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“You were goofy as fuck,” Lucas says. “I don’t think I’d ever seen you so excited. You were in love with life and amazed by the world.”
“Yeah.” I swallow as memories of that night clash with my new reality. It’s hard to reconcile the two. “That was before I found out how awful the world can be.”
Lucas’s smile dims, and on my other side, Zaid frowns. I know I’ve brought down the mood just when it was finally beginning to lighten, and I almost feel guilty for the pain I see in Zaid’s eyes.
Silence fills the car as the neighborhood comes into view, and visions of that old freedom escape me, replaced by visions of my future. Not even reminiscing about old times is going to change the facts, the truth.
I’m still their captive. This house is still a prison.
“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be that way,” Zaid murmurs as if reading my mind. “In a technical sense, in Damian’s books, yes. But not to us, Grace. You’re not a prisoner to us.”
Ciro pulls into the garage, and I don’t respond. As soon as he pulls the key from the ignition, I slide out of the car behind Lucas, then make my way out of the garage and head quickly up the stairs toward my room. I can feel them watching me as I go, and I know my brush-off has hurt them.
But what am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to think?
Lies are still lies, no matter how prettily they’re wrapped in promises.
Where does life go from here?
I stare out my bedroom window, the first time I’ve bothered to look in the short time that I’ve been here. It’s dark, so I can’t see anything other than the surrounding large houses buried in shrubs and private gates, and the twinkling lights of the city in the distance. Compared to being in the heart of the city, this private neighborhood is almost eerily quiet.
Will this be the view for the rest of my life?
The thought is miserable. I may not be tied to that bed anymore, but it doesn’t make me any less of a prisoner. Hell, it almost makes it worse. At least tied to the bed, I had something to fuel my anger.
Being able to wander around the house and do as I please makes me feel too close to comfortable. Almost normal.
It makes me almost believe I could be here by choice.
The phone I stole from that woman is gone, so my contact with the outside world is limited to what I get from the guys and their connections, but is that really contact with the outside world? The mafia is its own world, so far separated from the monotonous lives of people coming and going from their jobs, marrying their sweethearts, having kids and growing old.
The life I almost had.
Would I have liked it?
I think I know the answer to that question, but the truth is too frightening to face right now.
Because the truth is, I could be here by choice. If I just let go.
The back of my neck prickles, and I glance toward the doorway.
“Shit!” I jump, bracing myself on the window sill.
Ciro leans against the door frame, watching me. He crept in so quietly I didn’t hear, and when he sees my wide eyes, he mutters a soft apology, grimacing. When he backs away, turning as if to leave, I step forward.
“No, please.” I’m sick of being alone. My thoughts are a goddamn merry-go-round, and I want off this fucking ride. “Did you need something?”
Not answering, he steps hesitantly into the room, moving to sit on the bed. I stay at the window sill, watching him with wariness. I know he wouldn’t come up here without a purpose, but I also know what usually happens when Ciro and I are alone.
Bad things.
Dangerous things.
You understand me.
It’s a different type of thing than it is with any of the other guys, a different type of danger. This is an emotional danger, a danger of being sucked into his dark little world in hopes of healing him, letting him heal me in the process. It’s not like Hale, a burning, maddening passion. It’s not like the twins, a flirtatious temptation. It’s different. Unique to just Ciro.
