Page 7 of Where the Wind Whispers

Time didn’t feel so slow.

It seemed like more was happening that way rather than the nothingness there actually was.

Hot chocolate in hand, Violet had just stepped onto the elevator that would take her back up from the cafeteria to the ICU when a hand slid between the closing doors, forcing it to open. At the sight of that hand, adorned by rings she would never be able to forget, Violet took a huge step backward and bumped into the railing attached to the wall of the elevator.

Her father stepped inside with a smile.

He said nothing; simply let the doors close behind him.

When they finally slid shut, he turned his back to her, facing the doors, hitting the top floor button and making Violet curse inside her head. She hadn’t hit the button for her floor, and now, the elevator would just bypass it altogether. Violet’s hand twitched, fear curling hard in her stomach as she reached for one of the few items in her messenger bag hanging down at her side. Her hand just wrapped around the butt of the handgun when her father turned back around.

The elevator began moving upward when Alberto Gallucci said, “You look tired, topina.”

Violet’s throat tightened, threatening to keep her quiet. Still, she managed to say, “Of course, I’m tired.”

She left a hell of a lot unsaid in that statement.

Things she believed her father likely already knew without her saying it for him.

“Unfortunate, what happened to your Russian,” Alberto said softly.

Untrue.

Too caring.

Lilting sympathy coloring the words.

Violet could hear the falseness dripping from her father’s words. “How much of a hand did you have in it all?”

Alberto smiled, cold and cruel. “Very little, actually. Had I of known Vasily’s plans in that regard, I would not have wasted my time with the other nonsense.”

“Nonsense like having me kidnapped and beaten?”

“You don’t look beaten.”

“Now,” Violet snapped back. “And the first thing Ma ever taught me was how to cover a bruise with a makeup brush, Daddy.”

Alberto’s gaze narrowed just enough to tell Violet she’d hit a nerve.

Good.

That was her every fucking intention.

She was done playing her father’s games. Done feeding his whims and wants over her own. She did not belong to this man, and she wasn’t going to let him keep thinking otherwise.

It was over.

“What do you want?” Violet asked.

At first, Alberto didn’t respond.

Violet wondered how he had even managed to get past the men watching the hospital, although if truth be told, she didn’t know exactly where all the men were posted other than the ones on the ICU floor.

“You,” her father finally replied.

“What?”

“You asked what I want—I want you. That's an easy enough answer for you to understand, dolcezza, surely.”