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.
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.”
I shiver because I don’t want to imagine Giovanni giving that order. But it’s not like the locked door or the armed guard outside are particularly subtle. I’m his prisoner.
“Please,” I whisper. “I’ll get Lupo. We won’t cause trouble. Don’t tell Giovanni what happened.”
A drop of orange-yellow pierces the darkness. Giovanni is sitting in an armchair, large body reclined, one ankle slung over his leg, a lighter in his hand. The flame dances from the silver cylinder, casting eerie shadows on his face. “What shouldn’t he tell me about?”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “God, you could give a girl a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Romero says, his voice clipped. “The dog got out.”
“And the girl?” Giovanni says, his voice low and liquid.
I plant a hand on my hip. “The girl is grown up. And she got out too.”
A smile in the dark, the flash of white teeth. The Cheshire cat’s smile. “Careless,” he says.
Romero swears under his breath. “It won’t happen again.”
“Leave.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Romero’s embarrassment and anger bubbles in the air behind me, and I know I’ll have to deal with him later. For now I have to deal with the man in front of me. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I see a small and trembling figure in the corner, behind an antique globe. Footsteps recede as Romero follows orders.
“I’ll just get Lupo and go.” Whatever courage I felt when I corrected Giovanni left with Romero. Now I’m alone in a room—in
the
room—and all I want is to leave.
“Wait.” The word is soft but clearly a command.
I wait.
He stands, still holding the lighter up. One step closer. Without thinking it through, I take a step back. We move that way, one forward, one back, until the wall stops me. This was a bad idea. Everything about this is bad, from the fact that I just moved into the shadows to the way he’s looking at me. Hungry. Starving, like he needs to devour me just to survive.