He isn’t a good person, and I am completely and utterly out of my depth.
“You act as if he could escape this life,” Donatella says as if reading every thought in my mind. “As if he wasn’t reared from birth to fulfill this exact purpose. You could no sooner ask a tiger to change his stripes.”
“Is that supposed to make it all okay, then?”
She looks at me through narrowed eyes. “The underworld will always march on. It’s better Mister Moretti is at the helm than anyone else.”
I want to laugh at her. “So he’s a good employer, huh? Does he steal from the rich and give to the poor? Does he send flowers to the wives and children of the men he murders?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that he’s a criminal. I know that he trades in human lives,” I snap back.
“He saved you from a far worse fate.”
“To further his own means.”
She gives me a long look that I can’t quite decipher. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“What are you talking about?”
But Donatella merely shakes her head. “Get dressed. If you want a tour, I’ll only wait outside for five minutes.”
With that, she marches away, her first aid kit in tow.
For a moment, I just stand there contemplating whether it would be worth getting back into bed. But annoying Donatella won’t win me any favors, and if I’m honest with myself, I’m more than a little curious about what the rest of the house looks like.
After a too-short browse of the walk-in closet, I manage to find a matching pair of dark and far too lacy underwear, a comfortable pair of jeans, and a pale blouse that does little to disguise the color of my bra beneath.
As I exit, Donatella’s eyebrow quirks up at my appearance.
“Next time, give me a little longer to change,” I snap at her.
“Compared to that little dress you arrived in, I was actually thinking you look rather composed.” She gestures down the hall. “Shall we?”
Natural light pours in from the windows as we walk the corridor, and I catch a glance of myself in a large ornate mirror hanging from the wall.
Despite my hair still drying down my back, I’m surprised to see that Donatella is at least a little bit right. The dark circles I’d become so used to seeing beneath my eyes have subsided, and my outfit seems surprisingly coordinated against my olive skin.
I follow behind Donatella with a small smile as she shows me through the doors that flank us on both sides.
Everything about this house feels regal, though it rarely breaches gaudy or impractical. The gym is perhaps the most impressive room in the house. I haven’t been able to afford a membership since I moved here, so I take in the expensive equipment with interest.
“When I arrived,” I say after Donatella finishes showing me around the extensive kitchen, “I had a leather jacket. My phone was in my pocket.”
Donatella pushes through another door. “Your jacket is hanging in the closet in your room. I believe Mister Moretti has your phone.”
We find ourselves standing on the second level, at the top of a set of princess staircases that lead down to the main foyer.
I turn back to her. “Will I ever get it back?”
“Mr. Moretti will be back soon,” she replies, not really answering the question.
My shoulders slump. “Let me guess, he wants to control how and when I use my phone. Like he’s done with everything else.”
Donatella opens her mouth to speak but seems to freeze up suddenly.
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that tone with my staff, Miss Cassandra.”
