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Rosalia steps into the room and puts the paper plate with peeled boiled eggs and croissants down, then drops the bag onto the mattress. She avoids my gaze as if I’m Medusa.
“Rosalia, please!” I’m getting desperate, reaching for her, but Burley steps closer, his eyes empty as he stares me down.
“Half an hour,” he says and his wife scoots past him into the corridor.
The door clicks closed and the lock turns. I know nothing. I expect the worst and have nothing to do but wait for it to happen. Waiting is a killer in itself.
I pick up the bag and empty the contents onto the mattress. I almost cry when I spot a hairbrush, proper shampoo, conditioner, and very expensive body wash tucked in with some gorgeous golden ballet flats, a set of underwear from Esta’s, and the pink dress I tried on for Matteo.
That man. He’s had me in a total mind funk the past few days. Matteo left me with nothing to do but to relive every moment with him, every touch and every caress, only to now shatter me with the promise of sexual assault to eliminate my dad’s debts.
I’ve done nothing to deserve this, but I’m starting to understand I’m part of a much bigger vendetta here. Collateral damage in some old men’s feud.
It takes me only minutes to force down the food. Starving myself won’t conserve my strength, and I haven’t given up yet. Going to Sicily means there’ll be road trips, flights, new locations: every one of them an opportunity to run and try to get away from him.
Half an hour later I’m ready, my hair still wet, but for the most part I should look presentable. When the door unlocks and Burley holds it open for me, I walk out and stare over the railing into the open plan living area. Matteo and three of his brothers are sitting at the dining room table, papers spread out before them, having a companionable morning coffee.
Assholes.
Matteo glances up and meets my gaze. If I could spit and know it would splatter on his face, I’d do so.
Burley has me by the elbow, directing me to the stairs. “Just so you know, luv, your dad is being held at gunpoint,” he says softly. “If you don’t do what Matteo says, he’ll be executed.”
He doesn’t need to add that I’ll be next. My knees cave, but Burley has me. I don’t know how I get down the stairs, but I’m shaking by the time I get to the dining table.
Matteo stands, his gaze boring into mine, and if I weren’t in shock, I’d tear at him with my kitten claws. He pulls out a chair for me and takes over from Burley, supporting me with a warm hand on my waist as I lower myself into the chair. A hand that has no business touching me so possessively. He gathers my hair so he can rest his hand on my bare neck and leans over to whisper, his warm breath a caress to my ear, “You look beautiful.” He straightens. “Good morning, wife.”
“What?” I’ve never been more grateful for a chair to hold me up. I’m not married. Am I? “Wife?” I spit out. “To you?” I glance up at him where he towers over me. “When? How?”
Several other thoughts zap through the sudden maze in my head. No more virginity auction? Thank God. Did Dad sell me to this man? How could he? And then, probably the most frightening thought: what would it be like to be married to the Mafia? To Matteo?
“Just on paper, kitten.” Matteo lets go as he sits down. “For now.” He reaches for a cup of coffee and takes a sip. The brothers, who just look at me with sickening humor in their eyes, seem to have enjoyed breakfast together. Remnants of a continental breakfast are pushed to the side, making space for an array of documents. Passports… a marriage certificate… what the hell…
“Would you like some coffee?” Matteo asks as he reaches for the French press.
“To throw in your face, yes,” I blurt out.
Deep chuckles circle the table.
Matteo shoots me a sideways glance, but it doesn’t stop him from pouring me a black coffee and pushing the creamer in my direction. “Surely you don’t want to start your honeymoon like that, kitten. All claws. Ruining that perfect dress.”
“Honeymoon?” I close my eyes, trying my best to be immune to his compliments. This asshole turns on the charm like a tap. “Let me guess, to Sicily, to meet your charming fucked-up extended family?”
“She catches on quick,” Stephano says as he gathers the papers out of harm’s way.
“It’s selective,” Matteo says, placing the coffee in front of me.
The coffee’s aroma wafts up my nose. It’s been days since my fix and every cell in my body begs for a caffeine kick. I don’t reach for it though, suspicious of everything.
Matteo leans over and brushes his shoulder against mine to reach for an iPad I hadn’t noticed before. “Have a coffee with your dad, Tasha. Let him wish you all the happiness.”
What the actual?—
Matteo unlocks the iPad and it immediately lights up to video footage of my dad, at our breakfast table by the bay window, overlooking the beautiful garden and the pool, all of which seem as far away as an undiscovered planet right now.
“Dad?” I call out, wanting to grab the iPad, but Matteo rests a warm hand over mine.
Dad looks up, his eyes rimmed red, looking terrified. It’s only then that I notice the other person in the video and the automatic rifle he has in his hand. There’s no sound, but my dad speaks. I try to lipread, but all I make out is Tasha... I love you, but that could be wishful thinking.
