by Skye Warren
Without meaning to, I take a step forward. A step toward him.
He puts his hand up to stop me. “I don’t need your pity, bella. Don’t waste it on me. I show you this so you’ll understand. So you don’t look to me for mercy. I have none.”
I swallow hard. He’s right. How can I beg him for freedom when he was tortured to try and save me? Those are not his scars. They’re mine. He took them for me. Grief shudders through me for the boy who died that night, in spirit if not in body. I may have believed him gone all this time, but now I know exactly how it happened. It broke something in him, and God, just the knowledge is breaking something inside me.
“You want me to wear that dress tomorrow night? Fine. I owe you that.” I force myself to take a breath. “I owe you more than I can ever repay. You want me to stand up in front of a priest and say the words I do for whatever power it will bring you? Fine.”
If I expected to see satisfaction, I would have been disappointed. I’m giving up everything I have to a statue made of stone. He doesn’t move, still naked from the waist up, still impenetrable.
I do take a step closer then, because I’m not completely defenseless here. At least, I hope I’m not. “But you can’t force me to consummate this marriage. I’m asking—” I’m more than asking. I’m begging. “Please, Gio. I may not love the man you are now, but don’t make me hate you.”
His head cocks to the side, his eyes incisive, like he’s trying to figure me out. “Do my scars disgust you that much?”
The crack that formed inside me at the sight of them breaks into a thousand pieces. “No, Gio—how could you think that? Your body doesn’t disgust me.” His body is beautiful and strong, a temple of masculine power. The scars don’t detract from that. He’s been forged in fire.
“Then what?”
“I don’t want to be forced, Giovanni. Not about that.”
He takes a step close, and his legs are long enough that we’re only inches apart. The air fills with the salt and spice of him. My heart races. His eyes are dark pools that I can sink into, quicksand, pulling me down faster the harder I struggle.
“Then don’t make me force you, bella. Don’t fight.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I can’t agree to this. It would be the same, whether I lashed out at him with my fists or whether I lay still and accepted him. Either way, it would be force. Because I have no choice. I can have no real choice as long as he holds me here.
“One more thing,” he murmurs. “Don’t ask Maria for help again. It won’t work.”
My breath catches in my chest. I hadn’t been sure she would help me, but I’d hoped she wouldn’t tell on me. Apparently her loyalty to Giovanni runs deeper than I thought. Certainly deeper than any of the household help felt for my father.
Before I can respond, he turns and strides from the room, his shirt and suit jacket still draped over the gold fabric of my dress, a symbol of his command over me even when he’s gone.
Chapter Eleven
I told Giovanni I would stay and do what he needed. I think I might owe him that, not that I have much choice at the moment. But I’m not going to stay forever. Whatever power play he’s working on will end eventually. My mother escaped my father. I’ll find a way to leave too.
For right now, I’m focused on getting a message to Honor. She’ll be crazy with worry. She would have tried to call me the night of the party at the Grand and expected me to meet her for a spa day the next morning. For that matter, Amy will worry too. I have to at least let them know I’m alive, that I’m safe.
As safe as you can be with a mafia capo holding you captive.
The next morning I’m determined to find a crack in the walls. Clearly the girl, Maria, told Giovanni about me asking for help. Asking again won’t do any good and, more than likely, would just piss off Gio once he heard. Instead I focus on trying to get information. Maybe she can tell me something useful.
The tray she brings in this morning is piled with thick French toast and sliced fruit. She sets it down while Romero takes a snarling Lupo downstairs. Worry tugs at me as I watch the gray mop of fur disappear through the door, tail between his legs, body low to the ground. He doesn’t trust Romero, which is understandable. I don’t either. But he doesn’t trust me, doesn’t trust anyone.
That’s no way to live.
Maria looks like she’s about to leave once she sets the food out.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly.
She doesn’t say anything, her eyes wary.
