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He got up from the floor and offered his hand, helping me up. “We’re eating in the dining room in one hour. Change into something more appropriate.”
I lifted the strap over my right shoulder, a smirk on my lips. “Do my paint-covered overalls offend you, sir?”
“Choose one of your new dresses.”
“Anything else, master?” I chuckled, loving the annoyed look he gave me. “You going to spank me if I don’t follow your orders?”
“You would like that too much.” He shoved a hand through his dark hair and blew out a deep breath. “Get ready and quit playing around.”
I folded my hands in front of me, bowing my head like a genie, unable to stifle more laughter. “As you wish.”
Marcello never laughed. Though, once or twice, I made him smile. So it was worth acting like a lunatic. He liked my playfulness, even if he refused to admit it.
He rushed into my walk-in closet and, seconds later, dropped a black dress onto my bed. “Luca wants you to wear this one. Get ready,” he commanded. “I’ll be in the hallway waiting for you.”
Fuck Luca.
I wasn’t a Barbie doll for him to dress up. If he thought I would play by his rules, he was sadly mistaken.
Marcello walked out of my bedroom and closed the door behind him. Taking advantage of my alone time, I fished the phone out of my pocket and hit Kali’s number. The line rang a few times before she answered.
“Hey, Kali. It’s Alex.”
“Oh, my God. Hey, girl.” She squealed with excitement. “I was hoping I would hear from you. Are we still on for lunch this week?”
“Of course,” I muttered. “I can’t wait to get out of this house.”
“Ha! I bet. Is Luca treating you any better?”
I hesitated, wondering how much information I should offer a stranger. “Depends on your definition of better. That’s a relative term with Luca.”
“I feel ya, girl.” Her laughter assaulted my eardrum. “I’ll pick you up on Wednesday. We can talk more then.”
Knowing Luca, he was probably recording our phone call.
“Sure,” I agreed. “I’ll see you then.”
“Yep. Later, girl.”
After we hung up, I grabbed two paintbrushes from the cup holder on my desk and pinned up my curls into a chopstick style. If the Salvatores wanted to control when I ate and what I wore, I could have a little fun with them. Add some personality to my boring cocktail dress. Plus, I knew it would annoy the hell out of Luca to see me so… imperfect, which gave me another crazy idea.
An hour later, Marcello escorted me to the main dining room, commenting about my dress. He warned me not to mess with Luca tonight and begged me to change. Apparently, the Prince of Hell was in a bad mood.
Tough shit.
The last time I stepped into this room, Aiden was at my side, dressed like an adult for once. My chest ached from the loss. I had to find him. Not knowing was the hardest part.
Arlo sat at the head of the table, Luca on his right. Bastian and Damian sat next to Luca, leaving the left side for Marcello and me. I wore a black v-neck rosette dress that hugged my curves. The fabric stressed my breasts and ass with a slit running down my right thigh. Luca couldn’t take his eyes off me. Even Bastian and Damian undressed me with their minds.
Luca’s sinful expression quickly twisted into an angry snarl. “What the fuck did you do to that dress?”
I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “You don’t like the additions I made to it?”
All of my clothes were plain and blah, typical rich asshole shit. I preferred jeans, tanks, and shorts, but Luca spared no expense, providing the best clothes his money could buy. The dress was beautiful and elegant, but it wasn’t me. So I added red streaks of paint that looked like blood and set the acrylic with the hairdryer.
He balled his hand into a fist on the table, teeth clenched. “No, I don’t. You ruined an Oscar de la Renta.”
I rolled my shoulders, not giving a single fuck. “How much was it? I’ll write you a check.”
“I don’t care about the money,” he shot back.
“Then what do you care about?” I glared at the smug bastard. “Because it sure as hell isn’t me.”
He shook his head, his top lip quivering. “Keep testing my patience, woman.”
“Or what?” I shouted.
“Basta,” Arlo muttered in Italian, ordering Luca to stop. His father extended his hand to the vacant chair at his side. “Sit here, Alexandrea. Please.”
He glanced at my dress with a frown, keeping his opinion to himself. Marcello slid the chair out for me, pushing me into the table before taking his place on my left. He didn’t utter a single word to anyone, his expressionless mask in place. Around his family, he was a trained soldier, a weapon forged for their deviant purposes.
