I closed my eyes, shuddering. This evening felt like a nightmare come true. I couldn’t shake the betrayed look in Nestore’s eyes when one of his old bodyguards had dragged him out of the ballroom and down into the basement. I’d overheard a few men discussing the cells situated there. The idea that Nestore was locked up down there made my stomach turn. Maybe I could talk to Father. Nestore wasn’t even a grown man yet.
Flavia came floating up the winding staircase, looking ashen. “Is he still in there?”
I nodded. Father hadn’t left the ballroom since I’d run out of it two hours ago. Flavia had been lucky enough to be outside when all hell broke loose. “Did you know?” I whispered.
She let out a huff. “I’m a woman.”
Steps sounded, and Father emerged from the double doors, holding his side and limping badly.
Both Flavia and I moved to follow him toward the winding staircase where he was heading, but he raised his palm. “You stay here. I’m heading to our hospital.”
“Stay here?” Flavia questioned. Father’s hand lashed out, and he slapped her hard. She stumbled back with a gasp and held her cheek. I froze, terrified of making a wrong move. The fury in his eyes was too familiar.
He motioned around us. “You stay here. This is our home now. It’s a mansion worthy of an Underboss. The staff already carried your belongings upstairs to the bedrooms.”
My lips parted in utter shock. Father’s eyes narrowed on me, waiting for a word of protest. I snapped my lips shut and nodded meekly. “What about Nestore? What will happen to him now?”
Father gripped my hair and tore at it, making me cry out. “He’s my prisoner. You will forget he exists, understood?” He jerked my head back hard, making me scream.
“Yes, sir,” I pressed out when I could speak again.
He turned and left. His descent of the staircase was slow, and I didn’t dare move until I heard the sound of the front door closing.
I shook my head in denial. Through the half-open ballroom door, I could still see blood. This place was haunted. I brushed down my hair, but it was a mess.
“You should stay away from your father for a while. He’s very volatile,” Flavia murmured.
I dragged my eyes back toward her. “Are you okay?”
Flavia lowered her hand from her flaming cheek, her shoulders stiffening. “This is nothing.”
I wished it weren’t true.
“I don’t want to live here,” I admitted in a whisper as a couple of cleaners dressed in white bodysuits carrying red-tinged mops walked past us with lowered heads.
Flavia touched my shoulder, her eyes hard. “I know. Neither do I. But our wishes are irrelevant. Let’s go to our rooms and change clothes. Your skirt is soaked with blood.”
My gaze slid down the length of me as dread settled in my bones. Flavia was right. My velveteen shoes and the hem of my dress were encrusted with dried blood. The fabric was a darker red in those spots.
I retched. Flavia clamped her hand around my upper arm and dragged me toward the staircase that led up to the third floor. “We must keep our countenance. These walls have eyes and ears. We don’t want your father to find out about another moment of weakness.”
I pressed my lips together, forcing the bile down. He had seen me throw up in the ballroom, and his gaze had promised punishment, but so far, he’d been too busy schmoozing Falcone and basking in his triumph to make good on his promise. Was it a weakness to feel sick at this display of brutality?
Goose bumps covered my body as I followed Flavia up the stairs. The maid who had greeted us earlier appeared in the hallway, startling me half to death. I gripped Flavia’s arm tightly.
“I’m sorry for startling you,” she said formally. “I want to inquire if you need help with anything.”
“No,” Flavia clipped, her expression laced with suspicion.
The maid curtsied. “Breakfast will be served at seven as per your husband’s request down in the dining room.”
Flavia nodded, and the maid finally left.
I sank my teeth into my lower lip. We really would live here.
Then another thought struck me. If we lived here, maybe I could find a way to visit Nestore. He certainly needed company and probably food. I couldn’t imagine that prisoners would be treated decently under my father’s rule.
The present