“I’m sorry I put you in that position. I know it would have been risky for you to do anything to help me. You could have gotten in trouble.”
Her dark brows lower, and I sense her indecision. Some part of her did want to help. Then her lips firm. “Mr. Costas is a good man.”
Forcing myself to look casual, I take a seat at the small table. The orange juice is freshly squeezed, like drinking sunshine—sunshine I desperately need after being indoors for two days now. I wonder if he’ll let me walk Lupo if I ask him.
He’d have to trust me for that.
“You seem very loyal to him,” I say. “I’m not sure anyone was that loyal to my father, even his men.”
“Loyalty is the only thing holding us together,” she says, her tone fierce.
My father said something similar, except he used the word blood. Blood was the only thing holding us together. It’s interesting to hear how things changed now that a man who wasn’t in line has the helm.
Although once we’re married, he’ll at least be related by marriage.
“Are you married?” I ask softly.
Her eyes flicker with something. Fear? Shame? “No.”
Giovanni would only have sent someone in here if he was sure of them. And she does seem fierce in her loyalty. Definitely too fierce for someone who cleans rooms. Does she do more than that for him? The way the maids had to serve my father? He was a cruel man with dark tastes. They hadn’t liked what he did to them. But maybe Giovanni is different. Maybe he’s convinced her there is something romantic between them.
Or maybe there really is something romantic between them. My stomach turns over. If that were true, she wouldn’t be okay with him marrying me, would she? Then again, sometimes we do hard things for the sake of love. And maybe that’s why he only wanted to consummate the marriage, nothing more.
Information, I remind myself. Find the cracks in the wall.
“How long have you worked for Giovanni?” It can’t be longer than a couple years. I’ve only been gone eight, and he would have needed time to rise to power. There’s a huge gap in my knowledge, though.
She definitely looks nervous now. “Almost a year.”
My stomach churns. I don’t want to imagine her with Giovanni, but it’s hard not to. Her loyalty, her nervousness. All of it combines to paint a picture my mind would rather not see.
She’s definitely pretty, with black hair and dark eyes, her slender body a sharp contrast to mine. The clothes in the closet fit perfectly except for the bust. Some of them are tight, including the tank top I’m wearing now. Giovanni used to like my body, but he’s changed in many ways.
I’m the one too scared to push for answers, to find out if he’s been with her. “There’s a party tonight,” I say instead. “Does he have parties often?”
“This will be the first one,” she says, sounding relieved that I changed the topic. I’m not sure whether he told her she could speak to me or not, but she has to stay until Romero returns and unlocks the door.
“Oh.” My father had parties regularly. I watched a few of them between the balcony rails, wearing my nightgown. Before my father found out and started locking me in my room. Only my sister was required to attend, wearing Versace and Gucci, the first daughter, the real one.
My gaze sweeps to the glittering dress where I hung it on the closet door. Even from here I can see the fine stitching and needlework with the gold pieces. I have no doubt that it’s a designer gown, that it’s
expensive, but that says more about Giovanni’s status than it does about mine.
“Do you…” Maria pauses, looking uncertain. “Do you want me to do your hair? I practice with my sister sometimes. I can put it up for you.”
“Oh, that would be really nice.” I tell myself I only care because it gives me more time to get close to Maria, to get information from her. Not because I want to look pretty for Giovanni.
She gives me a small smile. “I can do it after lunch.”
“Thank you.”
Worry passes over her eyes. “He does not… Mr. Costas. He does not want you hurt. He’s said that you’re under his protection. He’s a good man.”
Anyone who touches you will die. I’ll kill them myself.
That’s possessiveness, not necessarily protection. He could hurt me. He probably will.
My doubt must show on my face, because Maria continues. “He does not…” In her pause I see her struggle for the words. I wonder if it’s a language barrier. Her accent is slight but discernable. “He does not hurt women.”
