Listen to Shut up and Listen by Nicholas Bonnin x Angelicca

I was boiling with anger after our conversation. Enzo's words echoed in my mind, replaying in my head like a broken record. He thought I was a spy. He thought I was playing some game. And the worst part? He wouldn't believe anything I say. No matter how many times I told him the truth, it didn't matter. He was convinced I was a threat, convinced I was trying to expose him.

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt trapped, suffocated by everything that had happened since I stepped foot into that villa.

I had been running for so long. Hiding. Living in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder, pretending to live a life that wasn't mine. But all of it had led me here. To the man who controlled my every move.

And he was sleeping.

I could do this.

The thought came slowly at first, like a whisper in the back of my mind. But it grew louder with every passing second. The anger. The resentment. The desperation. I had to end this. If I killed him, I would be free. Free from his control. Free from the fear.

But would it be worth it?

The guilt. The consequences. Was I really ready to live with the weight of his blood on my hands? Was I prepared to become something that would haunt me forever?

I grabbed the knife from under my pillow, its cold metal biting into my palm, grounding me in the present. It felt heavy, as if it was demanding me to make a choice. I tiptoed down the hallway, my heart racing. Each step was a battle, my mind screaming at me to turn back, to stop. But I couldn't live like this anymore.

The room was bathed in shadows, the only light coming from the faint glow of the digital clock on the nightstand. Tick... tick... tick. Time was slipping away, and I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, a knot of fear, desperation, and determination.

If I didn't do something now, I would never escape. The man had controlled my every move for too long. He had taken my life, my safety, my freedom, and I had had enough. I couldn't keep living in fear. I couldn't keep hiding.

As I entered the living room, I saw him. Enzo, stretched out on the couch, asleep. He looked so... normal. So human. For a second, I wondered how a man capable of so much cruelty could look so vulnerable in his sleep. But there was no room for weakness in this moment.

I moved closer, my hands trembling as I held the knife. My thoughts were a chaotic mess. What if I do it? What happens after?

The fear and the adrenaline were pulsing through me, but I didn't stop.

If I killed him, I would be free.

But was living with the guilt worth it? Could I ever live with myself if I went through with it?

I stared at him, my chest tight, my mind running at full speed. He was here, alone. No security. No one to protect him. And I had the power to end it all.

The reality of what I was contemplating settled in, and I stood frozen for a moment, knife in hand, my mind spinning in every direction. This was the moment that would define me.

I felt my breath catch in my throat as I stood over him, the knife trembling in my hand. It was now or never.

With a sharp inhale, I steadied myself. The knife felt heavy in my hand. Cold. Solid. I could end this now. End him. Free myself. Free my family from whatever hell he was planning for us.

I raised the knife, my hands shaking, my breath shallow. I aimed for his neck—quick, clean. He wouldn't even know what hit him. My heart pounded in my chest, blood roaring in my ears, my body shaking with a mix of terror and adrenaline.

Just one quick movement.

I leaned in closer, the blade glinting in the dim light, my chest tight with fear and anticipation.

But just as I was about to strike, he grabbed my wrist with inhuman speed, his grip tight, unyielding. My breath caught in my throat as his hand clamped around my wrist with a force that made me gasp. The knife was ripped from my grasp effortlessly, and before I could react, he was on top of me.

His body pressed down on me, pinning me to the couch, his weight overwhelming. I was trapped. The rush of adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, but now it was mixed with panic. How had he known? How had he moved so fast?

I could feel every inch of his body against mine—his breath hot against my face. He was shirtless. His skin was warm and smooth, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and powerful against mine. My body betrayed me as I tensed, a shiver running down my spine despite the circumstances. The silence broken only by the sound of my heart thundering in my ears.

I stared up at him, fury and desperation tangled together inside me. I had almost done it. Almost freed myself.

I tried to fight him, thrashing beneath his grip, but he was too strong. In one swift movement, I was pinned beneath him on the couch. His weight pressed into me, and the world narrowed to just the feel of his body against mine. I could feel every part of him—his chest, his hard abs, the heat radiating off his skin and his growing erection.

I was trying to kill him and this sicko was getting hard?

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense. I could feel his steady breath against my face, his presence suffocating in the best—and worst—way. I tried to squirm, tried to free myself, but his grip tightened, holding me in place. It was like he knew exactly what to do to make me freeze, to make me feel every inch of the power he had over me.

His smirk was almost teasing, and I hated how much it stirred something inside me.  My pulse raced, my body betraying me with each second I spent under him. He wasn't just holding me down physically; it felt like he had my mind, my every thought, wrapped around his finger. And the worst part? I couldn't stop it.

His eyes flickered with amusement, a hint of something dark dancing behind them. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying watching me struggle, watching me try to fight for control when, deep down, I knew he already had it all.

