I contemplated showing up to tonight’s party wearing sweatpants and a scowl, but my pride dictated I put extra effort into my appearance instead. I’m more likely to sway my father into considering my feelings by making him proud than furious.
Men prioritize beauty in a woman above anything else. I’ll have a better chance with Nico if he sees me as a pretty prize, not a possession that is being transferred to him.
Voices drift through the open doors of the balcony. My room faces the circular drive, surrounding a fountain, in front of the villa.
The commotion means guests are beginning to arrive. Which means my introduction as Carina Caruso is imminent. These are my final moments of anonymity. Of freedom.
I continue staring at my flawless reflection, delaying the inevitable.
The noise level outside is increasing. Voices are beginning to filter up the stairs as guests begin to enter the house.
I glance at the clock on the wall, then stand. Hiding up here won’t help. It will only make me appear weak, avoidant, and high-maintenance.
The hallway is empty but loud, sounds from the party below echoing off the limestone walls and terra-cotta-tiled floor. I pause halfway, spotting Enzo’s ajar door ahead. He’s avoided me since our conversation by the pool, making me hope he might be more sympathetic to my situation than he acted. If he agreed with Salvatore entirely, wouldn’t he be willing to continue telling me so? There’s a chance he simply doesn’t want to deal with me. But I’m choosing to believe the former because having no allies at all is too depressing to contemplate.
“Enzo?” I inquire softly.
No answer, so I nudge the door open enough to stick my head in.
The room is empty. Enzo must have already gone downstairs, and it’ll be a lot harder to corner him among a sea of guests that include my father and other brothers.
I exhale a heavy sigh of disappointment, about to continue my walk of dread when I see it.
The black flash drive Enzo showed me at the pool, sitting on his dresser. Unless he has multiple copies of the same drive, which seems unlikely. What was it he said? I sift through the memory, trying to recall. I was more preoccupied with my own problems than with my brother’s dismissive comments.
Something about being hacked, I think? Which must mean whatever is on there is important, something my father needs to keep secure.
Something I could use to bargain.
Right now, Salvatore has all the power. He has me trapped here, and all I can do is protest.
I take a cautious step into Enzo’s room, then two. Pick up the drive, curling my palm so it forms a fist. The only computer I know of is downstairs, in my father’s office, and there’s no way I can waltz in there to check what’s on here with the party going on. As soon as Enzo realizes this is missing, they’ll startsearching. As long as I’m here, there are limited places for them to look.
I could run.
The desperate thought has occurred to me before, but it never felt feasible. I hoped Salvatore might change his mind after days of pleas. I accepted I had nowhere to go and no way to get there.
I still have no destination.
But Sienna told me the guest list for tonight was over three hundred. The villa is crowded with people, and the grounds are full of strangers’ cars. I’ve given my father’s guards as wide of a berth as possible, spending most of the time indoors, away from the brutal sun, or swimming. If they’ve seen me this week, it wasn’t while I was wearing a full face of makeup and a silk gown. And if they don’t recognize me, they won’t try to stop me.
I glance down at the piece of plastic again. Then touch the necklace Isabella gave me. Rub the surface like it’s a talisman.
When I reenter the hallway, I turn left, back toward my room, rather than continuing toward the stairs.
THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY
The blaring music cuts out suddenly. I jab the bag twice more, then glance at the culprit.
Aleksandr is unsmiling, arms crossed as he leans against the doorway. I’d guess he’s been standing there for longer than the past few seconds of silence. He’s wondering if he could beat me, and he’s worried about the answer.
Igor had two brothers, like us. Like me, he was the middle child. His younger brother died from poison found in his older brother’s possession. Igor killed our surviving uncle, who had claimed the chemicals were planted.
That story has haunted me from the moment I first heard it, wondering if I would believe my brother or trust the evidence in a similar situation.
I think it haunts Aleksandr too.
People act as though history is linear. In my experience, it’s more of a circle.