The tone in her voice reminds me of the girls who dance at the Grand, girls who were hurt by men too many times. My heart cracks against that hurt, even for this stranger, even for this woman who’s helping keep me here. “Who hurt you, Maria?”
Fear floods her eyes, and her lips press together. “I can’t help you.”
I’ve lost her again, and I’m desperate. “Please. This isn’t for me. It’s for my sister. She’s worried about me.” And if Maria knows what it’s like to be hurt by men, she’ll also understand my sister’s fear. After what Honor has been through, she’ll think the worst. “You don’t have to tell her where I am. If you just—”
“No,” she says, hardening her voice. “I owe Mr. Costas my life. I will do nothing to harm him.”
“Even if he hurts me?” My voice cracks. I didn’t mean to say that. Didn’t mean to beg for help, at least not to escape. I keep trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter if he forces me to have sex. He’s already keeping me here. It’s just one more thing.
But that’s a lie. It would break something inside me, something that could never be repaired. Not just for a man to force himself on me, but for Giovanni to do it.
Her nostrils flare. “He wouldn’t.”
God. I need to get myself together. It feels like I’m breaking apart, looking at this woman who would defend Giovanni, even against himself. He’s already said what he’s going to do to me. I need to find some way to accept it. And she isn’t the answer I need.
“Thanks,” I say, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll just do my own hair.”
I hate that she looks hurt, but I just couldn’t. It would be too creepy for her to dress me up, make me pretty just so Giovanni can rape me. Too wrong.
She nods stiffly as the sound of a growling dog comes through the door. Then it’s open, and she leaves without another word, brushing past Romero on her way out. He barely spares her a glance, frowning at the dog as he unhooks the leash.
My gaze focuses on him. I thought Maria was my best chance for help, but I was wrong. She’s sympathetic toward me, yes. And way too loyal to Giovanni. Romero, on the other hand, is stuck doing dog-walking duty. He must have fucked something up to be given such a crappy task.
“Romero,” I say, questioning.
He looks up in surprise. He hadn’t thought I would remember him. The sound he makes is more of a grunt than a word, but I take it as encouragement.
“You worked for my father.” I need to feel him out, find out if he’s as fanatically loyal to Giovanni as Maria is. And judging from the zealous flash in his eyes at the mention of my father, I’m guessing not.
“Your father was a good man,” he says gruffly.
No, he was a horrible man. “I miss him,” I lie, because I’m running out of time. Tonight is the engagement party. I’m guessing the wedding will be soon after. There’s no need to waste time on propriety when the bride is being forced. “I didn’t want to leave before, but now I do.”
His eyes flash again, this time with jealousy. “Everything is different now.”
“I know.” I pretend to be sad about that as I round the table, moving slowly, letting his eyes roam my body. “But you know the old ways. You were the kind of man I looked up to.”
His gaze is locked on my breasts, which are barely contained by the tank top. I don’t know whether Giovanni likes my curves, but Romero apparently does. I move closer to him, letting my hips sway. My stomach ties into knots. I don’t know how far I’ll have to go to get him to help me, but I have to try.
“You didn’t look at me twice when you were here before,” he says, his voice rough. With desire? Or with anger? This is a man I wouldn’t want to see angry. Not the cold fury that Giovanni would have. This man would be wild in his anger, like Shane.
“I was young,” I say honestly. “I didn’t understand how things worked. And…I was afraid of you. Because you’re strong.” And violent. And probably sociopathic. “I’m grown now.”
“Yes, you are,” he mutters, daring to place his hand on my hip.
I hold back my flinch. “It isn’t right, him having me. Daddy wouldn’t have wanted that.”
That much isn’t a lie. He would be furious to know that Giovanni, the son of a foot soldier, had somehow usurped his position. It bothered him deeply that he never had a son. So he’d done the next best thing and chosen his successor, who was to marry Honor. Now all his plans are ruined.
Romero looks just as pissed as my father would be. “There’s a natural order.”
