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There’s a horrible, sour pit in my stomach. I can’t explain why it’s there and nothing I do makes it go away. I woke up with it this morning, bright and early. This was after tossing and turning all night.
Vincenzo is coming home today, and maybe that’s the cause for the upset stomach. I don’t want to see the bastard. Things have been calm the last few days, and it almost wasn’t terrible. Of course, I’d rather be home, but better this than him bothering me.
I’ve spent the last three days lounging around, putting away my things that were delivered from my father’s house, enjoying the quiet, and planning my escape—something that doesn’t seem possible because this place is locked down tighter than a nun’s asshole.
I checked every door on the second floor, most of which had nothing in them. Others were locked and I couldn’t get into. Though I tried. Trust me, I tried. There are a lot of doors downstairs, but after entering one that looked like a lived-in bedroom, I’d worry I’d piss off the wrong person by walking into their personal space. All I need is for the cook to get mad at me and poison my food. Or refuse to feed me. Or who the hell else knows what else. Besides, I wouldn’t like people coming into my space, so I don’t want to do it to them. I need to remember Enzo is the one who forced me here; not them.
Though, while Enzo was gone, I have painted a lovely little picture of what he does for work. I’m not stupid and I know how to use my head. I may be a little naïve when it comes to men and relationships, but my father raised me to be smart and watch my surroundings. He blamed his paranoia on managing clubs and seeing so many terrible things happen to women. But I started to piece all of this together and I’ve come up with a theory. One that makes both a lot of sense and no sense at all.
Enzo is in the mafia.
Everything about his life I’ve seen so far points in that direction. The way he acts, the way his house is locked down. Demanding a wife and getting one. Taking off on a days’ long trip. His bodyguard. All the money.
But what doesn’t make sense is my father’s role. He would never get caught up in something like this. He isn’t in the mafia. No damn way! He’s a sweet family man, and if he were involved with the mafia, I’d certainly have seen it over the years.
But Enzo? I’m certain he is.
Which means I need to be careful about what I say and do. All of his employees are aware of this. Every last one of them. It’s likely they aren’t good people either. I mean, who willingly works for a mob man who kills people just to get what they want? My comment about Enzo maiming people for fun wasn’t too far off, and that’s scary.
Because who the hell does that?
Psychopaths, that’s who.
Speaking of psychopaths, I haven’t seen Rafael once since I’ve been here, even though Enzo said he lived here. Was he lying to get a rise out of me? I wouldn’t put it past him.
Did the two of them take a little lover’s trip without me? How rude.
Of course had they asked I’d have said no. I don’t want to be anywhere with either of them, and one of these days, I’m going to train my brain to stop thinking about the club when either of their names are mentioned.
I spent some time outside, which was a shock. Didn’t think the bodyguards would allow me out. When I mentioned it to them, they told me they got the okay. How nice? I’m allowed to go outside. Not that it does much. I’m still stuck behind the gate on a cliff. The only way I’m getting out of here is by jumping to my death or figuring out the code for the gate.
Which I don’t understand because there is no punch pad. There’s no screen, no guard. It’s just a gate. How the hell does it work?
I muttered my frustrations to the guards on the third day as I stormed back into the house, only to hear him chuckling under his breath as I passed. I glared at him, but he pretended he couldn’t see me.
This house is full of assholes!
I don’t miss the fact they watch me everywhere I go. And they don’t watch me like they were told to make sure I didn’t get into trouble. Don’t watch me like they plan to get me into a dark corner and force me to do things. No. They watch me like I’m part of a damn circus. Like I’m here for their entertainment. It’s infuriating. It’s bad enough I’m here; I won’t stand to be laughed at!
“Mr. Bramante’s plane landed. He should be here within the hour.” Bernice’s voice has me cringing.
I roll my eyes as I look through the fridge for a snack. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Is there something I can help you find, Miss Delise?” she asks, as if she disapproves of my digging through the fridge for food.
She’s polite, but sharp and to the point. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t want me to be here. Well, that makes two of us.
I did laugh to myself when I saw her for the first time. She’s got to be around Jeanette’s age. Meaning she’s probably old enough to be Enzo’s mother. And here I was trying to make jokes about him fucking her or something. Doubtful, considering I’m here and half his age. He likes them younger, not older.
I think the woman was told to babysit me, and it’s clear she resents me for it. She doesn’t laugh at me or watch me the way the guys do. No, she stares at me like I’m a cockroach she wants to crush with her shoe.
She walks around, dressed like some kind of business agent, in her pristine pencil skirt suits and frilly blouses. All in nude shades that don’t go well with her pale skin and ash blond hair.
“Just looking for something to eat.”
“Dinner will be ready soon. You’ll not want to spoil it.”
I turn toward her and find her watching me carefully with a tight smile. Her hands are clasped in front of her, all polite-like.
