Her loyalty hits me hard—not only because it means she won’t help me. Also because I used to have that kind of unadulterated trust in Giovanni. Not anymore. “He’s forcing me to marry him. He’s going to force me to…” I can’t even speak the words, not where he’s concerned. Force me to have sex with him. As much as I know he’s changed, it’s still impossible to believe he’d do that.
She looks pained, and I have to wonder at the exact nature of her loyalty to him. Giovanni wouldn’t be the first man to use the household staff to meet his needs. My father certainly did.
A pang of jealousy hits my breastbone. I ignore it because that doesn’t matter.
He’s probably been with a hundred women.
And now it’s hard to breathe.
“Senorita, are you okay?” Her voice sounds far away.
I feel her guide me to the chair, and I’m grateful for that. My hands grasp her, keeping her close. I meet her dark gaze, pleading. “Just a message, so my sister knows where I am. So she knows I’m not dead.”
Her lips part, and I’m praying, hoping. Nothing comes out. Her brow furrows. Genuine worry shades her brown eyes, and I think she might actually do this for me.
A sharp yip comes from the hallway, and she jerks back.
Seconds later Lupo dives into the room and under the bed. Romero appears, looking disgruntled, his suit askew. “Let’s go,” he says, not waiting until the girl complies.
She gives me one last worried look before hurrying out.
The door closes. The lock turns.
She didn’t agree to send a message, but she didn’t say no either. I’ll ask her again when I see her. I’ll get down on my knees and beg her. I really do want my sister to know I’m okay. Maybe she can help me escape, but even if she couldn’t, I know she’ll rest easier if she hears from me.
And I am desperate to break free. I don’t want to think that Giovanni will do what he says. He wouldn’t. I’m sure he wouldn’t force me to have sex.
Don’t push me, bella. You won’t like what happens.
I want to believe he wouldn’t, but I’m terrified to find out for sure.
Chapter Ten
The low murmur of male voices bleeds through the door.
Lupo’s ears perk up, and his growl fills the room. He had another walk at lunchtime. I had a bowl of soup and thick focaccia bread, but the girl wouldn’t talk to me again. She wouldn’t even meet my eyes. I may be captive here, but at least they’re keeping me well-fed.
I’m expecting Romero again or maybe the girl with a late afternoon snack.
So it’s a shock when Giovanni walks into the room.
I saw him yesterday, so I should be used to the way he’s changed, his expression harder, shoulders somehow more broad. Is it possible for him to be taller than he was at eighteen? He definitely seems that way. He may as well be a giant the way he fills the room.
And he’s carrying something. Not a tray of food or a leash, though.
A dress.
Something shimmery and glittery gold is draped over his arm. He sets it on the bedspread in front of me. “For tomorrow night.”
Lupo growls, but he ruins the effect by backing up until he’s underneath the bed.
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know it fits?”
His gaze flickers over my body, and suddenly the tank top and jeans I’m wearing may as well be see-through lace. It’s like he can see all of me, every inch of my skin, every shadow and curve. My body responds with inappropriate heat, starting in my core and spreading outward to harden my nipples.
His eyes darken. “Try it on.”
He makes no move to leave, and I have no desire to undress in front of him. “I’m sure it fits.”
“Do you have everything you need?”
The amusement in his voice turns my stomach. How dare he find this funny. I could be in chains, could be beaten and starved, but it’s hard for me to be grateful. I’m a captive just the same. “Oh, let’s see. Food, check. Water, check. Freedom? Not so much.”
His amusement evaporates like a drop of water on hot concrete. “Freedom is for other people. People who aren’t born the daughter of mafia royalty.”
“They’re dead,” I mutter through gritted teeth. My mother didn’t care enough to stick around. My father…well, let’s just say I would have preferred for him to care a little less.
“Which makes you their heir. But you know this.”
“I know there are people who would use me. I just don’t understand why you are one of them. Where is the boy who held me in his arms when I cried? What happened to the boy I loved?”
A moment passes in utter stillness. I didn’t mean to let out so much frustration. And I don’t expect a real answer, because he hasn’t given me one before. He shifts, and I push up from the bed, backing into the wall. No, I don’t expect a real answer—but he might do something worse. He might punish me. He might prove just how bad captivity can be.
He turns just enough to shut the door. It closes with a quiet, painful click.
A shrug of his large shoulders drops his jacket to his hand. He tosses it on top of the dress, and it’s a strange intimacy, seeing our clothes mingled together. Next his fingers work at the buttons of his white shirt.