The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)-Chapter 46: Dependence Day

Her touch is feather-light as she works each joint, gently pushing my fingers to their limits before releasing them. The skin doesn't look like ground beef anymore, but the angry red scars crisscross my hands like a roadmap of everything I've lost. My fingers curl inward slightly when she releases them.

"You're doing so well," she speaks, her voice soft with that maternal pride that still makes like the only man in the world. "The doctor says consistency is key."

I'm trying not to wince as she extends my pinky finger, stretching it to a point where it feels like the skin might tear along the surgical scars. A dull ache pulses through the digit, but it's nothing compared to the hammer. Nothing will ever compare to that.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, her crimson eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Yeah," I admit. "But it's fine."

She continues the exercises with my other hand, moving each finger individually, her eyes following the movement with laser-like focus. There's something almost reverent in her gaze like she's handling something precious and irreplaceable. Her crimson eyes soften at the edges, her perfect lips parted slightly in concentration as she works the stiff joints with expert care.

My fingers look like pale, broken twigs in her strong, capable hands. She manipulates them with such tenderness, such precision.

"Try to make a fist for me," she instructs, her voice gentle but firm.

I concentrate, willing my fingers to curl inward. They twitch pathetically, barely moving a centimeter before the pain flares up, hot and insistent. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort, and I exhale sharply, unable to hide my discomfort.

"That's it," she encourages as if I've accomplished something remarkable instead of a sad approximation of a basic function. "You're doing so well, baby."

Her eyes never leave my hands as she works, studying every millimeter of movement with an intensity that feels almost scientific. But there's something else there, too, a possessive pride, like she's admiring her own handiwork. Which, in a twisted way, she probably is.

I gasp sharply as she lightly touches my right index finger, sending a lightning bolt of pain shooting up my arm. The sensation is brutal, making my vision blur momentarily as tears spring to my eyes. My breath hitches audibly, a pathetic whimper escaping before I can trap it behind clenched teeth.

Caterina's head snaps up, her crimson eyes widening with concern. Her lips part slightly, tongue darting out to wet them as she watches me struggle.

"Oh dear," she purrs, her voice dropping to that velvety register that sends shivers down my spine. "Looks like my lover needs pain meds again."

There's an unmistakable excitement in her words, a breathless quality that makes it clear how much she enjoys this dependency we've established. Her eyes gleam with anticipation, pupils dilating slightly as she releases my hand and reaches for the crystal dish on the side table where her collection of pharmaceuticals waits like colorful candy.

"I think..." she mutters, fingers hovering over the assortment of pills, "this one might help." She selects a small blue oval, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger with practiced ease.

My mouth waters instantly, a trained response I can no longer control. The sight of that little pill makes my heart race with anticipation, my body already preparing for the blessed relief it promises.

Caterina looks at me like a priest offering salvation. "What do we say?"

"Please," I whisper, the sound desperate, needy, exactly how she wants me.

Caterina's smile widens, revealing perfect white teeth. She leans closer as she brings the pill to her lips. The rite is so familiar now, so intimate.

"Open," she commands softly, her crimson eyes locked on mine.

I part my lips obediently, tongue slightly extended. She places the pill on her own tongue first, letting me see it there for a moment before closing the distance between us. The moment our lips touch a feeling of relief washes over my body.

Her tongue slides against mine, transferring the pill with expert precision. The tart taste spreads across my taste buds, but I barely notice it anymore. What I notice instead is the warmth of her mouth, the way her hand cradles the back of my neck tenderly, the small sound of satisfaction she makes as I swallow.

When she pulls back, her thumb traces my bottom lip softly, wiping away a drop of her spit. "Good boy," she praises, her voice thick with love. "My perfect, beautiful boy.

I feel myself drifting, the drugs pulling me under like a gentle tide.

"Tired, baby?" she asks, though the answer is obvious from my heavy eyelids and sluggish movements.

I nod, unable to stifle a massive yawn that stretches my jaw wide. My hands lie uselessly atop the covers

Caterina smiles. "Come on, let's go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow."

She helps me under the sheets as my hands can't even do that. The cool silk slides against my skin like water, a small luxury I've come to appreciate in this gilded cage. My head sinks into the pillow, and exhaustion crashes over me in an instant wave.

"What's tomorrow?" I mumble, my words slurring slightly at the edges.

Caterina's crimson eyes gleam in the darkness as she slides in beside me, her body radiating warmth. "Mafia stuff," she says simply, pulling me closer.

I smile and say, "Oh." The vague answer is somehow perfect in my drug-addled state.

'It's like I'm dating a sexy Jabba the Hutt.'

She guides my head to her chest, my ear pressed against her heartbeat. The steady rhythm is hypnotic, lulling me further toward unconsciousness.

"Good night, Adam. I love you," she whispers into the darkness, her voice carrying that possessive tenderness that's become my anchor.

"I love you too," I sleepily reply, the words easily coming from my lips.

*****

I wake with a start. My bladder feels like it's about to explode, a familiar pressure that usually has me nudging Caterina awake to help me with my morning ritual. But this time, I pause.

She's lying there, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow like spun gold, her face soft in sleep. No predatory gleam in those crimson eyes, no calculating smile. Just Caterina, vulnerable and human.

