I swallow down the disappointment and force myself to smile back at him. “Well, if you’re going to be all gentlemanly about this, you can at least escort me back to my room.”
The tension eases from his shoulders as he sees my offered arm. “You’re only asking because you can’t remember the way back.”
“Dickhead.”
True to his word, I don’t see Dante for the rest of the week, which is, honestly, fine. Truly an absolutely fine thing for him to do.
Because I understood what he meant. I knew already that kissing would only lead to more trouble down the line. Logically, there’s nothing that can happen between us. At least nothing more than what has already happened.
To take it any further would be ruinous for both of us, even more so than the crippling self-pity and smidgen of loathing I’m currently feeling for myself. My rational brain knows it wasn’t a rejection, but it still stings like one.
At least I know what it’s supposed to feel like now. At least I got to choose that much for myself.
And at least I got out of that damn cell.
Perhaps the nicest thing to come out of all this is that I got what I wanted. Even though my freedom comes with a castle wall wrapped around it, seducing (if I can even call it that) Dante had worked at least that much.
A new routine begins to form. One where I have breakfast in bed, then spend my morning exploring all the many rooms in the castle before heading outside in the afternoon.
No one usually bothers me, though there are plenty around to throw me curious looks.
I make sure to throw Pierre a wink every time I pass by. He usually just flushes and scuttles away, much to my endless amusement.
A week or so passes before anyone is bold enough to strike up a conversation, and it happens in perhaps the most bizarre way it could.
“Señorita?”
I twirl around from the counter where I was stirring sugar into my espresso to find none other than Evelina Grasso staring back at me. Her outfit is just as immaculate as it was the day I arrived, her stance proud and assertive.
I feel the oddest impulse to drop into a curtsey.
“SignoraGrasso,” I manage without curtseying.
Her dark eyes scan me with a terrifying appraisal. “My son tells me you will be staying with us for a while.”
“I promise I won’t be any trouble.” I suppress the urge to pour my espresso down the sink and clean up after myself. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Evelina tilts her head curiously. “What an odd thing to say. Are you not a prisoner? Surely it is I that is inconveniencing you.”
I glance around at the beautiful sun room with a heavy sigh. “Well, it’s the prettiest cage I’ve ever been held in, if it’s any consolation.”
The Grasso di Ferro matriarch steps around me to grab herself her own cup.
“Come. I will join you for coffee.”
“Right, yes.” Bewildered, I follow her to a set of comfortable armchairs in the corner.
She sits somewhat magnanimously as she gestures for me to do the same. “I admit, my son has told me very little of you. You are from Brooklyn?”
“Cancun, originally. But I grew up in Brooklyn, yes. However, I was in New Jersey for a couple of years for college. Princeton. I majored in bioengineering.” I’m rambling, I know I am. But there’s something about this woman that puts me right on edge.
“This is fascinating for me.” She sits back in the chair. “Will you tell me why an intelligent woman such as yourself gets to be involved with the mafia?”
I wince slightly at that. “You might say it’s a…er…family business.”
“A cartel, no?”
“TheCartel,” I correct automatically before realizing I probably shouldn’t be talking to her about this.
