Read Online My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 3 by Marita A. Hansen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marita A. Hansen
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back, my head killing me. “ Mi dispiace ,” I apologized. “I got distracted. What issue are you
referring to?”
“ Gabriel ’s punishment, of course. You agreed
to allow my brother to whip him.”
I placed a hand to my head,
rubbing my
throbbing temple, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t. “I
thought you had Jagger,” I finally said, now wondering whether I’d
dreamed my cousin’s screams. I couldn’t remember why he’d been
screaming; just that it was to do with the Donatelli.
“ Of course we don’t have him,”
the don said, “otherwise why would I be calling?”
“ I ... I don’t know.”
“ Are you still unwell,
Frano?”
“ No, I’m fine,” I said, not
wanting to show him any weakness. “But I must go. Grazie for calling, I will
see you tonight.”
“ Buono ,” the don said, hanging
up.
I put the phone down and headed for the
door, wondering why the hell I was wearing the black pajamas
Alberto’s wife had bought me, because I only ever slept in my
birthday suit.
I exited my room, wincing as I called out
for Jagger and Alberto. The door two down from mine opened.
Alberto’s wife stepped into the hallway, the purse in her hand
suggesting she was about to go out. Her long blonde hair was
hanging loose and she was wearing a floral dress, the multi-hued
satin kissing her curvaceous figure.
She walked up to me. “I’m happy you’re
awake, Frano, but you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“ What happened to
me?”
“ You had a nasty fall from your
horse.”
“ I don’t remember going out
riding.”
“ Well, you did. You’ve only just come back
from the hospital. You’ve been in an induced coma for three days.
Your brain swelled from the knock, which was why you were put into
the coma.”
I shook my head, instantly
regretting the movement. “Where’s Jagger? I need to see
him,” I need
to know if he’s alright , because something was telling me he wasn’t, and the
mention of the whipping also felt wrong.
“ He’s in New York dealing with
the American slaves.”
“ I thought he’d
returned.”
“ No, he’s still
there.”
“ But, he needs to be home
tonight for the Donatelli.”
“ Well, that’s impossibile. ”
I rubbed my
head ,
feeling like I’d been hit by a bus. “Where’s Alberto? I must talk
to him.”
“ He’s around the house
somewhere.”
“ And Federico?” I asked, a vague
memory—or dream of him being shot returning.
S he frowned. “He’s dead.”
I shook my head, although my gut was
telling me it was true. I could hear the shots firing in my head,
just couldn’t see who was pulling the trigger.
“ You ordered his execution,”
Bianca added. “He was FBI.”
I placed my hands on my head. “I wouldn’t
have done that, I was using him to pass on false
information.”
“ I know, but
h e found out
and tried to run, which was why you had to take him
out.”
“ I don’t
remember .”
She placed a hand on my arm.
“You really should go back to bed. I’ll call the dottore. ”
“ No. ” Shrugging her hand off, I headed
for the staircase, getting annoyed when she followed. I took a step
down the staircase, then reached for the railing, almost losing my
footing.
Bianca grabbed my arm, steadying me. Not
wanting help, I pulled free and continued, concentrating on not
falling down the stairs. Once I’d reached the bottom, I scanned the
dining-room and main lounge. They were empty, just my antique
furniture and tapestries filling them, no servants laying the
table, the place spookily quiet, like the calm after a
storm.
I headed for the cells, wanting
to see the new slave, my mind unable to bring up her name,
just the
memory of her tight body on top of me, riding my cock, making me
groan... I stopped and leaned against the wall, rubbing my head
again, frustrated that my memories were all a jumbled blur with
giant chunks missing.
Bianca touched my arm again.
I spun around on her. “Stop following
me!”
She took a step
referring to?”
“ Gabriel ’s punishment, of course. You agreed
to allow my brother to whip him.”
I placed a hand to my head,
rubbing my
throbbing temple, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t. “I
thought you had Jagger,” I finally said, now wondering whether I’d
dreamed my cousin’s screams. I couldn’t remember why he’d been
screaming; just that it was to do with the Donatelli.
“ Of course we don’t have him,”
the don said, “otherwise why would I be calling?”
“ I ... I don’t know.”
“ Are you still unwell,
Frano?”
“ No, I’m fine,” I said, not
wanting to show him any weakness. “But I must go. Grazie for calling, I will
see you tonight.”
“ Buono ,” the don said, hanging
up.
I put the phone down and headed for the
door, wondering why the hell I was wearing the black pajamas
Alberto’s wife had bought me, because I only ever slept in my
birthday suit.
I exited my room, wincing as I called out
for Jagger and Alberto. The door two down from mine opened.
Alberto’s wife stepped into the hallway, the purse in her hand
suggesting she was about to go out. Her long blonde hair was
hanging loose and she was wearing a floral dress, the multi-hued
satin kissing her curvaceous figure.
She walked up to me. “I’m happy you’re
awake, Frano, but you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“ What happened to
me?”
“ You had a nasty fall from your
horse.”
“ I don’t remember going out
riding.”
“ Well, you did. You’ve only just come back
from the hospital. You’ve been in an induced coma for three days.
Your brain swelled from the knock, which was why you were put into
the coma.”
I shook my head, instantly
regretting the movement. “Where’s Jagger? I need to see
him,” I need
to know if he’s alright , because something was telling me he wasn’t, and the
mention of the whipping also felt wrong.
“ He’s in New York dealing with
the American slaves.”
“ I thought he’d
returned.”
“ No, he’s still
there.”
“ But, he needs to be home
tonight for the Donatelli.”
“ Well, that’s impossibile. ”
I rubbed my
head ,
feeling like I’d been hit by a bus. “Where’s Alberto? I must talk
to him.”
“ He’s around the house
somewhere.”
“ And Federico?” I asked, a vague
memory—or dream of him being shot returning.
S he frowned. “He’s dead.”
I shook my head, although my gut was
telling me it was true. I could hear the shots firing in my head,
just couldn’t see who was pulling the trigger.
“ You ordered his execution,”
Bianca added. “He was FBI.”
I placed my hands on my head. “I wouldn’t
have done that, I was using him to pass on false
information.”
“ I know, but
h e found out
and tried to run, which was why you had to take him
out.”
“ I don’t
remember .”
She placed a hand on my arm.
“You really should go back to bed. I’ll call the dottore. ”
“ No. ” Shrugging her hand off, I headed
for the staircase, getting annoyed when she followed. I took a step
down the staircase, then reached for the railing, almost losing my
footing.
Bianca grabbed my arm, steadying me. Not
wanting help, I pulled free and continued, concentrating on not
falling down the stairs. Once I’d reached the bottom, I scanned the
dining-room and main lounge. They were empty, just my antique
furniture and tapestries filling them, no servants laying the
table, the place spookily quiet, like the calm after a
storm.
I headed for the cells, wanting
to see the new slave, my mind unable to bring up her name,
just the
memory of her tight body on top of me, riding my cock, making me
groan... I stopped and leaned against the wall, rubbing my head
again, frustrated that my memories were all a jumbled blur with
giant chunks missing.
Bianca touched my arm again.
I spun around on her. “Stop following
me!”
She took a step
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