I glance down at my hands. They've improved over the week, but they're still basically useless shovels at the ends of my arms.

'I can do this myself. I'd hate to wake her.'

I slide out of bed as quietly as possible, wincing as the mattress shifts. Caterina stirs slightly but doesn't wake. I stand there frozen, barely breathing until she settles again.

The bathroom door is open, beckoning me with its promise of relief. I shuffle toward it, my bare feet silent against the plush carpet. The penthouse is eerily quiet this early, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing a Boston still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness.

I make it to the toilet and stare down at my pajama pants. This is where it gets tricky. I hook my hands into the waistband and push downward, using the heels of my palms rather than my useless fingers. The fabric slides reluctantly, bunching at my thighs.

'Good enough,' I think, positioning myself over the bowl.

I try to angle myself without using my hands, which is harder than I expected. A triumphant feeling bubbles up in my chest as the stream finally starts, hitting the water with what sounds like a thunderous splash in the quiet bathroom.

The relief is incredible, almost worth the complicated maneuver it took to get here. I close my eyes, savoring this tiny moment of independence, this one basic human function I've managed without Caterina's help.

'She's going to be so happy she doesn't have to help me piss anymore.'

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The bathroom feels suddenly smaller, the air crystallizing with tension. I turn my head, still mid-stream, to see Caterina standing in the doorway. Her silhouette is backlit by the bedroom light, making her look like some avenging angel. Her blonde hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders, but her crimson eyes are narrowed to dangerous slits.

"Cat," I smile, a nervous flutter in my chest. I feel weirdly proud as I continue, "Look! I can pee on my own."

Her fury only heightens. Her nostrils flare, her perfect mouth twisting into a snarl. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as she takes one deliberate step toward me, then another. The tile floor may as well be cracking beneath her bare feet.

"How could you?" she breathes, the softness of her voice more frightening than any scream.

My stream falters, panic seizing my bladder mid-relief. "What?" I stammer, genuinely confused by her reaction. "I was just..."

"How fucking dare you, Adam," she cuts me off, her voice rising with each word until it fills the bathroom, bouncing off the marble surfaces like physical blows. "What is it? You want to be independent?"

The accusation hits me like ice water. I shake my head frantically, pajama pants still bunched around my thighs, my manhood shrinking under her fury. "No, no," I plead, the words tumbling out in desperate succession. "I just didn't want to wake you. I thought you'd be happy."

She stalks closer, her silk nightgown whispering against her skin with each step. Her breathing comes in short, sharp bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the thin fabric. She looks unhinged.

"This feels like something a bad boy would do," she says, her dropping low.

The words "bad boy" echo in my skull like a death knell. Memories flash before my eyes, the glint of metal, the sickening crunch of bones, the white-hot agony that followed. The hammer. My hands throb in phantom pain, the scars seeming to pulse with remembered trauma.

'Bad boys get the hammer.'

My legs give out beneath me. I collapse to my knees on the cold tile floor.

The tears come hot and fast, streaming down my face in rivulets that drip onto the cold bathroom floor. My shoulders shake with each heaving sob, the sound pathetic and raw, echoing off the marble surfaces. I can barely see through the blur of tears, but I can feel Caterina's presence looming over me like a storm cloud.

"Please, Caterina, please don't hurt me again," I beg, my voice breaking with each word. The crying is ugly, snot running from my nose, spit gathering at the corners of my mouth, my face contorted in terror. "I wasn't trying to be independent. I just didn't want to wake you up. I swear on my life. I swear."

I'm babbling now, desperate to convince her, to placate the fury I can feel radiating from her like heat from a furnace. My pajama pants are still bunched around my thighs, my shriveled penis flopping around. I've never felt more afraid in my life.

Caterina stares down at me, her crimson eyes burning with contempt. "You're supposed to call me Cat," she hisses, the correction dripping with venom.

"I'm so sorry, Cat," I sob harder, pressing my forehead to the floor in complete submission. "Please forgive me. I'll never pee alone again. I want to be dependent on you. I need to be dependent on you."

The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by my ragged breathing and pathetic sniffles. I dare to glance up, my vision swimming with tears.

Caterina's expression finally softens, the fury melting away to reveal something almost tender. A smile spreads across her perfect face, transforming her from avenging angel to benevolent goddess in the space of a heartbeat.

"There's my good boy," she coos, crouching down beside me. Her fingers thread through my hair, gentle now, soothing. "I was so worried you were trying to leave me."

I lean into her touch like a starving animal, relief washing over me in waves so powerful I feel dizzy with it. "Never," I whisper, the word a fervent prayer. "I'd never leave you, Cat."

She helps me up, pulling my pajama pants back into place. Her hands are gentle as she guides me to the sink, wetting a washcloth to clean my tear-stained face. The cool cloth feels heavenly against my hot skin, and I close my eyes as she tenderly wipes away the evidence of my breakdown.

"You understand why I was upset, don't you?" she asks, her voice soft but insistent.

Th𝗲 most uptodate novels are published on ƒгeewёbnovel.com.

I nod, unable to meet her gaze. "Yes, Cat. I should have woken you up. I'm really so sorry."

"That's right."