Mistress to a Monster Read online

  Glory entered his office. Her gaze was on the floor, not daring to look up.

  He’d looked into her background and learned she’d been brought from the streets. A runaway with no will to live. She hadn’t been addicted to drugs, but he’d also sensed an air of innocence around her. She might have fetched a pretty price, but sending her to the brothels had been out of the question.

  “What do you have to report to me?” he asked.

  For the most part, Glory’s job hadn’t been enlightening. Milah didn’t give anything away. She talked about the day. The weather. Sometimes cooking. Since he’d given her permission to use the kitchen, she rarely used it.

  At the thought of the kitchen, he had a sudden desire to eat, and he glanced toward the time to see it was getting close to dinner. He was starving. Walking out in the snow was hungry work. Especially when he had such an energetic guest occupying his thoughts.

  “Milah wants me to attempt to get a message to her father,” Glory said.

  This was news. “What kind of message, and look at me when you’re talking. I have no desire to see your fucking head.”

  She jerked her head up and he saw the fear, but he didn’t care. People were meant to fear him.

  “She wants to know how long she is meant to stay here. She … wants to know the full details, and also what exactly he agreed to.”

  Damon nodded. “Okay.”

  “What do I do?” she asked.

  “Find out why she wants to know.”

  “I … I did. She wants to know what is expected of her.” Glory pressed her lips together and then continued. “She is … scared. She told me that she doesn’t know what to expect. Every time she sees you, she expects you to kill her. She said that she knows everyone here hates her and would love for any excuse to kill her. They all hate a Russo, but then she said, as if she didn’t understand why… I … I…”

  “What?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I think she is … lonely and she’s afraid. She doesn’t know what to do. How to act. I get the sense that she has always known how to deal with things back at home. I don’t think she always had an easy life.”

  And he had yet to hear anything from Genius.

  Milah had a sharp tongue on her. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, but he was curious. She was used to knowing ahead of time how to react. How to be, and why? Was it because of her father?

  Antonio Russo would never win father of the year, but then most of them here would never win it either.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You can go.”

  “What do I tell her?” Glory asked.

  “Give it three days. Tell her you are doing your best, and I will give you a response.”

  Glory nodded and then left his office.

  One way or another, he needed to figure Milah out.

  A guard came to his door and informed him dinner had been served. When he arrived at the dining room, Milah was already there, sitting in the same chair she’d been in the past few nights.

  He sat down as the chef brought out their food. This was a new occurrence, the chef paying such close attention. He doubted the man enjoyed his food being left the other day, but it simply hadn’t been as good as Milah’s.

  Nodding at the man, he watched as his food was placed in front of him. Steak with roasted vegetables, and a thick herb sauce. One of his favorite meals. It was a meal his mother had made him many times.

  He smiled.

  Glancing toward Milah, he saw her hands clench, and then she reached for the knife and fork. She rarely finished any of the food that was brought her way. He watched her now as she took the tiniest slice of steak and put it in her mouth.

  Milah tensed up, and he noticed she closed her eyes, and her lips seemed to go into a stern line.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Do you not like the food?” He took a bite of his steak.

  “It is delicious.” She took another taste and then another.

  Figuring she was struggling with the enjoyment of the day, Damon enjoyed his meal, noticing Milah didn’t finish hers.

  “You need to eat,” he said.

  “I’m not hungry.” She put her napkin down.

  He snapped his fingers and dessert was brought out. Damon noticed her shoulders seemed to slump, and he frowned. What the fuck was going on?

  When Milah’s dessert was put in front of her, she lifted her spoon and hesitated in scooping out some of the chocolate mousse.

  “Enough,” Damon said. He lifted his spoon and leaned over.

  “Sir, your own dessert,” the chef said.

  Damon took a spoonful and placed it at his lips. Milah’s gaze was wide and as he tasted it, he had no choice but to grab his napkin and spit it out.

  “Has your food been like this all the time?” he asked.

  “It’s fine.”

  “He has used fucking salt and vinegar in your mousse, Milah.” He shoved his chair back. “What did he put on your steak?”

  “Damon, it is fine.”

  He looked toward the guards. “Get me all the kitchen staff, now!” He yelled the order. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Milah shake just a little bit. She’d had to deal with inedible food. For how long?

  She hadn’t gone into the kitchen, and he had figured she was being a little stubborn, but trying this food, why would she? If trying to recreate the single memory of her mother had caused this, he doubted very much she would have wanted to keep on cooking.

  His guards rounded up the kitchen staff, bringing them to him. He looked at them, one by one. All of them staring at the floor, quivering in fear.

  “What did he put on the steak?” Damon asked. “What has your chef been doing to Milah Russo’s food?”

  The chef fought against the hold one of his guards had on him. “Do not answer that!” the chef yelled.

  Damon walked over to the chef, pulled out his own knife, and slashed him across the cheek.

  Cries rang out in the dining room.

