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The thought that his office is probably under surveillance is also disturbing. The last thing I want is to get busted. I know both Bruno and Adrian would make me pay dearly if they found out what I'm thinking about.
I continue my work in peace. I decide not to dig through Bruno's things. Something tells me this is a test and I want to pass it with flying colors.
I finish up my work quietly before retreating to my room with Eleanora walking behind me. I don't get a moment alone in the Estate, not unless I'm alone in my quarters. Otherwise, there's always someone watching me. I suppose that's my fault too though, for trying to run the first time.
Lunch is a lonely affair, but afterward, I'm surprised by Eleanora pointing through the window, outside.
"Am I allowed to leave?" I ask.
She nods at me with a faint smile.
The thought excites me, makes me wonder what to do with this newfound freedom. I'm guessing it's my reward for something—except I don't know whether I got it from Adrian or Bruno.
Gathering my painting supplies, Eleanora and I walk through the estate. I find the rose garden again and set up my easel and canvas. I was inspired when I was here before. I want to paint this, immortalize the scene before me.
Mixing paints is messy work.
Eleanora lingers close enough to see what I'm up to while I prepare my canvas.
I start painting with messy strokes then get more and more detailed every time my paintbrush touches the blank canvas. Soon enough, not a single white spot remains on the painting. I'm lost in thought to the scene before me, committed to making it come to life on the easel before me.
"That's beautiful."
I turn around, surprised.
Eleanora doesn't speak, so who's interrupting me?
My eyes land on her—my arch nemesis. She looks beautiful as ever with her pale blonde hair, porcelain skin and perfectly clear blue eyes. Something twists inside me. I want to hate Nicoletta so fucking much, but apart from being engaged to the man I'm obsessing over, she's done nothing to hurt me. She doesn't deserve me acting this way to her. She's innocent in all these sick, twisted mafia games—just like I am.
"Thanks," I mutter, still a little unsure on how to act around her.
"I didn't know you were a painter. I suppose that's why everyone loves you so much, given that the Bernardis are art dealers among...other things." A smile tugs on the corners of her lips.
"I don't think they like me."
"What do you mean?" She furrows her brows. "They all seem to adore you. You've even got Bruno wrapped around your little finger."
I scoff, saying, "I don't think so."
"You would be surprised. Adrian speaks kindly of you."
I want to fucking strangle her then. The thought of them having private conversations about me pisses me off. I don't want him to spend time with her. I don't want her to so much as say his name. I just want her to get lost and leave Adrian to the person that deserves him more—me.
"Do you mind if I join you?" she asks.
I want to say no, but I don't want to be rude. I know Bruno wouldn't approve of my smart mouth. I find myself nodding even though I'm desperate to tell Nicoletta to leave me alone.
"Thanks." She motions for a maid, and her own helper brings over a foldable chair.
I can't imagine anything worse than having my man's fiancée scrutinizing my work while I paint, but I got myself into this damn mess, so I keep my mouth shut and keep moving the paintbrush across the canvas.
At least Nicoletta is polite and doesn't chatter as I work. "You don't have to hate me, you know," Nicoletta finally says softly.
I turn around to look at her over my shoulder. "Why would I hate you?" I bite out.
"Just saying, you don't hate to." Her eyes burn with intelligence as they meet mine. "I think you and I are very similar."
Perhaps she isn't the helpless mafia princess I've written her off as. "Really?" I scoff. "How's that?"
"Well, I grew up very sheltered, too. I'm an only child just like you. But I never met my mother, she died when I was a baby," Nicoletta explains. "Father was determined to keep me as safe and protected as he could after that. This, here, is more freedom than I've been given my entire life."
"Oh," I manage lamely.
"I'm assuming you had a similar experience with your parents? Did they lock you up?"
It feels strange to hear her saying that. A part of me wants to defend my parents, but I also know there's no point in denying what they did to me, so I simply nod in response to her question.
"Were you allowed to have any friends? Pets?"
