“Take me to my old room,” I tell Romero, who looks uncertain but ultimately lets me go.
For the next hour I curl up in the old bed with flowered sheets and stare out the window. Gio looked so cold when he sent me away. And all the trust he had built in me is gone. I can’t live this way. Even if he gives my freedom back, I’ll always know he can take it away again.
The only way to get out is to see my sister, except I have no way out. Romero is standing guard outside the door. The window is secure. Will Giovanni hurt her when he meets her in the pool house? He might not hurt her, but he would definitely consider the men with her fair game. Soldiers, like him.
At dinnertime Maria enters the room bearing a tray. “Come and eat,” she says.
“I’m not hungry,” I mumble, pressing my face into the pillow.
I hear the door close and figure she’s left the tray on the table. But I hear her making soft kissing noises to Lupo. When I peek behind me, he’s sniffing close to a piece of meat she’s holding out. He takes it and backs away, chewing and eyeing the plate for another piece.
At least someone learned to trust during my time here.
She approaches the bed and straightens a pillow. I don’t care what she has to say. Giovanni is so great, he would never hurt me. I know now that it’s partially true. He doesn’t try to hurt me, not with his hands. He hurts me anyway, by treating me like a captive. By keeping me from my sister. By forcing me to face truths I prefer to leave buried.
“Clara,” she whispers.
It’s strange that she’s whispering. Strange enough that I turn in bed to face her.
Her expression is worried as she looks me over. “Are you okay?”
I frown, a little confused. “What?”
Her brows draw together. “I went into the office to tell Mr. Costas something. I saw what he was doing to you. Romero made me leave, but…”
And she thought he was hurting me, raping me. Bent over the desk. I can imagine how it looked. He wasn’t raping me, but he was violating a boundary I had fortified for so long. I’m not sure if she would help me if she knew he was demanding secrets instead of sex. So I don’t tell her.
“Will you help me leave now?”
She glances toward the door. “Yes. What I was going to tell Mr. Costas… I was contacted this morning by someone whose name is Honor. She says she’s your sister, and she offered me money to help her get you out.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Why would Honor offer a ransom when she’s planning on extracting me? Maybe it’s a distraction. Still, something doesn’t feel right about the timing.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” Maria says sadly. “Wouldn’t have betrayed Mr. Costas for anything. But I can’t leave you here after what I saw. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before.”
I feel bad that she believes the worst of Giovanni. He’s not a saint by any means, but he hasn’t done what she’s thinking. Still, I need to get out of here. Giovanni clearly will never treat me as an equal. And my sister might be in trouble if he meets her in the pool house.
That’s a big if, because now I’m doubting whether that plan ever existed. Why would Juliette lie?
But if Juliette did lie, then something even more sinister is going on. She had Candy’s phone number. It wasn’t a direct link to Honor, but she could have used it to find her. Honor could be at some other meeting spot right now, expecting to find me but trapped instead.
Why would she want me to come to the pool house? Maybe that was just a feint, so I wouldn’t be alarmed that my sister didn’t contact me. She could have assumed I’d never get free of Romero anyway, so it wouldn’t matter.
Then again, she might have hoped I would go to the pool house. What would have been waiting for me there? Who would have been waiting?
A short knock comes at the door.
It opens to reveal Romero and, standing behind him, Juliette.
My heart races. “Romero,” I say, my voice even despite my jangling nerves, “please call Giovanni. Now.”
He wouldn’t love being ordered around by me, but he seems to recognize the note of urgency and danger. Swiftly he moves his hand to his pocket where I know he keeps his cell phone.
And behind him, Juliette pulls something out of her pocket.
“Romero!” I yell.
He turns around, his hand going to the sidearm under his jacket. “You,” he breathes.
Juliette holds a gun steady, eyes glistening. “I’m sorry.”
A shot echoes through the room, so loud my eardrums feel like they burst.
I watch as a dark stain forms on Romero’s white dress shirt. He looks down in shock before his large body slumps to the ground. A low, mournful whine comes from beneath the bed.
“Oh God,” Juliette says. “Oh God. Oh God.”
Maria and I are frozen by the bed.
She looks at us, her eyes both shocked and remorseful. “Both of you. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Five