บท 8: Chapter 8- submission and pleas

Sophia, who had been listening to their conversation from the side, felt a chill run down her spine. She was constantly hoping for a rescue, and naturally, she wished that the people who had intercepted them that day were the police who came to save her after her family had reported it. But now it seemed like the situation involved another faction with a grudge against Capone.

Lucas? She had never heard of this name before, but given that they referred to him as Lucas, could he be the ninth among their twelve brothers?

It turned out that even among these brothers, there could be such deep-seated grudges, to the point where some would go as far as to stand against them and seek their lives!

If the opposing side severely injured Capone's group, could she take the chance to escape?

Capone seemed to sense her thoughts, his smile deepening as he grabbed her and turned to walk out, his smile vanishing the moment he turned.

Sophia was dragged along, running with him, and she angrily struggled, "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Fearing that he might hurt her, Capone had not been using much force, and though she managed to break free, he was not annoyed. He watched her, like a rabbit that suddenly realized something, attempting to flee, and he coldly laughed while standing still and watching her.

It wasn't the first time she had been outside to this space in recent days, but the guards and surveillance were extremely tight, and she had never thought of escaping. Yet at this moment, facing Capone, she didn't know what came over her; she turned around and ran without thinking. Even though the chance of success was slim, she was willing to take a gamble.

But as soon as she reached the fence, beyond it was a stony beach. The wind had picked up today, and the waves were crashing fiercely. Resolute, she decided to leap over, but was suddenly embraced around the waist.

"Let go of me, let go! You bastard!" She knew she couldn't escape, but she was still incredibly frustrated, struggling fiercely in Capone's arms. This time, she did not break free. He carried her horizontally and brought her back to his room, tossing her onto the bed.

Capone had a scratch on his face, and the slight sting seemed to ignite a fire within him. He pulled Sophia's hands above her head and tied them to the headboard with a belt. "I didn't realize your little claws were so sharp! Do you believe I'll pull out each of your ten nails one by one?"

"I don't believe it! If you have the guts, just kill me! You're a pervert!" Sophia's voice was trembling.

Capone squinted at her for a moment, then got up and fetched a pair of heavy-duty pliers from somewhere. He lifted Sophia's fingers and touched them with the cold, heavy metal, slowly asking, "Aren't you afraid? Pulling out such beautiful nails… it will bleed a lot, and you won't be able to make cakes or pastries anymore. Is that okay with you?"

Pulling out nails was as brutal as the Qing dynasty's torture methods. People in the underworld liked execution-style punishments, so Sophia knew Capone could definitely do what he said.

She had injured her fingers while learning baking and understood the pain of "ten fingers connected to the heart" better than most. She cherished her hands greatly, so just the thought of a bloody scene and the potential pain that might make her faint made her tears flow uncontrollably.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and prepared to endure, her tears streaming into her hairline.

Capone raised an eyebrow, surprised by her submission. "Beg me, and maybe I'll show some mercy!"

"No!" Sophia opened her eyes, her emotions escalating, "I haven't done anything wrong. You barged in and dragged me away for no reason. I ran away because I was scared! Besides, begging you won't help, will it? You do whatever you want anyway!"

Capone, furious, laughed bitterly. Do whatever he wanted?

In the days before, he had been considerate of her injury and hadn't touched her, personally applying medicine to her, suppressing his own desires, even allowing Lucy to make soup for her and agreeing to Cronus's suggestion for her to take care of Mandy during the day to avoid overly restricting her freedom… and she saw this as him doing whatever he wanted?

"Listen up. Here, I call the shots! So you're right, I can do whatever I want! And starting tomorrow, if you don't work, you won't get any pasta. You're not allowed to make pastries with the stuff Cronus brought you. Got it?"

He tore at her clothes. The loose cotton and linen outer shirt quickly came off her smooth, pale body. He leaned down, biting her neck and lips, not giving her much time to adjust before invading her body once again.

In front of her, it seemed he had no need for restraint. She was the enemy's daughter, a toy for him to play with and vent his frustrations!

Moreover, she did not appreciate his consideration.

"Why?" Sophia's question was choked in her throat, somewhat unclear, whether she was asking why he always violated her so brutally or questioning the previous array of prohibitions.

"Because I hate seeing you smile, hate smelling the scent of pastries. Understand?" Capone shattered her whimpers with his words, gripping her jaw with his hand and saying, "Also, from now on, every night when I come back here, I want to see you lying cleanly on this bed waiting for me. Otherwise, not only will you go without pasta the next day, but Lucy will also go hungry with you!"

"You're a lunatic... ah!" Sophia's words were cut off by a deep thrust. It was so painful that sweat beaded on her forehead, and with her hands bound by the belt, she couldn't push him away. Her body felt like an open flower for him to pick, but it was clear he intended to hurt her deliberately.

His words were actually incomplete. What he hated was seeing her smile at other men.

Although such possessiveness was unreasonable, he instinctively disliked her behavior when she was talking to Mandy today.

Under him, she was always either crying, enduring, or cursing him. Her smiling face had never been shown to him.

Since he had only left her with memories of pain and fear, he didn't mind deepening those impressions further. They were his marks, the ones she would hopefully never forget!

He released himself deep inside her, yet the pleasure he felt from his body did not bring him much joy.

When Capone woke up, the space beside him was empty, and there were faint bloodstains on the sheets. His heart sank; he guessed that the girl's whip wounds on her back had reopened. He had lost control of his strength yesterday, tormenting her for a long time, and had only let go of her wrists in the early hours so she could sleep.

He had never allowed women to stay in his bed overnight, but he had made an exception for her last night.

However, the bloodstains made him quite uncomfortable.

"Remember to change and wash the sheets today. Don't forget what I told you last night, okay?"

When he left, Sophia had her back to him, busy with something in the kitchen. There was the sound of running water from the sink, and he wasn't sure if she had heard him.

In the evening, when he returned, he saw her outside washing the sheets. To call it washing was not quite accurate, because he had never seen it done this way. A large basin was filled with water, and the sheets were soaking in it while she stood in the basin, stomping around. The setting sun's rays fell on her, casting a soft golden edge around her. This completely overturned his idea that laundry was done by hand.

However, her delicate, beautiful feet made it hard for him to look away. He remembered how she always disliked wearing shoes, with her feet standing on the cold floor, the capillaries faintly visible. His brow furrowed again.

"Who taught you to wash clothes like this?" he asked from behind her, startling her so much that she nearly stumbled forward and fell.

"You..." Sophia wanted to question why he scared her, but she held back and replied, "I learned it from TV. What's the matter? I used to wash clothes like this when I was abroad!"

Capone said nothing, watching as she finally finished washing the sheets and hung them out on the terrace. She looked exhausted but didn't ask for any help.

He didn't know what she did all day, but he had instructed Lucy to assign her dirty and tiring tasks. Seeing her weary expression and Lucy's disapproving look told him she had suffered quite a bit.

Capone remained silent. After eating his pasta, he coldly turned and went upstairs, and that night, he again ruthlessly tormented her in bed, showing no tenderness.

The next morning, when he came downstairs, he found her on her knees, scrubbing the floor on the stairs. Dressed in white, still barefoot, with a large bucket of cold water half-full beside her, she had managed to carry it up to the second floor.

When she saw him, her gaze was cold, devoid of the intense desperation and pleading she had shown the night before in bed. It was as if he was a stranger, not worth mentioning.

Had she begun to resent him? The pampered young lady couldn't handle hard work for more than two days?

Good, he was waiting for her absolute submission and pleas.