“I know,” I say, placing my hand on his suit lapel. “But I can’t do anything about it now. I’m trapped in here. He’s going to take what he wants from me. What he doesn’t deserve.”
I may not want to be a princess, but that’s how I was born.
There’s a girl in my Advanced Sculpture class who said that fairy tales are stupid, that she didn’t need a prince to save her. But she doesn’t understand.
Fairy tales aren’t for the girls who have a choice. They’re for the girls shoved into corners, trapped in darkness, bent over desks. Places where hope is an act of bravery. Where believing in love is an act of rebellion.
Fairy tales are for girls who dream of happy endings, knowing they might not live to see tomorrow.
Romero is far from a white knight, but he rises to the occasion. “You don’t belong with him. Fuck, I was higher on the food chain than his father. If anyone gets you, it should be me.”
Not the most heroic of speeches, but I’ll take it. I look down, stroking the silky fabric of his tie with one finger. “If only things had been different.”
I’m waiting for the magic words, praying he’ll promise to carry me away, when I see a flash of gray streak past me, between our legs, and out the door. Lupo.
Chapter Twelve
I’m out the door before Romero even knows what’s happening. He shouts, and I know he’s on my heels. There’s no chance I can actually escape like this, not with him this close and more men walking the grounds. I’m just focused on catching Lupo before he actually leaves the grounds. Or worse, attacks someone. I don’t think he’s a dangerous dog, but he’s trapped just like me. He’ll fight if he needs to, but the men he’ll be fighting have guns.
If we were in some other mansion, or even a hotel kind of place, I would be slower. Wouldn’t know which way to go. But I grew up here, barefoot on this same overlong oriental rug. A childhood of racing through these halls with my sister with a child’s exuberance gives me the burst of speed I need. I hear the clatter of Lupo’s nails on the stairs a second before I swing around the balcony. Then I’m racing down the steps after him.
He pauses at the bottom, unsure which way to go. The front of the mansion is closed off by wide double doors and thick stained glass. The back has large paned windows to show off the double-level pool and courtyards, which means Vegas’s sunlight pours in. Lupo heads for the back, not knowing he’ll be locked
in that way just as much as the first, but then a man in a suit rounds the corner from the opposite direction.
There’s a horrible grinding sound as Lupo’s nails dig into the hardwood floors to stop his slide. He’s caught between me behind him and this unknown man in front of him. Before I can call his name, he darts through a one-foot opening in the door to the side. My heart pounds. The office.
I don’t recognize the man opposite me, but I know his type. He’s armed and dangerous and at least mildly sociopathic to even be in this job. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to figure out who the hell I am or what I’m doing. Then he reaches into his jacket to draw his weapon. I don’t wait to find out if he’s going to threaten me or just open fire. I dart into the office after Lupo and stumble to a halt.
It’s dark, because the office is one of the only rooms in the mansion with no windows. Therefore it’s the most secure if it were to fall under attack.
But it’s not filled with cigar smoke or that clove spice I sometimes smell in my nightmares. I suppose there are some habits Giovanni chose not to pick up.
“Lupo,” I whisper.
I need to get ahold of him before that guy comes in, before Romero catches up to us. Hopefully we’ll both be escorted back to the room without anyone getting hurt. And without involving Giovanni.
I raise my voice to a hushed demand. “Lupo, come here right now. Please.”
The door swings open behind me, sunlight bouncing off the glossy wood and spilling onto the rug in the office. Romero looks rumpled from the short run and pissed off. So much for getting on his good side.
“I’ll find him,” I say, praying he lets me handle this. Lupo has already been grumpy dealing with the walks. He’ll be even more defensive after getting cornered in here.
Romero reaches for me. “I’m putting you back in the room. Then I’ll deal with the mutt.”
Shit, this is what I was afraid of. I back up. “Wait. No.”
His eyes flash. “I have authorization to keep you in that room with force. Don’t make me use it.”
