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My gaze moves to the window. The sun is setting, and the room grows dark with every second passing. I let my eyes drift closed, willing sleep to come, but all I see is Marco lying in a pool of blood. The image feels so real that I snap my eyes open as fast as I’d shut them. With a racing heart, I stare out the window and take a couple of calming breaths.
Even with my father being who he is, I had never seen so much violence, not until the day Nicolo kidnapped me. My father always told me that women were made to sit on the mantle and be pretty. To speak only when spoken to. Mob business was never discussed in front of me, and I had never seen anyone killed. I’d heard rumors about what my father did and knew that he wasn’t exactly a good man, but I had no idea how dark and depraved he was.
The rattling of the door handle garners my attention, and I turn away from the window and its promise of a chilly sunset evening.
Expecting Sarah, I march across the room and give her an earful regarding the diet she has me on. “Have you ever heard of protein in—”
But it’s not her tall willowy frame that ducks into the bedroom… it’s him, the devil himself, and instantly, I cut off my tirade.
I can’t help but gape at him and hate myself for retreating even more. Especially because he does no more than step into the room holding a box. Fear… fear and something else that I can’t quite place settles deep in my gut while I wait for him to give me his next order.
“Protein?” he asks, a brow raised in questioning. I can’t tell if he cares or if he’s just asking so he can mock me later.
“Yes… Sarah keeps giving me fruit and nuts. I need more than snacks to survive.”
His blue eyes narrow, and his gaze sweeps over me from head to toe. Suddenly, I feel naked. I’m still wearing his shirt, and I pull the tails down with trembling hands to make sure I’m decent. It doesn’t matter what I wear; he seems to look right through me.
“People survive on less. Quit being a spoiled brat and be glad I feed you at all.”
His verbal lash startles me, and I jump a little, not quite expecting that would be his response. I feel like cowering, but I don’t, won’t, can’t.
I square my shoulders and meet his gaze again. “I want real food. Burgers, fries, eggs, and bacon. Anything other than trail mix.”
The corner of his lips lift the barest amount. It’s like he thinks this is a fun game or something. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” I huff. “Is it really that insane to think that I might want an actual meal and to not eat cubed cheese and almonds every single day!” My voice raises an octave, and the skin of my cheeks heats.
Instantly, his lips flatten, the smile wiped clean from his face as he crosses the room, stalking toward the bed. I know right away I should have kept my mouth shut. My limbs remain locked in place. Like an antelope in the sights of a jaguar, I wait for him to come in for the kill.
“Have you ever heard the phrase, don’t bite the hand that feeds you?”
My throat constricts, but I say nothing. I’m not about to dig myself a deeper hole.
“Since you don’t want to respond, I’ll assume you have, so I’m sure you understand in that pampered head of yours how this works. I give you fucking food, and you eat it. May that be nuts and fruit or a steak and baked potato. I’m in control, not you.” The sternness of his voice tells me the conversation is over. Sensing that, he sets the box on the bed and then slips his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. I do my best not to stare at him, but I can’t help it.
I notice there is no blood on him this time.
Either he’s getting better at staying clean, or he just has an endless closet of clothing to tap into after he murders someone. I’ll bet it’s the latter since he seems like the type to bathe in the blood of his enemies.
“Get dressed,” he orders, and after a second, gestures to the box. “Clothes for the princess.”
Imaginary red flags wave in front of my vision. This has to be a trap. He is bringing me clothes? I hover where I stand, uncertain and afraid. He’s still lingering so close to the box I’d have to squeeze between him and the bed to get to it. Touching him isn’t high on my to do list at the moment.
