. Pleasure entwined with pain.

The intensity on his face was mesmerizing. The gleam in his dark eyes was one of pure triumph. He had coveted her tears, and she had given them. But if he could make her cry and beg for more, didn’t that make her just as messed up as he was? The twisted truth was, he had dragged her down into his world and made her want to stay.

Despite the danger.

Despite the pain.

She was his, for better or for worse, with all that it entailed. Matteo might use her like a cumslut in the bedroom, but he demanded that others respect her as his wife and the mother of his son.

Like his father and grandfathers before him, Matteo protected what was his.

The music changed and he picked up the pace until he was jackhammering into her like a well-oiled machine. Sweat beaded his skin and dripped from his hair. His lungs were labored from his efforts. His breathing grew increasingly ragged. Near the end of the next song, his rhythm broke. Burying himself to the hilt, he erupted inside her and filled her with his seed.

“Mine,” he growled. Flexing his buttocks, he pumped the last of his semen into her as the final notes of the song faded and the next one began.

Before he pulled out, he bent his dark head and kissed her.

Beth welcomed the press of his lips, the sweep of his tongue. Earlier, he’d eaten her pussy and teased her clit until she came. Now, he tasted like grapes, but the scent on his skin was all hers.

Matteo avoided fragrances. She’d never known him to use aftershave, let alone men’s cologne.

He was a hunter. Hunters didn’t advertise their positions.

Replete, he rolled to the side and lay with her, one arm draped over her chest with his hand on her breast. When she started to drift asleep, he freed her wrists and ankles.

“Roll over,” he said, pushing himself off the bed. “I need to put arnica cream on your ass. That, and get some analgesics in you.”

He came back with a tumbler of water, two pills, and a jar of the cream that he used to minimize bruising and speed the healing process. Despite his aftercare, she knew that she would feel their session for days.

This wasn’t the first time that he’d gone Medieval on her ass. It was the longest, though, and he’d used new things. She probably shouldn’t let him know how much she hated the tawse. Sadist that he was, he’d only use it again.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said. “Wash the sweat off. I’ll be quick. No shower for you until morning. If we take one now, I’ll want to fuck you again.”

He palmed her reddened ass and squeezed it, admiring his work. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

“Beautiful,” he rumbled, “but I don’t think you’re ready for more right now. Close your eyes, bella. Try to rest, even if you can’t sleep.”

Beth gladly stayed in bed when Matteo slipped away again, headed for the en-suite. Closing her eyes, she listened to his footfalls cross the room. The door latch clicked as he shut it behind him.

He didn’t take long. He was ruthlessly efficient in all aspects of life, from hunting monsters to making babies. Right now, an IUD was taking care of the latter. The first one was still a sore point with him. Matteo wouldn’t rest until the man who’d shot him was dead and his family’s honor was avenged. It might hurt her to be his wife, but she pitied anyone who made him an enemy.

She was thankful that he seemed to care for her, in his own twisted way. For a man so cold, he warmed around their son. He was still more of an observer than a caregiver, but he’d actually managed a grin or two when he was interacting with Dante.

She couldn’t wait until the baby called him dada. One word might be all it took to find that elusive heart of his. She knew it was in there. She glimpsed it when he was with his family. Otherwise, he kept it safely locked away, hidden from anyone else, including her.

Matteo came back to bed with fresh, minty breath and skin still warm from the heat of the shower. He lay down beside her and curled his body against her back. Beth drifted asleep, feeling protected if not loved.

A short time later, she came awake with a start, gripping her stomach and plagued by the sense that something was terribly wrong.

Her movements woke Matteo. In an instant, he was as wide awake as she was. He flipped on the nightstand’s lamp so that he could look at her. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she cried, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “I don’t know. I had the dream again.” It was a recurring one that she’d had since childhood of dark-clothed men breaking into the house and killing everyone there. “But I couldn’t go back into it. I couldn’t change it. I’ve always called for help or something chases them off, but tonight, they just kept coming and coming. The baby.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, afraid that she might vomit. “Matteo, call Bernardo.” When he looked less than receptive, she begged him. “Please! Oh, please! Something’s wrong. I can feel it. So close. If it’s not there, then here?”

She looked at the hallway door and tried to not imagine it bursting open. “Please, Matteo! Check with the soldatos. Maybe it’s a warning. Maybe it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe we can change it, make it go away.”

He thrust his fingers into his hair and shook his head. “It’s a dream, bella. But I’ll check. I—”

From the nightstand came the ominous ringtone of his father calling his cell phone. Matteo snatched it up, tapped it open, and put it to his ear.

“I’m here.”

A knock sounded on the bedroom door. Beth pulled the sheet up to her chin, hiding her nakedness. They knocked, she told herself. It’s one of ours. Bad men wouldn’t bother knocking.

Beside her, Matteo swore beneath his breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

He ended the call and looked at her. His expression was as grim as she’d ever seen it, even when he’d been wounded.

“Tell me,” she said, bracing herself.

“They hit the house.” Matteo grabbed his clothes and started throwing them on. “Bernardo’s dead. They took Constanza and Dante. They’re studying the security camera footage for anything they can find. I need you showered in five and ready to leave in ten. Go! Move!” He swiveled his head and yelled towards the hallway door. “Coming!”

Beth’s heart squeezed. She burst into tears and bit her fist to keep from screaming. Bernardo was dead. Their baby had been kidnapped. That it was done while they were gone was telling.

This wasn’t about Matteo. It was about his father.

Her backside protested, but she forced herself out of bed and ran to the en-suite while Matteo went to the hallway door. He had his hand on the knob, ready to open it as soon as she was out of sight.

The bathroom clock read 1:05. The sun wouldn’t be up for another six hours.

Beth used the commode while the water warmed. To save time, she lathered up and rinsed immediately off, praying while she washed, wrapping Dante in angel wings and bargaining with God for his safe return. Whoever had taken him had thrown a gauntlet, challenging Dom Visconti’s authority. Those responsible would need to be dealt with decisively.

They’d left on a one-night honeymoon. They might well be driving back into a war.

As soon as her shoes were on, Matteo hustled her outside and into his SUV. Their overnight bags had already been thrown in. Beth carried her purse with the filled, single-use syringe that her allergy required her to keep with her at all times. The four soldatos piled into their matching vehicle and followed close behind.

Beth knew how rattled Matteo was when he didn’t blindfold her. She buckled up and reclined the seat without being told. He shot her a look but said nothing.

She knew better than to speak without permission. Instead, she wove her fingers together and silently chanted, reciting prayers from every faith that she had ever studied, calling on Archangel Michael, Kwan Yin, Ganesha, and anyone else who was listening to protect and deliver Dante and Constanza.

The flying trip back to Diamond Springs took thirty-five minutes. Beth put her seat up when they were on the outskirts of town. As they approached the Visconti compound, Matteo made a call that let them pass unchallenged through the gate.

In the dark, she could see soldatos guarding the house and patrolling the grounds. They pulled to a stop at the front door. Beth grabbed her purse and followed Matteo inside.

“My room,” he said gruffly, nodding towards the stairs. “I want you to take a bath. Soak your muscles. Put more arnica cream on when you’re done. After that, try to sleep. If you can’t, then read a book. Watch TV. Whatever. You stay there until I send for you, capisci?”

“I understand.” He needed her where he could find her on an instant’s notice. Pray to God, it was to share good news, not bad.

Beth trudged up the stairs, her body hurting, her heart aching. As much as she needed Matteo right now, his father needed him more. Giovanni Visconti was the reason that their son had been taken.

He was also their best—and possibly their only hope—of getting him back alive.