Chapter 5: Blue is his favorite color

Belle Rose

A blue skirt, so short it barely covers anything, and a matching shirt that clings to my body like a second skin. This is my uniform? He expects me to wear this?

I don’t even want to think about how he managed to guess my 34D bra size, and the blue lace panties he provided me with.

This is humiliating, which I guess is the point. But he should know that my spirit is already crushed. There’s no need to add insult to injury.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly to the stern man leading me out of my new room, which is surprisingly more luxurious than my old bedroom.

The mattress is actually comfortable, there’s a wardrobe filled with clothes the ~master~ permits me to wear, and there are three books. They might just be for decoration, but I’m grateful for them.

They’re in Italian, a language I’m fluent in, though I’m sure the ~master~ doesn’t know that. Every time he calls me ‘~gattina~’ I just stare at him, puzzled as to why he thinks I’m a kitten.

“Ranger,” he replies flatly, maintaining a steady pace. He’s a strange mix of a bear and a robot. He’s big and gruff, but also rigid and unchanging. I nod to myself, aware that he’s watching me from the corner of his eye. “Belle.”

My eyes dart to him as I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. But he’s just saying my name, nothing more. I watch him in silence before returning my gaze forward, sneaking glances at him from the corner of my eye.

“Where are we going?” I ask, testing the waters to see if he’ll be upfront with me.

“To the kitchen. You’ll meet the rest of the staff,” he replies, and I manage to keep my surprise hidden behind a blank expression. He’s actually answering my questions.

“How many?”

“There are three cooks, two slaves, you make the third, a gardener, a butler, a groundskeeper, and a housekeeper, who oversees the staff.”

“What are you?” He suddenly looks at me, his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. His tense expression softens as our eyes meet, and then he quickly looks away.

“Anyone else you don’t meet in the kitchen, they’re family or they work for the Calabrias. I work for the brothers. I show new people around though.” I nod, fidgeting with my fingers. Should I keep pushing? He seems open. There’s something I need to know.

“Family? What family lives here?”

“His three younger brothers. That’s it,” he answers, sounding a bit wary but he lets it go when he sees my curious expression. I hide my fear. Thank God Tony doesn’t live here.

Soon, we arrive at the kitchen, which is large enough to serve three restaurants. The staff are busy, the cooks preparing lunch, the others waiting around. For me?

“Finally,” the tall girl from before mutters, rolling her eyes at me.

“Bye,” Ranger mumbles before turning to leave. I quickly thank him for his kindness as he walks away.

“Belle, is it?” an older woman asks, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she steps towards me. Her brown hair, streaked with grey, is pulled back into a bun. She’s wearing a floral vintage dress with an apron over it. Her black thick-rimmed glasses give her a stern, principal-like appearance as she looks down at me.

“Yes,” I reply, feeling out of place in this enormous kitchen. The rest of the staff stand behind her, a few dressed like me.

“Go help Sofia with the dishes,” she orders, pointing towards the sink. I assume she’s the housemother. I hurry over to the sink where a girl in a green short skirt and shirt looks up at me timidly. She’s wearing the same outfit as me, but in a different color.

I start to tackle the mountain of dishes in the sink, scrubbing off the dried food with a sponge.

“What’s the housemother’s name?”

“Her name’s Marissa. You just call her ma’am,” Sofia answers. “Why are you wearing blue?” She asks in a soft, sweet voice. I notice the other ~waitress~ is wearing green like Sofia and wonder why I’m in blue.

“It was given to me,” I reply.

“Matches your eyes,” she murmurs. My eyes? He keeps dressing me in blue because of my eyes? He likes the color on me?

I see large arms wrap around Sofia’s waist and her eyes widen as she drops the plates back into the soapy water. I look over at the man and our eyes meet.

He’s one of the men from the restaurant. He smirks at me and his gaze travels down my body, assessing me.

“It’s a shame we’ve been told to stay away from you, otherwise I’d fuck you over this sink right now,” he says crudely. My body stiffens at his words.

Why has he been told to stay away from me? Not that I’m complaining. I wouldn’t want to be taken over this sink. “~Forza, scopiamo~ (come on, let’s fuck),” he whispers to Sofia and she obediently follows him out of the kitchen.

Is this what’s expected of us here? But they’re not allowed to do that to me? Who said that? Why?

Sofia reminds me of my past, being forced to do things I found repulsive. Is that going to happen again? Am I going back to that?

“Hey, you!” Marissa’s voice rings out, her finger jabbing in my direction as she storms over. She thrusts a tray into my hands. “Take this to the boss. He’s in his office. He asked for you.” Her eyebrows arch, a silent command for me to get moving. But I have no idea where his office is.

“Where’s his office?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Get going!” she orders, and I scuttle off, still clueless about my destination. I peek into every room on the ground floor, but what if his office is upstairs?

I bump into Ranger in the hallway, and he steadies my tray, setting it on a nearby cabinet. He takes my hands in his, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Where are you headed, Belle?” Ranger asks, glancing at the tray and then back at me.

“I need to take this to the boss. But I don’t know where his office is,” I admit. He just stares at me, his gaze intense. Then he places the tray back in my hands.

“Follow me,” he says, leading me to a dark, imposing office door at the end of a long hallway in this sprawling mansion. Ranger leaves me there, his gaze lingering before he disappears from sight. I lift my hand to knock on the door, my fist trembling.

“Come in!” a familiar voice commands from inside. I rush in, setting the plate and drink next to his laptop. He watches me as I move to leave, but his voice stops me. “~Gattina~.” I turn back to him, avoiding his gaze. He motions for me to approach. “Steven Philips.” My eyes snap to his at the mention of the name. Creepy Steve. His full name. How does he know that?

He pulls me closer, his hand gripping my jaw.

“He’s been dealt with,” Enzo informs me. My heart sinks. What does that mean?

“What?” I whisper, anxiety gripping me. Yes, Steve planned to rape me, but he didn’t get the chance. Did Enzo kill him? He doesn’t answer, the room falling silent. “He didn’t...”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, his face hard and menacing.

“Why?”

“No one touches what’s mine,” he growls, his hands moving to my legs and squeezing. “And you are mine.” His hands start to wander upwards, his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me.”

“T-tell you...?” I stammer, my breath coming in short gasps. His hands continue their journey, reaching my ass.

“Whose are you?” He squeezes a little and I stifle a squeal, biting my lip. His eyebrows rise in impatience and he squeezes harder.

“Yours, I’m y-yours,” I blurt out.

“Good girl,” he purrs. But before he can say anything else, his phone rings. He growls in annoyance and releases me. I try to leave, but his hand tightens around mine, keeping me in place.

“~Cosa?~ (What?)” he snaps, leaning back in his chair. “~Ti ho dato un semplice, chiaro comando,~ (I gave you a clear, simple command,)” he hisses, frustration etched on his face. “~Lo voglio uccidere con le mie mani.~ (I want to kill him myself.)” Kill him? I shouldn’t be surprised.

I know he’s a dangerous man, that he’s part of the mafia, that he took over from his father, Tony Calabria, and is rumored to be even more ruthless. But I don’t feel threatened by him. Somehow, beneath his malice, I don’t believe he’s a monster.

Which probably means I’m losing my mind. Scratch that, I lost it years ago. How did my life get so messed up when I’ve barely lived any of it?

“~Non è solo una ragazza.~ (She’s not just a girl.)” His grip on me tightens and I wonder who he’s talking about.

What girl? He thinks I can’t understand him, which is why he doesn’t censor their conversations. Is that a good thing? “~Lei è mia.~ (She's mine.)”