The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)-Chapter 55: You are a Toy!

The Italian countryside whips past the window of the sleek black SUV, a blur of verdant hills and terracotta buildings that I can barely focus on through my drugged haze. Monza is beautiful, I think, or at least what I can see of it as we speed toward our hotel.

I glance over at Caterina, who's been unusually quiet since we left the airport. Her crimson eyes are fixed on the passing landscape, her perfect profile illuminated by the late afternoon sun. There's something off about her expression, a slight downturn to her lips, a tension in her jawline that wasn't there before.

"Cat, is something bothering you?"

She sighs, not turning to look at me right away. When she does finally face me, there's a pout on her perfect lips that makes her look almost childlike despite her intimidating presence.

"Yeah..." she says, her crimson eyes locking with mine. "We forgot to join the mile-high club."

I blink at her, processing her words through the pleasant fog in my brain. "The mile-high club?"

"Yes, Adam," she says with exaggerated patience. "Sex on an airplane. It's called the mile-high club."

I stare at her, feeling a weird mix of confusion and amusement bubbling up inside me. This powerful, terrifying woman who literally broke my hands and keeps me drugged is upset because we didn't have sex on her private jet.

A laugh escapes me. "Cat, when you're not out trying to teach me a lesson, you're really cute, aren't you?"

She looks momentarily surprised, her crimson eyes widening slightly. Then her expression softens, and she reaches across the leather seat to cup my face in her hands. Her touch is gentle, reverent, as her thumbs trace the line of my cheekbones.

"Adam, as long as you're a good boy, I'll give you the world. I wasn't joking when I said I would move mountains for you."

Her crimson eyes search mine, something vulnerable flickering behind their predatory gleam. "You've been so good lately that I think you're deserving of a little more trust..." She pauses, her perfect lips curving into a small smile. "However."

That single word hangs between us, loaded with implication. I watch as she reaches down, unzipping a small leather bag by her feet that I hadn't noticed before. Her movements are deliberate, almost ceremonial, as she reaches inside and pulls out what looks like a strip of black leather.

A collar. Simple, elegant, with a small silver tag that catches on the light.

I sigh, but it's not entirely from exasperation. There's something else there, a strange flutter in my stomach.

"Cat, if you put that on me..." I start, my voice trailing off as I struggle to find the right words. "And boss me around..." I look at her with what I know must be embarrassingly needy eyes. "That will make me a lot weirder than I am now."

She looks at me with sudden seriousness, all playfulness vanishing from her perfect features. Her crimson eyes burn acceptance.

"I want that for you, Adam," she says, her voice low and fervent. "I want it badly."

There's something so raw, so honest in her expression that I find myself nodding, the movement solemn, like we're entering into some kind of blood pact. She leans forward, her fingers brushing against my neck as she fastens the collar around my throat. The leather is comfortably snug against my skin.

The moment it clicks into place, I feel a rush of blood southward, my body responding to the symbolic ownership in a way that my mind is still trying to process. I glance down at the obvious tent in my expensive pants.

Caterina's eyes drop to my lap, and her lips curve into that soft, loving smile that somehow still manages to look completely unhinged. Her crimson eyes gleam with a mixture of satisfaction and possessiveness that makes my heart race.

"Yes, good," she purrs, reaching out to trace a finger along my pants. "This is exactly how my lover should act when he receives a collar."

The way she emphasizes "my lover" sends another jolt of arousal through me. My damaged hands twitch uselessly in my lap as I try to process the complicated emotions swirling through me, desire, embarrassment, acceptance, and even love.

But there is one thing that bothers me.

"Cat," I sigh, my voice coming out smaller than I intended, "I feel like I'm just your toy."

She draws back slightly, her perfect brow furrowing in what looks like genuine offense. Her crimson eyes narrow as she shakes her head slowly, deliberately.

"People lose interest in toys, Adam," she says, her voice carrying an intensity that cuts through my drug haze. Her hand slides up to stroke the collar at my throat, fingers tracing the leather with reverent precision. "Toys are disposable. Replaceable. You're neither of those things."

She shifts closer to me on the leather seat, her thigh pressing against mine as she leans in.

"What you are is mine. My possession. My treasure. My passion. My everything."

Each word lands like a physical touch, her breath hot against my ear. I shiver despite the warmth of the car, my body responding to her proximity like a flower turning toward the sun.

"Understand the difference?" she asks, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. "A toy is something you play with and discard. You're something I would burn the world to keep."

I believe her. I've seen what she's capable of.

"I understand."

Caterina's smile widens, predatory and pleased. "Good boy," she purrs, leaning in to press her lips against mine in a kiss that feels like both a reward and a claim.

When she pulls away, she traces the collar with her fingertip, sending shivers down my spine as the leather shifts against my skin.

"Let's not forget to join the mile-high club on the flight back, alright?" Caterina says, her voice a silky promise that makes my already tight pants feel even more restrictive.

I feel a grin spread across my face. "I'll remind you."

The SUV slows down, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we pull up to what has to be the fanciest hotel I've ever seen. It's one of those old-school buildings with fancy columns and ornate stonework that screams "you can't afford this place." A massive fountain dominates the circular driveway, water arcing gracefully in the late afternoon sun.

