My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 484

Chapter 484

Gianna | Age 16

I sat stiffly on the edge of the leather examination chair, my hands tucked under my thighs to hide the way they were shaking.

In the corner of the room, sitting on a chair, was Perla. My stepmother looked out of place among the glass cabinets and medical tools.

Her face was incredibly pale, her fingers twisting a tissue into shreds in her lap. My father had put her there. He didn’t care about my comfort, but he knew what Doctor Vance was. He had ordered Perla to sit in every single session, to keep her eyes wide open, just to make sure the doctor’s hands never went under my clothes or touched me in an inappropriate way.

But my father didn’t care about the other types of pain. He welcomed them. He thought they would fix me.

“You really thought you were clever, didn’t you, Gianna?” Doctor Vance’s voice was carried a nasty edge that made my stomach twist into a hard knot.

He was standing by his desk, unbuttoning his white lab coat and tossing it onto a chair. He was furious. The red patch on his neck told me exactly how angry he was.

He knew about the recordings. He knew I got caught with them. He knew I was trying to get leverage to run away from my father, to escape the Philadelphia Outfit entirely, and fly to Chicago where my mother was waiting.

But Leone had betrayed me and now, I was trapped.

“A recording device,” Doctor Vance muttered, walking slowly toward the metal tray beside my chair. The wheels of the tray squeaked against the floor, “You wanted to show the world our little private lessons. You wanted to run back to mommy.”

“No… I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Giovanni wants results, Mrs. Toricelli,” Doctor Vance said, not even looking at her, “Sit down. Unless you want to tell the Don that you interfered with his daughter’s medical treatment.”

Perla’s mouth trembled. She looked at me, her eyes full of a helpless, pathetic pity that made me want to scream, and then she slowly sank back into her chair. She couldn’t save me. Nobody could.

“Hands on the armrests,” Doctor Vance ordered, stepping right into my space. He smelled like strong mints and rubbing alcohol.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I pulled my hands closer to my chest. “Please, don’t. I won’t do it again. I won’t try to leave.”

“Quiet.”

He grabbed my right wrist. His grip was like an iron vice, his thick fingers squeezing the bone until it throbbed. He slammed my forearm down onto the cold metal armrest of the chair, and before I could pull away, he dropped a heavy, padded leather strap over my wrist, buckling it tightly. He did the same to my left arm. I was pinned. I couldn’t move anything but my head.