“After our wedding, this will be your throne,” Nestore said as he gestured to the driftwood throne.
He sat on the black throne, leaned back, and spread his legs with a smirk. He enjoyed my obvious shock.
“You aren’t a king,” I said, because I worried that he’d forgotten. What if he had fully descended into madness? The idea was unbearable, but I’d rather come to terms with it now.
His smirk sharpened, and he stretched his arms out on the rests, flexing long fingers before gripping the rounded ends. “In these walls, in my city, in my territory, I am whatever I decide. If I call myself king, then I am king. My word is law. You’d be better off remembering it too.”
I wrapped my arms around my body.
He looked away with a hard twist of his mouth as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me. “But I am very aware of who I am, Amelia. I am the Underboss. I am the Camorrista. I am Nestore Romano. I am the man you betrayed.”
I nodded because I wasn’t sure what else to do. “Can I go to my room now? Or will you lock me in a cell?”
Nestore shoved to his feet, his eyes alight with torment. “You won’t ever be locked in a cell again. You are too precious to rot in a basement.”
“Instead, you’ll lock me in a gilded cage of your own making?” I asked with a sad smile.
His brows furrowed, then his expression smoothed. “Follow me,” he clipped, face hardening. He strode away, and I had trouble keeping up with his long strides. We followed another staircase up to the bedrooms.
Nestore opened the last door in the hallway. The primary bedroom. I stepped into the familiar room. It was the room where I’d slept before I’d run off. Black silk bedding covered the bed, and heavy black drapes hung from the four posters. “Is this where you sleep?”
Nestore followed me toward the bed. “Not since you left. We’ll share this room once we’re married.” He wrapped a strand of my hair around his index finger. “Only two more weeks before every part of you will be mine.”
I glared. “Not every part,” I whispered, overcome by anger. “My heart belongs to the boy I once knew, not the man in front of me.”
He dropped his finger. A look as if he’d been stabbed passed his face before the cruel mask took its place. “Then I’ll have to make the ownership of your body even more worthwhile.”
He turned abruptly, causing his fur coat to swish past my legs, before he stalked out and thrust the door shut.
What was I supposed to do now?
Was I allowed to walk around the house? Did I even want to? What other horrors would I find?
Was my father still locked in a cell in the basement?
Sometime in the early morning hours, I had fallen asleep but was woken by a soft knock. I untangled myself from the blankets, disoriented. I was still in yesterday’s clothes and in desperate need of a shower. A young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, waited in front of the door when I opened it. She was lanky and tall with ash-blond hair and an eye-catching gap between her front teeth. She was gorgeous, especially her full mouth, which caught my attention.
“I’m Francoise, your seamstress. Mr. Romano sent me to take your measurements so I can sew dresses for you.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“May I come in?”
“Uhh, sure.” I stepped back, still completely taken aback. I had been ripped from my life less than twenty-four hours ago and had trouble catching up. She pulled a suitcase behind her and set it down on the floor beside the bed. Inside was a heap of fabrics in different shades of white and cream. “You’re creating my wedding dress?” I asked.
She shook her head with an apologetic smile. “No, not today. I need you to come to my shop. The fabrics for wedding gowns are too precious and heavy to carry with me. These fabrics are for dresses and nightgowns. Mr. Romano told me he wants to see you in light colors.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Did he?”
I swallowed my anger. This woman had nothing to do with it. She was doing her job. “What if I want a different color or pants?”
She looked at me pleadingly as she gingerly picked up two pieces of clothing. “I’m just following orders. I already made a couple of pieces for you to wear right away.”
“When did you make them?”
She flushed. “In the past few hours. Mr. Romano called me and asked me to create a few dresses for you to wear. Just three pieces. I’ll work on the rest of your wardrobe in the following days.”
She put the dresses down on the bed. As she had said, there were three pieces. One was a simple long-sleeved, floor-length white dress; another was a short dress with long sleeves; and the third was a midi dress with a flared skirt, sweetheart neckline, and short sleeves.
