#permanent marker

"They paid me well," he says softly, fingers pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "You were right, babe. Your Dad is not getting out of this. He's out of the picture for good. I need a new source of income. And you -" His hold of my face gets harder as he leans in to kiss me, as he has so often. Always on my terms though. Never like this. "You, Dany, are just a fucking bitch, sometimes."

I try to move my jaw, hoping to be able to bite down on his horribly soft lip, but all it leads to is a chuckle. "So eager, babe? And I'd have thought you'd be furious about it."

He leans over me, his hand roaming over my chest. "Fuck, this is kind of hot. I'd love to fuck you like this. Me in charge for once, you know?"

I can only groan in weak protest. My eyes are falling close. No. No, we've always agreed. No, this isn't supposed to happen. No, this can't be real. No, don't do this.

His fingers slip under my waistband, call up an involuntary shiver. Maybe that drug isn't that bad after all. I just want to give in to the hazy slumber, as the passenger door is pulled open and warm air from outside hits me.

"Mueller," a strange voice says, and there's another man, another set of hands, that roughly pushes him away. "Don't fuck with the merchandise."

Merchandise? I shake my head, an almost invisible motion, but the new guy seems to see it and lets out a chuckle. "Aw, girl. Don't like being called merchandise, huh? Or is your handsy, treacherous bodyguard making you cry? Don't worry. Your day is about to become much, much worse." He reaches over me to unfasten the seat belt and easily lifts me out of the car. "Welcome to your new life, Miss Hammond."

He throws me onto his shoulder, like a bag of flour, his hand on my ass.

His touch, his cheerful voice barely reach me, through layers of cotton.

"Ready to meet your new -"

I pass out.

*

Pain.

Consuming my entire self.

Pain pulls me out of my unconsciousness with burning claws. It's everywhere. I'm on fire, I'm under a truck, I'm everything at the same time.

A raw scream breaks from my chest, a strange horrifying sound disconnected from me and still myself.

I want to curl myself up, escape from the pain, but I can't move. My arms are tied. My legs, too. There's even something around my neck.

And then there's a hand in my hair, roughly pulling me up, slowly making me understand where there's up and down around my tormented body.

I'm on my stomach, tied down to a table in something like a small office, my wrists tired to the table legs on one side, my head dangling over the edge.

There's a burnt, sickening smell in the air, like roasted meat.

When my head is lifted up, new pain flares up on my back, threatens to swallow me again, calls up another scream.

"Mh. There you are, Signorina," a voice murmurs.

I can make out a man's shape in front of me, broad shoulders, light hair, and then nothing as the pain takes over my stomach rumors and I throw up on the rug.

The man chuckles. "Oh, yes. That happens sometimes."

There's something in my vision, something he's holding in his hand, casually turning in front of my eyes, and once I make out what it is, I'm sick again. A branding iron. Like for cattle. It's still sizzling hot.

He's branded me.

And I know his sigil. I know who he is.

"Luciano," I breathe.

Leonardo Luciano.

Head of the city's mob. My father's greatest rival.

He lifts my chin up with the metal handle of the branding iron. I stare into a pair of amused, blue eyes. "You know who I am. Good. Now, let me tell you, who you are."

"Not yours," I spit.

He casually leans forward, reaches out with his free hand, fingers on my back, and the pain explodes again. "This tells otherwise, Signorina Hammond, and so does everything else. You wear my brand. You are tied to my desk, naked, if I may remind you. Your Dad is in jail. And I have a group of my friends coming over tonight, who want to share the spoils of victory with me."

He lets go of my chin abruptly, tosses the iron back into the fireplace, before I hear him circle me. I try to follow him with my gaze, but every movement of my neck feels like he's putting the iron down again.

Another pain tears through me. Sudden, cold, invasive. Fingers, pushing up my pussy. I cry out in horror, tears in my eyes.

"Nice and tight," he says. "Good. That will do." His fingers pull out painfully and tap on my ass. "What about your rear, Signorina? Have you ever had it used? I want all your holes available."

He leans over, his weight resting on me, his voice close to my ear. "Because that is what you are, Signorina Hammond. Not just mine. But a mere tool in my service." His hand runs over my back, throbbing with pain, reignited by his every touch. I can't help but sob. "See, Signorina Hammond," Luciano purrs. "You are your father's pride and joy, and the best way to completely and ultimately ruin him, is to ruin you."

And then his hold of me gone. I can see his legs, with his expensive Italian leather shoes, circling around the vomit on the floor on his way to the door.