  “Salt, and he sometimes made me put on flowers from the garden,” one of the women said.

  “He … he wanted me to gather dog shit to use on her plate.” This came from another woman.

  Each woman who spoke sank to their knees, begging for forgiveness.

  Anger rushed through him. His chef had cleaned her plate in dirty water, not fit to drink. The same with her water, it was taken from the dog bowls where they drank. Not that he had any dogs, but he knew strays wandered on the property from time to time, but rarely ever stayed.

  “And no one thought to report it to me?” he asked.

  No one spoke.

  Milah had been suffering in silence. She’d been eating food not fit for human consumption, and he had figured she was just being testy. He couldn’t believe this.

  Staring at the men and women before him, he nodded at the guard to take them away. They were not to be given food or water, and then he looked toward the chef. “Take him to the basement,” he said.

  “You cannot do this. I have served you and your father, and your grandfather. I am to be respected.”

  Damon grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward him. “Do I look like my father standing here? Do you think he would have allowed you to walk free after nearly poisoning my guest?”

  “She is a Russo whore!”

  He slammed his fist in the guy’s face, instantly breaking his nose. Blood spilled down his face, and he threw him toward the guards, making them take him away. He would deal with him later.

  Wiping the blood from his knuckles, he glanced toward Milah. She hadn’t moved an inch. Her body shook.

  He grabbed her arm, and she flinched, but didn’t look away.

  “Come on,” he said.

  Marching her into the kitchen, she tried to fight him, but he had hold of her hips and got her moving until she rounded the counter and stood in front of the stove. “Cook yourself something.”

  “Damon, it is fine.”

  He pressed his back against hers, banding an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. “It is not fine.” His lips brushed against her neck. “You will eat something, and the next time food is served to you, do not eat it.”

  “I … I … I’m a Russo, Damon. They don’t like me.”

  “Do I look like I care? You are my guest and you will be treated with respect.” He kept his hand on her stomach, admiring the curve of her neck. Imagining how good it would feel to have her so close.

  It wasn’t time yet.

  Milah had to warm to him for his plans to work. This might just be the start he needed. “You know how to cook.”

  He didn’t want to let her go, but to allow her to cook, he needed to. Removing his hands from her body, he didn’t like how disappointed that made him feel to let her go.

  He rounded the counter and watched her.

  At first, she stared at the stove, not moving.

  If he had to, he’d force-feed her something, even if it had to be raw.

  Milah suddenly moved, going to the fridge, and he watched as she grabbed some cheese and butter. She rummaged through the kitchen and came back with some bread. She spread some bread, added a slice of cheese, and then spread the other side.

  He wondered what she was doing, but she put the bread to one side, and then went back to the fridge.

  Within a matter of minutes, she had some shallots, celery, and garlic sizzling in a pan. Next, she added in some tomatoes, fresh, and some from a can, bringing it together with a small splash of vegetable stock.

  With the tomato mixture bubbling away, she got to work looking through all of the cupboards and came out with a stick blender. She removed the pan from the heat, placing it on
a metal rack, and then, she added in some whole basil leaves before putting in the blender and blitzing.

  The scents were amazing.

  She blended up her mixture. Put the pot back on to boil, and then got another pan. She heated it up, put the sandwich with the butter side down, spread the other side with some more, and then after a few minutes, flipped it.

  “Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he said.

  Milah smiled. “A firm favorite when you’re coming in from the cold.”

  She put the sandwich on a chopping board and ran her knife through it. Then served up a ladle full of the soup. “Would you like to try some?”

  “I’ve … yes,” he said.

  Milah handed him the plate, and he was about to question her, but she was already making another sandwich.

  Within minutes, she served herself another bowl of soup and moved toward him. She took a seat beside him, dipping her grilled cheese into her soup then taking a bite.

  This woman could cook.

  The food was good, and he hated to admit it was even better than the steak he’d just consumed.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Damon demanded that she make herself breakfast, and so she had decided to do some savory eggy bread. Milah had noticed last night the bread she used felt slightly stale, so it wasn’t a hardship turning it into something that would make it edible.

  Damon was in the kitchen. Last night, he’d made her a little unnerved by how he’d dealt with his kitchen staff.

  The day after she’d made her mother’s lentil stew, she had noticed a change in the taste of the food. She’d known the chef hated her for interfering. The fact Damon had eaten her stew, rather than his, had upset him.

  Milah hadn’t gone into the kitchen to cause a problem for anyone. All she wanted to do was cook the food that reminded her of her mother. The woman who helped her to feel comfortable when her life was in so much turmoil. Glory had told her this morning that she was doing her best to get word out to her father.

  She wouldn’t let Glory be hurt for doing this. She would do whatever Damon asked, so long as Glory didn’t suffer. It was a big risk, trying to contact her father. Part of her didn’t want to. The man was a complete and total bastard and had no regard for anyone but himself.

