The Ravishing Read Online Ava Harrison

Categories Genre: Dark, M-M Romance, Mafia, Romance, Suspense, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
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Maybe I could get my hands on a phone.

Panic rushed through me when Cassius leaned into my body. His fingers eased off the rope around my wrists, freeing my hands that throbbed and swelled.

Up ahead, tall iron gates with an elaborate design swung wide. We continued through, navigating along an endless driveway. An Italian renaissance mansion rose high with gothic flair, ivy clinging to the walls, unaware it had the choice to be free of this place.

The car pulled up into a circular driveway. Outside the front of the stone-pillared entrance, a man in combat gear stood as a sentry on the steps. He considered us with the same level of intimidation. The cars driven by Cassius’s men parked behind ours.

Scarface got out of one of the SUVs. He opened my door and reached in for me.

“I’ve got her,” Cassius told him.

The man stepped back and waited.

Reluctantly, I followed Cassius, spilling out of the car and looking up at the windows. Wondering how long I’d be here.

With a punishing grip on my arm, Cassius led me toward the front door.

My feet missed a step, and he caught me, pausing for a second and hugging me to his side. “You good?”

“Yes.” It came out breathy.

He looked the way he felt, his body rock hard and toned. The physique of someone who worked out and kept his body finely tuned like the killing machine he was. I hated how he made me feel, his nearness causing an uneasy sensation of pleasure.

He led me inside.

Refusing to relent and show any weakness, I shoved away from him.

It didn’t faze him.

We were walking through a vast foyer with pristine stone tile. The Italian design of old and new décor almost took away from the sting of being imprisoned here. My surroundings were breathtaking. The place was huge with high ceilings, and along the walls, tall bay windows let the light flood in. This classic opulence revealed more about Cassius. He either came from money or had acquired it—I didn’t want to know how.

We continued up a sprawling staircase of marble with flamboyant handrails on either side. Cassius took a sharp right at the top of the stairs and continued along a hallway. His hand moved in my direction, gesturing for me to keep up.

This place was amazing.

You won’t be here long.

I wondered how much Cassius would want for me. Whatever the price, I was sure my father would pay it.

A nagging fear my parents might abandon me chipped away at my bravery. Those thoughts melted into survival mode when Cassius led me into a room.

Keeping some distance between us, I looked around, taking in the bed with its generous blue duvet and the ornate Persian rug in the center of the hardwood floor. Other than that, it was a room that cared little for a person’s comfort. Discreetly, I looked around for something that could break the windows.

I walked over to take a peek outside. A forest of trees obstructed my view. If I could make it out, I’d be able to disappear amongst them.

“This will be your room,” Cassius said, like a concierge checking me in and not my captor.

“How long will I be here?” I said bitterly.

“Indefinitely.”

Panicked, I tried to leave the room.

He was right behind me, and before I could escape, his hand reached out and slammed the door in my face.

His rock-hard chest pressed against my back. “You will join us for dinner at seven. Until then, stay in here.”

“Please,” I begged. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Maybe not. But your father did, and that’s good enough for me.”

I spun around, facing him, adjusting to his body being so close to mine. His intimidation was bringing another rush of panic. I looked up at him, at his steely eyes that held no warmth. No kindness, no humanity, just a cruel man hiding behind a beautiful face.

I glanced at his full lips before braving to hold his stare. “What if my dad refuses to pay you?”

“We can have this conversation over dinner.” He stepped back, reached for the handle, and pulled open the door. He left, closing it behind him with a slam.

I cursed him. Cursed this place. Cursed the fact my dad hadn’t been honest with us. By not telling us anything, he’d put us at greater risk.

I pulled the door open and then froze in terror.

A sentry loomed large, guarding the way. The man gestured for me to go back in with a casual turn of his wrist. A man too big to fight.

I closed the door, turned, and leaned against it.

As if having an out-of-body experience, I strolled across the room, soon making it to the other side. Yanking the cord of the bedside lamp out of its socket, I carried the lamp back with me to the far side—toward the only wall with the green damask wallpaper—and hoisted the lamp high. With a violent thrust, I chucked it at the mirror.



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