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“This isn’t a game,” he says, his smile now fading. “This is reality. It’s between your brother and me, who I will advise in the morning of your whereabouts. For now, I would get comfortable. You’re not going anywhere.”

He turns and walks out with Maria and leaves me in the room alone. I hear the lock turn once the door shuts, and I clench my fists, frustrated and sore.

I look around the room and then try the windows. They’re sealed shut. What kind of guest suite is this? I hear footsteps outside and look down into the garden. Guards are patrolling the boundaries of the house. That will prove to be a problem.

As I pass where the Don was standing, I inhale his intoxicating scent. Why does someone who is all kinds of bad news smell so damn good? He has no business being that good-looking, either. He’s a devil disguised as an angel. Most Mafia Dons aren’t this handsome.

I don’t know what his plan is with me, but after exploring the luxurious suite, I’m beyond exhausted. Don Ricci was right; there is no escape.

Still, I work my way through every nook and cranny. I open every cupboard and explore until I resign myself to my fate and that I’m not getting out. At least not for tonight.

I make my way over to the bed and crawl into it. It’s so comfortable, and the cool sheets and pillow relax me for the first time since Michael grabbed my arm.

I sit up in bed and contemplate the situation I’m in. I’ve never had any dealings with the Ricci family, but I know who they are. At least I know about them from things my brothers have talked about. Our families have been rivals for as long as the dawn of time, and I know our parents and grandparents fought for control and power.

I shudder as I realize I’m really in a precarious situation here. My greatest enemy’s house—that’s where I’m currently locked up. Who knows what they will do to me. What this Don has planned.

I don’t believe I’ll be comfortable or safe here. I don’t believe a word that comes out of Don Ricci’s mouth. He speaks smoothly, like any player would, but he has hidden intentions, and I already don’t like it. The way he called me a consequence. A consequence of what? And what did he do to Michael Russo?

I shudder again, thinking about what this family possibly did to the Russo heir. I hate Michael, and I abhor what he tried to do to me, but I didn’t kill him. Why would Don Ricci?

I curl up on the bed and stare at the window. The room’s lights are still on. I groan… I don’t want to get up and shut it off, but I can’t sleep with the light on and the curtains closed. I need moonlight to recharge whatever battery I’m operating on.

I drag myself out of the bed and to the light switch, giving it an angry flick. I then cross to the windows, all three, one by one, and open the curtains to let the moonlight filter in.

The night is beautiful. I love the night. There is nothing like going to Cosanostra and dancing until I’m completely sweaty and exhausted, and then stepping into the cool night air with the moonlight dappling through the trees.

That’s freedom. This is imprisonment. I can’t be caged like this. I will go stir crazy. What am I even supposed to do with myself other than stay in bed?

Thinking about the bed, I crawl back under the sheets, and my head hits the pillow.

I have strange dreams. Dreams about Andrea and the Ricci Don arguing over who I belong to. Michael is there, but Don Ricci shoots him in the head, then he takes me in his arms and whisks me away in a helicopter.

What a weird fucking dream, and when he presses his lips to mine, my eyes shoot open, and I’m wide awake. The sun has risen, so it’s after five, but it’s still slightly dark in the west, so it’s just risen.

I make the bed, unsure of what else to do with myself. Andrea always made me make my bed when I was younger, said it built character. I know I’m in my enemy’s house, but old habits die hard. And I am a lady.

I sit there for what feels like forever, but realistically it’s probably an hour or two when I hear the lock click on the door. I stand up in a rush and watch as Maria walks in and shuts the door after her, locking it.

She has a tray with food on it. She glances at the bed and clicks her tongue before she sets the food down on the table near the sofa.

I step forward, and she steps back, keeping her eyes on me.

“I just want to know if I’m allowed to leave the room?” I ask quietly, trying not to sound irritated.

“No,” Maria says simply. “You’re not.” She leaves and locks the door behind her, and I resist the urge to shriek like a brat who doesn’t get their way.

I stomp over to the sofa where I fall down dramatically and cross my arms, staring at the English breakfast as though it should shrivel and die from my eye lasers I really wished I had right now.

No point in fighting with my breakfast. I tuck in reluctantly and sip the coffee. Both the food and the drink taste really good. Kind of like Heaven if I’m honest.

I devour my breakfast and finish the coffee, sitting back. Maria collects the tray a little later, and I am left to sit in the room by myself. I wander around in circles. Window, window, window, bathroom, cupboard, door, sofa, bed. Repeat.

When the door opens at lunchtime, I’m by the furthest window, and Maria is bringing in what looks like a charcuterie board with freshly squeezed juice. I open my mouth to thank her but then stop; she’s helping them keep me prisoner, and she’ll get no thanks from me.

I do enjoy the lunch though; it’s better than the ones we get at home, and I make those.

The meats are delicious and fresh, and the fruit and cheeses are to die for. The freshly squeezed juice is crisp and spicy going down my throat. I practically finish everything except a small slice of Brie. I’m so uncomfortably full, but I’m eyeing it out when Maria comes to fetch the dishes.