  But she needed to know how to deal with everything. Without knowing what to expect, she felt very much like a fish in open water.

  As soon as she knew what was expected of her, she could adapt accordingly.

  With Damon’s gaze on her, Milah finished frying two slices of the bread and served him up. She already had another two slices soaking up some egg mixture.

  Damon looked at the bread. It was one of her mother’s favorites. Milah had loved it when her mother went into the kitchen. Her father had tried to stop it, but her mother always found a way.

  “What do you think?” she asked, placing her slices into the pan, loving the sizzle. Home cooking always helped to soothe her soul.

  It was so basic and yet so … comforting. In the kitchen, there was a great deal of rules on safety and in cooking. Sometimes she liked to break boundaries, but for now, she was happy not to experiment too much.

  “Delicious,” Damon said.

  He finished off his two slices before she had even finished cooking her own. He held his plate out, and Milah served him the two she had originally planned to cook for herself. Making up some more egg mixture, she got to soaking the bread and cooking some more. Damon looked tempted to ask for the two she had cooked, but he put his knife and fork down, and instead, drank his coffee.

  “Have you never had eggy bread before?” she asked.

  “Not for a long time.”

  “You could have asked the chef for what you wanted.” She wanted to know what had happened to the chef. She had been starving the past few days. She hadn’t eaten much of the food. Spending more of her time pushing it around her plate than eating it.

  Damon didn’t say anything, just sipped at his coffee as she finished her food.

  Once she was done, with her coffee drank, she got to her feet and was about to clean away.

  “I have staff for that,” Damon said. “Follow me.”

  She wanted to argue with him but knew to do so would be futile. Damon always got what he wanted.

  Putting the plates down, she followed close behind him. She expected to see the kitchen staff, but the only people they passed were guards.

  She had yet to apologize to James properly. There had never been a right time to bring it up. How did you go about saying sorry to someone you’d just shot?

  Two guards stood at the French doors overlooking the yard. Jackets were held in their hands, and Damon took hers from the guard, helping her into it. He pushed her hands out of the way when she tried to do it up, sliding the buttons inside the holes, one by one.

  He grabbed the hat from the guard and put it on her head, and then some gloves. She pushed her hands inside, but Damon made sure they went on properly. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but he turned away, putting a jacket on himself. He didn’t bother with a hat or gloves.

  They stepped out into the freezing temperature, and Milah enjoyed it.

  Damon took her hand, and together, they walked straight down to the steps. She noticed the main porch had been gritted, and she couldn’t help but smile. Did he do that for her?

  They walked together. The sun was high up in the sky, not that its warmth was felt. The ground was way too cold. This time, he’d allowed her to have some boots. They’d been with her clothes that very morning.

  Last night, Damon hadn’t requested her to come to his room. She remained in her bedroom, and Glory had told her he was dealing with the kitchen staff. Glory had also asked why she hadn’t told her about what was going on.

  The truth was, she had a feeling Glory was trying to get close to her to spy on her. It was the only explanation for why Glory was being nice to her. To earn her trust. She wanted to believe more than anything that she was wrong, but she doubted it.

  People always betrayed the Russos.

  Glory was owned by Damon. There was no way she would help her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance of it.

  Damon had put her up to it, but why? What did he hope to achieve?

  She hated the number of questions she had when it came to this man. Like, why was he being nice? Why was he eating the food she cooked?

  Pushing them all away, she decided to take one problem at a time. For now, she needed to enjoy being outside, enjoy the cold air.

  Damon was silent. His grip on her arm was tight, and neither of them said a word.

  Milah didn’t know his home very well. The view she had from the bedroom window only gave a small view that overlooked his gardens.

  They came to a stop toward a large outbuilding. Milah glanced up at Damon, who looked at the building. His hand on her arm slid down to take her hand, and then he walked with purpose toward the building.

  She noticed three guards were waiting outside.

  Milah had attempted to count all his guards, to assess the situation, but it was impossible. There was no set routine to any of them. One day, two guards could be out in the hallway, the next, one, another time, four. The numbers kept changing, and so did the hours that they changed.

  It wasn’t an accident.

  She knew Damon did it on purpose. Not because of her, but for all of his enemies. By not having a set routine, it made attacking him even more impossible. The only way to take him out would be to go at him head-on, but at the same time, that was also unfeasible. No one knew definitely how many men were on the property.

  The men rarely showed their faces. Unless someone could recognize faces alone, they might have a shot at figuring out a weakness. So far, she hadn’t found a single one.

  The guards stepped out of the way, and Damon moved her in front of them. They walked into the outbuilding, and after one look at it, she saw it was a large gym. In the center were several mats pushed together. She spotted a treadmill, weights, a bike, and several other pieces of equipment.

  She should know them. Her mother had ordered her to use them all.

  The gym mat was the easiest to detect, seeing as it took up most of the room, and that was where the men had trained her. Not in this place, obviously, but back home. When her father was away on business.