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“She’s your daughter, not an asset,” his friend reminds him. “Breathe, Pedro. It’s going to be okay.”
But Pedro seems like he’ll never get over this. With a roar, he turns toward Francesca, who shrieks and pulls the sheets tighter around her body. Her father strikes her hard, sending her sprawling back. In moments, I’ve ripped myself away from the other guy and I’ve got Pedro with his black flat against the wall.
“You hit her again, I’ll rip your tongue out through your ass,” I hiss at him. “Piece of fucking shit! She’s a woman! Your daughter!”
He spits in my face, and I angrily wipe it off, tightening my grip on his throat.
“I should kill you,” I hiss, for a second imagining a world where Francesca’s father doesn’t exist. “Nobody would miss you, you petty old man!”
14
FRANCESCA
“Hey! Where the heck were you all night?”
I groan as I let myself into my room shared with Luciana. I’m finally back after my night out that ended with Julian and me getting locked in that room together. And even though nothing really happened, my heart is still racing, and I still feel shivers going down my spine when I think about his arms around me.
“Oh Dio, don’t even ask. I got myself into a royal mess and got locked into a room on campus with this guy…”
“Oh no, are you okay?” She offers me a hug, and I gratefully wrap my arms around her as I nod. “You got some rest, right? We have to get to classes soon.”
“Some,” I mutter, flushing lightly as I remember Julian’s arms wrapped around me while we slept. “I’m pretty tired, but I’ll get some rest later.”
Luciana nods, pointing to my desk. “By the way, a letter arrived for you this morning.”
“Oh?” I narrow my eyes at the handwritten envelope on the desk. “Who is it from?”
“No idea,” Luciana shrugs, giving me a curious look. “Some man hand-delivered it.”
I tear into the envelope and pull out a card scribbled with handwriting I don’t recognize.
You are cordially invited to the Gatto gentlemen’s club tonight with your mystery scholarship donor. Save your questions for then and wear something pretty.
See you then. B.B.
I read it out loud for both of us and Luciana’s eyes grow wide with wonder.
“Is that from the person who paid for you to go to school here?”
“I guess so,” I mutter, shrugging as I put the card back into the envelope. “I’m not going to go, anyway.”
“Whyever not?” Luciana seems so outraged it’s almost cute. “Aren’t you curious who it is?”
“A little,” I admit reluctantly. “But this seems like a recipe for disaster… Meeting a stranger at a gentlemen’s club? Admit it, he sounds weird.”
“Or maybe he has a secret crush on you,” Luciana winks at me. “And this was his only hope of getting to speak to you alone…”
“I doubt it,” I mutter, but now that she’s given me this idea, I can’t get it out of my head. “You really think so?”
“Definitely. What if it’s that boy… Julian, was it?”
“No, those are not his initials,” I mutter.
“You have to go to this meeting,” Luciana insists. “You told me you wanted to find a husband here, right?”
I nod numbly. “It’s my only hope of escaping poverty now that my family has been disgraced.”
“Then you absolutely have to go,” Luciana insists. “It will be fun. I’ll help you get dressed after school and pay for a cab downtown. What do you say?”
I groan. I’m still hesitant about accepting and I keep thinking about Julian and what he would think about this whole situation.
“Think about it today,” Luciana pleads with me. “And you’ll tell me your decision after class. Okay?”
“Okay,” I mutter. Right now, I have no idea what I’m going to decide.
Twelve hours later, I’m standing in front of Gatto wearing one of Luciana’s dresses that’s much too short for me since she’s so much shorter. I tug at the seams and try to pull it down, wishing I’d worn something of my own. But as I catch my reflection in the mirrors walking into the club, I notice I look good – and I’ve definitely got the attention of more than just a few men in there. They’re all staring at me.
“Excuse me, signorina.” A man blocks my way and points to a sign. “This is a gentlemen’s club. I cannot allow you inside unless you have a male companion.”
“I’m meeting someone,” I say defensively.
“Who, signorina?”
“I don’t know… His initials are B.B. He told me to meet him here.”
“Ah.” His eyes light up with recognition. “Right this way, signorina. Would you care for a warm towel?
A drink or a cigar, perhaps?”
I don’t miss the shift in his behavior the moment he realizes who I’m here for. I’m grateful to be treated nicely again, for once since my family’s downfall. I request a drink even though both the waiter and I know I’m not old enough. He walks me into a large cocktail room and points me to a darkened area separated by a red rope from the other seats.
