“No!” I fight him off, twisting onto my back so I can throw closed fists at him. However, he catches one of the punches I throw and closes his large hand around my tiny one and squeezes. I scream out and continue to beat him with my other hand. I won’t allow the pain to take me over and weaken my fight. “Please, no!”
“You going to beg me to stop?” he asks me, releasing me only to slam his hands on either side of my head. I’m trapped wholly beneath him now, his body pinning me in the hardly lit hallway of his house. “Did my men get to beg you to stop killing them?” he asks me, his tone no longer soft, only full of enamored anger. Then, out of nowhere, he begins to laugh at me. He’s ridiculing me; I know he is. He’s laughing at me, not at my current predicament or something that’s come forth from the back of his mind. He’s laughing directly at me. "He begged so pathetically, Amelia. You should've heard him because there was a moment where I wondered to myself why a girl like you would ever choose a weak man like him." There’s a moment of silence, the idea of Zane dying escapes the deep, dark recess of my brain and tortures me. “He cried!” Big Al mocks, chortling at the memory. “Cried like a fucking baby as he lay there bleeding out. He’s no tough man, and he’s certainly not made for you if he’s going to cry at the death he was presented. He’s no man, Amelia! Maybe you’ll see that now before you allow him into your fucking panties! He is a manipulative wimp, and he is no good for you. He is corruption at its finest, and he will be your downfall.” His statement isn’t lost on me and I wonder if the men in the Dio Lavoro have been discussing me. “So, call this your lesson, sweet Amelia. This is to show you that your disrespect only gets you a firm beating back. What I have planned for you is just something to leave a reminder on that pretty little soul of yours. You’ll never forget trying to go for me, Amelia. You will never have me killed, because like you’re father, I am fucking invincible.”
As if to prove his point, he sits up only using the opportunity to pull my blouse apart and reveal my ample breasts in their black push up bra.
“Get off me!” I scream at him, fighting back now that he’s released my hand. However, in the middle of the fit I’ve pitched, he punches me. I was so wrapped up with getting him off me I never saw it coming. Pain explodes across my face, and I taste blood as it filters into my mouth and attacks my taste buds. I only turn my head around to find him leering down at me. I have no time to argue as his hands clasp around my neck, and he begins to squeeze against my windpipe, crushing it. I claw, scratch, dig every nail into his skin, and pray he’ll release me. As my hand flies up and catches his face, he finally does, and I cough and strive for a recovery.
“You bitch!” he swears and only pushes himself lower down my body. “I’m going to have so much fun doing this now.” I go to attack him again, but he takes me by my wrists and pins them down on either side of me. He’s getting closer to taking me, but I know my fight won’t die out quickly. No man has his way with me without my permission. “I don’t do mercy,” he tells me, breathing heavily against my neck. His fresh kisses leave me feeling dirtier than ever. I don’t want this, but my fighting does nothing to grant me freedom. “Fight all you want, Princess, but there is no way you can get away from me.”
He releases my hand, but my own fear is becoming a paralyzing emotion. Feeling the trail of dirt he leaves upon me is weakening me far more than his punches and kicks have. He shows me how helpless I am by running a greedy hand down my body and lifting my skirt up a little to grip my thigh. Fuck, this is really happening. The touch of his hand sends a wave of reality through me, and I feel the fear multiply within my blood. It thickens, consumes me, and will never let me go if this truly happens. I begin to pound against his chest, fist after fist, punch after punch, but he doesn’t move, and I realize I am helpless. He doesn’t even stop me now. As I continue to fight him off with one hand, I begin to look around, trying my hardest to find a weapon to use against him. I feel hope dwindle as everything seems to be just out of reach until I spot one of my shoes close by. My stiletto is close enough for me to grab before Big Al rips through my tights and panties. It’s a struggled fight between him and me as I try my hardest. I’m defeated when I finally hear material begin to rip.
“No!” I scream as he manages to hitch my skirt up. My panic skyrockets even more so than before, and my fight seems newly restored.