Page 10 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

Around midnight, a scared maid came in with hot chicken soup, bread, and a cold wet cloth for my raw wrists. I stood behind the door holding a heavy bronze candlestick like a club, but she kept her eyes glued to the floor and rushed right back out.

I waited twenty minutes after tasting the first spoonful, watching two guards with rifles patrol the hedges below. When my stomach didn't seize up from poison, I scraped the bowl clean in the dark.

Sleep didn't come until five in the morning, and when it did, it was shallow and defensive.

Sunlight hits my face through a gap in the heavy velvet drapes. I sit up in the oversized mahogany bed, looking around at high plaster ceilings and the smell of beeswax polish in the air. On the chest of drawers sits a pair of grey silk pajamas, folded neatly. I pull the top over my head, smooth the fabric down, and step barefoot onto the cold hardwood floor.

A silver-haired woman bustles through the doorway holding a tall pile of clean sheets. Her sharp eyes scan over me as I sit on the edge of the mattress, taking in the messy pajama top and the dark circles under my eyes. She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth twice and lets out a heavy sigh, waving her hands in dismay. "Povera piccola, sembri stanca."

"Come, eat something," she says in English, gesturing toward the hall with one hand. "Breakfast is not a suggestion in this house."

My stomach lets out a loud, hollow growl, cutting through the silence of the doorway. I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand, my bare feet sinking into the cold rug. If these people wanted to poison me, they wouldn't send silver-haired grandmothers. Food is fuel, and I'll need every ounce of it before this day is over.

She marches me down a hallway lined with paintings of men who all look like they've never smiled in their lives, and through a set of double doors into a dining room the size of my entire London office. There's a table long enough to land a plane on, already crowded with people who all stop talking the second I walk in.

Matteo holds up his hands in mock surrender. A dark, ugly purple bruise blooms across his left cheekbone. "There she is. The demon in a power suit. Except now she's in silk pajamas."

I slide into the empty chair someone points me toward. "I'll take that as a compliment. Your face looks like it's healing nicely, by the way. Really coming along."

"It throbs when I chew," Matteo says cheerfully. His fingers prod his swollen jaw like it's a fun fact and not a direct result of my elbow.

A boy who can't be older than twenty-four gives me a slow, unimpressed once-over from across the table. He's got the same dark eyes as half this family, but none of the charm.

"So you're the idiot who got herself kidnapped," he says.

I set my cup down on the saucer with a loud click. "Who raised you? Because I would like to file a formal complaint with whatever ditch you crawled out of."

Matteo grins like he's been waiting all morning for this. "That's Enzo. Our baby brother. Just got back from Naples an hour ago and already charming the house guests."

I drag the coffee pot closer. "I didn't get myself kidnapped. Your dumb cousin grabbed the wrong woman off a London street because he can't tell an ambulance from a police car. If anyone should be embarrassed, it's him and whoever taught him how to do his job."

Matteo waves a piece of bacon in my direction. "Hey, London sirens sound weird. Anyone would make that mistake."

"Right, because you need to go back to kindergarten," I shot back.

Enzo snorts into his espresso. "She's got a mouth on her."

"I've got a mouth and an actual brain, which apparently makes me an anomaly in this family."

Matteo leans toward Enzo like he's sharing state secrets. "Careful. She bites. Literally. Ask me how I know."

Enzo rolls his eyes. "I see your purple face, idiot, so shut up."

I pick up a butter knife. "Good. Keep your hands on the table where I can see them and we won't have to test your reflexes next."

At the far end of the table, a girl with soft features presses her teacup against her mouth, her shoulders trembling slightly as she fights off a smile. She looks barely twenty, her knuckles pale against the porcelain, sitting amidst a room full of dark suits and fresh bruises like a misplaced bloom.

"I'm Sofia," she offers, setting her cup down quietly. "Luca's little sister. Just ignore them. My brothers act like wild animals whenever food is around."

"Hey," Matteo protests around a mouthful of toast.

"The Bellinis are watching every airport and train station in Sicily right now," Luca explains, resting his hands flat on the wood. "They know Matteo grabbed someone in London. If you try to catch a plane, their men will snatch you before you even show your ticket. They won't give you hot soup or fresh sheets. They will beat you until you talk, and then put a bullet in your skull."

"It's a little personal," I murmur, giving her a small, tight smile. Sofia at least seems like collateral damage in this insane family structure, and I save my rage for people who actually earned it.

"Eat," commands the silver-haired woman, setting a plate in front of me with the force of a judge delivering a verdict. Eggs, some kind of sausage, bread that smells like it was baked an hour ago. "You're too thin. Kidnapped or not, you eat in my house."

"I didn't ask for this," I protest, even as my hand moves toward the fork entirely without my permission.