“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.