"Do you really think you can take me down that easily?" his voice was low, almost mocking, and it sent a chill through me despite the heat that enveloped us.

The cold air in the room contrasted with the heat radiating from his body, and for a moment, I forgot everything but the feeling of his weight pinning me to the couch.

"I didn't know you had it in you," he said, his tone laced with amusement and something darker as he brought the knife to my neck.

I fought against the pressure of the knife against my neck, feeling the cold metal against my skin, the sharp tip drawing blood. My heart hammered in my chest, panic clawing at me, but there was something else there too—a strange flicker of something I didn't want to acknowledge.

His gaze held me captive, the dangerous spark in his eyes daring me to defy him further.

"Was it here you wanted to touch?"he asked tracing the tip of the knife to the nape of my neck.

"How about my favorite part?"The knife moved lower to my chest, pulling my top down to expose my cleavage. He sucked in a breath and then moving ever so slowly he traced my nipple through the thin material. The bundle of nerves sprung to life. The shiver that ran through my veins made my back arch off the couch. I wanted to strangle myself for the lack of control. 

"You like that?" he smirked.

Before I could react, his mouth was suddenly on my neck, his lips warm and strangely comforting as they brushed against my skin. The moment he touched me, I froze, unable to process what was happening. The sensation was maddening.

He wasn't just teasing. No, this was something else. His tongue flicked against the spot he'd just licked, and I felt his teeth graze my skin. For a moment, I thought I might lose control. He was a predator, a force to be reckoned with, and yet in this very moment, I couldn't move, couldn't push him away. My body betrayed me as warmth rushed to places I'd spent so long trying to keep guarded.

His lips lingered on my neck, as though he couldn't get enough.

I closed my eyes, torn between wanting to scream, to push him away, and a sick curiosity that made my skin tingle, despite myself. Was this real? Was I really lying here beneath him, letting him do this?

A low growled slipped through him, his fingers knotted in my hair as he nibbled at a sweet spot on my neck. I hated the way my body surrendered to him, I fought back a moan as his hand trailed up my stomach into my shirt. He large palm gripped my breast, thumb flicking my nipple.

He pulled away for a brief moment, his smirk widening, eyes glinting with something feral. "Don't tell me you're enjoying this, love. That would just make things far too complicated."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my struggle. But the truth was undeniable. I didn't know how to feel anymore.

"It's okay to moan for me love,"he whispered into my ear, gripping my earlobe between his teeth. He kissed my collar, his grip tightening around my waist like he couldn't get enough of me.

"You should have stayed in bed, Amari, I'm afraid I can't take my hands off you,"he said kissing the corner of my lips.

His touch lingered, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. His fingers traced the curve of my waist, sending a wave of heat through my body, making it harder to think. His eyes darkened, and I could see the struggle within him—desire and something darker warring in his gaze.

I felt his breath against my skin, close, teasing, and then he was there, just inches away, lips almost brushing mine. My pulse was erratic, my breath shallow, and for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.

But then he cursed under his breath, pulling back abruptly, as if some invisible force had yanked him away. The distance between us suddenly felt painfully wide, and I could feel the air thickening.

He turned away, his back now to me, facing the window as though trying to gather himself. His posture was rigid, his shoulders taut, as though he were fighting an internal war. I stood frozen, unsure of what had just happened, trying to understand why I let him touch me the way he did.

His words came low and steady, almost to himself. "Che cazzo è stato quello?"  His voice was rough. I didn't understand a word he said.

I sat up on the couch, my skin buzzing from his touch. The wetness between my legs hard to ignore. I stood up, ready to slip away quietly and avoid what just happened but Enzo stalked toward me, my knife in his hand.

He pressed the knife to my neck again, and the sharp sting of it against my skin was enough to snap me out of my momentary daze. "You're still alive because I let you be," he whispered, his breath hot against my lips.

Every nerve in my body screamed to run, to fight, but I knew, deep down, that running from him had never been an option. I just had to survive—no matter the cost.

He let out a low chuckle, leaning back, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're so much more interesting than I gave you credit for. Go to bed, Amari. You can murder me however you want in your dream."

Asshole

"Go," he ordered, his voice low but firm, still carrying the tension of the moment.

I didn't argue. What was the point? There was nothing left to say. I turned away, my body aching for something I couldn't quite understand. Part of me wanted to scream at him, demand answers, but another part... part of me hated how I craved his touch, how every damn game he played only seemed to now make me want more.

I walked away without a word, my feet dragging as I moved to the bedroom. Once inside, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to steady my breath. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—confusion, anger, desire—each pulling me in different directions.

I hated that I had enjoyed it. Hated that I had let him get under my skin like that. But most of all, I hated how much I wanted more.

I forced myself to crawl under the covers. My body ached from the night's tension, and though my mind screamed for me to stay awake, to keep fighting, my body was too exhausted.

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come easy. Instead, all I could think about was killing him.