Page 12 of Hidden

When she’d stood right in front of me with everything to gain and walked away with nothing but my friendship instead.

Chapter 6

Gabriella

Now

The tray in my hands was steady. It always was.

It didn’t matter how much my arms ached or how long I’d been standing in these ridiculous heels, my body had long since learned how to obey. Balance the weight. Keep the shoulders back. Head down, but not too far. Never slouch. Never hesitate. Never give them a reason to look too closely.

The dress clung to my skin like a second layer of shame. Black lace, cut high at the thighs and low at the chest, with a frilled apron tied at my waist like some sick joke. A costume designed to remind me exactly what I was in this room.

No longer the princess. No longer the president’s daughter.

Barely even a person.

I was a possession. A plaything. Something to be brought out during Church, paraded in front of the men. Something to be leered at, lusted over.

Someone to be punished for getting the reaction a dress like this demanded.

It was unusual for women to enter Church. But that was only one thing Nico had changed since he’d arrived. He wanted waitresses during these meetings—because God forbid one of his men were even slightly thirsty.

And, of course, these waitresses were too scared to say no. So if one of the men decided they needed servicing halfway through a meeting, then she would be under the table on her knees, her head bobbing up and down between his legs…

And thus a new Church had been born, one more depraved than the one before it. The sanctuary of this place had shifted, becoming more like a brothel with every passing day. I was so incredibly lucky to have front row seats!

Not!

I was here because Nico hated to let me out of his sight for too long—he was always paranoid that I was planning to escape. As if I would dare. I had learned my lesson the hard way and had long since accepted my fate.

Taking my place in the corner, at the back of Nico’s chair, I looked around, feeling sick to my stomach. The other girls moved the same way I did, drifting between the chairs in silence, their eyes lowered, their expressions carefully blank.

Some of them were new—I could always tell. Their hands trembled when they poured drinks, their breathing too shallow, too fast. They hadn’t learned yet. They still let their fear show. They still thought anyone here would care.

One of them stepped up beside a senior member, lowering the tray so he could take his drink. He didn’t even look at her as his fingers brushed over her wrist, deliberate and slow, testing her reaction, silently looking for weaknesses. A chink in her armour he could take advantage of.

Luckily for her, she didn’t react. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t give him anything to work with. He lost interest just as quickly as he’d found it.

Good. They were learning.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the floor, she moved on, circling the room until every glass was filled, every plate set, every demand silently met before it could be spoken aloud. That used to be my job. But the men here were… handsy. And Nico’s jealousy was a fierce thing. He had no problem sharing my body when it was on his terms. But a discreet grope inhisChurch, whenhehadn’t commanded the order, was unacceptable.

So I stayed at the back, silently observing, praying the girls didn’t fuck up. Because I was the one who paid the price if they did.

Only when every man had been served and satisfied did they take their place at my side, lining up against the far wall. We all took up the same position—hands clasped neatly in front of us, heads bowed just enough to appear submissive.

From here, I could see everything.

And hear everything.

Nico sat at the head of the table, exactly where my father used to sit. The difference was, my father knew the game. He was lethal, but predictable. He didn’t like to strike without a plan. He was methodical. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses. Nico was something else entirely. He was volatile. Loud, like a storm waiting to break.

He lounged back in his chair, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, a cigarette balanced between his fingers as though he didn’t have a care in the world. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes—dark, sharp, constantly moving—missed nothing.

That was what made him dangerous.

Not the violence. Not the cruelty. Though they were traits he had in abundance. But what really made him deadly was his erratic ways. How he grew bored so quickly. His constantneed for entertainment, no matter who suffered and paid the consequences.