I squint at the elegant lettering above the entrance, trying to make sense of the flowing Italian words. I have no idea what it says.

The driver, a stoic woman in a crisp black suit, circles around to open our door. I blink against the brightness, momentarily disoriented by the combination of drugs and jet lag.

Caterina slides out first, her white suit somehow still pristine despite hours of travel. She turns back to me, extending her hand with that possessive smile that makes my heart skip.

"Come, lover," she says, the endearment sending a shiver down my spine.

I let her take my hand, my damaged fingers struggling to grip properly as I step out of the vehicle. My legs feel wobbly beneath me.

"Careful," Caterina murmurs, her arm sliding around my waist to steady me. Her touch is firm but gentle, supporting rather than controlling for once. "The drugs might make you a bit unsteady."

I lean into her, grateful for the support. "Thanks," I mumble, suddenly aware of how the collar must be visible above my shirt collar. The thought sends heat rushing to my face.

'The hat is gonna me look like a freak.'

Caterina seems to read my mind. Her crimson eyes dance with amusement as she reaches up to adjust the leather strap. "Don't worry," she whispers, her lips brushing against my ear. "I won't make you wear the autism hat unless you really need it."

The hotel lobby stretches before us like something out of a movie, all marble floors and crystal chandeliers. The ceiling soars overhead, painted with elaborate frescoes that probably tell some fancy Italian story I'm too American to understand.

"Probably the history of spaghetti," I whisper to myself, feeling left out.

I'm still leaning on Caterina for support as we make our way across the polished floor, my collar feeling strangely heavy against my throat. The few people scattered around the lobby, wealthy women in tailored suits, male companions in stylish casual wear, barely glance our way. I guess they're used to seeing powerful women with their collared pets in this part of the world.

We're halfway to the reception desk when I notice them. A tall Latina woman with flowing black hair stands near the grand staircase, her arm wrapped possessively around a slight man who seems to be physically shrinking under her touch. She's wearing a bright green Hawaiian shirt that somehow looks both ridiculous and menacing at the same time.

The woman's eyes lock onto us, and her face splits into a smile that makes my skin crawl.

I feel Caterina stiffen beside me, her arm tightening around my waist. Her crimson eyes narrow slightly.

"Cat! What a delightful surprise," The Latina calls out, her voice carrying across the lobby with unsettling cheerfulness.

Caterina's posture shifts subtly, her body angling slightly in front of mine in what feels like a protective stance.

"Luna," Caterina says, her voice perfectly controlled. "I didn't expect to see you here."

I squint at Luna, trying to place her face in my memories. There's something vaguely familiar about her, but the pills make everything hard to pinpoint. I think I might have seen her before at some point, maybe at the casino? She's probably the cartel leader or something. Not that important, really.

'Oh yeah the Ex-husband!' I realize.

"Yeah, we came a week early to get hitched, Tony and I," Luna announces, yanking the slight man closer to her side. He stumbles a bit, his thin shoulders hunching further. "Pity you weren't invited, right babe?"

The man, Tony, keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the marble floor. "Hello, Caterina," he mumbles, his voice barely audible across the lobby. He doesn't look up once, his body language screaming discomfort.

"Tony," Caterina replies, her voice so flat and disinterested it's like she's acknowledging a piece of furniture rather than a person.

I can feel the tension crackling between them like static electricity. My damaged hands twitch nervously inside my pockets as I try to make sense of what I'm witnessing.

"Well, we'd like to get settled," Caterina says, her arm tightening possessively around my waist as she tries to steer us toward the reception desk.

Luna steps forward, blocking our path with a predatory grace that makes my heart rate spike. Her smile widens, showing too many teeth.

"We should have drinks together later tonight," she suggests, the cheerfulness in her voice not quite reaching her eyes. "To celebrate my marriage and your..."

Her green eyes drift down to my collar, then to my damaged hands, a mocking grin spreading across her face.

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"Your new pet," Luna finishes, her eyes fixed on my collar. "I see you've got him properly trained now. And those hands..." Her gaze lingers on my scarred fingers. "They seem to be healing nicely."

My stomach twists with sudden anxiety. There's something in her eyes, a calculated cruelty that makes my skin crawl. The way she's looking at my hands feels invasive like she's examining merchandise she's considering purchasing.

Caterina's arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer to her side. I can feel the tension radiating from her body, the barely contained violence simmering just beneath her sexy Latina exterior.

"Adam is not a pet," Caterina says, her voice dripping with ice. "He's my lover. And yes, his hands are healing wonderfully under my care."

Luna laughs, the sound echoing off the marble walls like breaking glass. "Of course, of course. My mistake." She winks at me, and something about the gesture makes my blood run cold. "I'm sure he's getting exactly the care he deserves."

The man beside her, Tony, shifts uncomfortably, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

"We really must be going," Caterina says, her crimson eyes never leaving Luna's face. "Enjoy your... honeymoon."

She practically spits the last word, making it sound like an insult rather than a well-wish. As she guides me past Luna, I feel the Latina woman's gaze burning into my back.

"Oh, we will," Luna calls after us, her voice carrying an undercurrent of threat. "See you tomorrow night."