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A sharp, sudden pain erupted in my gut, and I winced. I straightened out, mentally cursing at myself. I had to be better at hiding the pain when I was in public. The last thing I wanted to seem was weak in the eyes of the others.
To appear weak would be to show your enemies where they could strike, as my father always said.Although, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
I lifted my leg, setting my ankle on my other knee. I was only able to do so because of the slit in the side of the dress. Bringing my foot up was better than lowering my top half down, and I was able to put on the heels myself, no help from Zander necessary. It was hard, but I managed without causing much more pain to shoot through my body from the wound.
The outside had started to scab and itch, but the inside? The inside was still very, very angry with me. Truly, I was fortunate the bullet didn’t hit more organs, do some irreparable damage. It could’ve been worse; I’d gotten lucky.
Never thought I’d describe myself as lucky after getting shot, but that was life. Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth and all that.
Getting to my feet, I straightened myself out and ran both hands down my sides, tugging at the fabric of the white dress and stretching it out a little, making it look a bit more respectable since I’d have to tell my father goodbye before Zander and I left. I grabbed my gloves off my dresser, and then I went to the door, opening it and seeing Zander’s concerned face on the other side.
Zander’s mouth opened, but then his green eyes took me in. It was a damned good thing my father wasn’t here to see the expression on his face while he checked me out; you’d have to be blind to miss the hunger, the lust, the sheer desire. “You look… too good for them, Giselle.”
I slid on my gloves. “Thank you.” I think that warranted a thank you. Whatever. I stopped myself from saying he looked good—and not because he didn’t. Zander looked just as good as ever, his brown hair slicked back, his strong body in a suit. Must be trying to take after my father, looking like that.
Except he looked way better in that black suit than my father ever could.
He was packing under it, too. Since it was a Black Hand club and Luca had gotten it for us all night, weapons were allowed, or so we’d been told. A good thing, because I didn’t think my father would want us going if Zander couldn’t put a cap in anyone who so much as looked at me wrong.
Together, Zander and I went downstairs, finding my father in his study. He was near a window, staring outside at the world of dusk, sipping a small glass that must have whiskey in it. He turned away from the window when he heard us approach, and he surveyed us both, giving us a nod of approval shortly after.
“We’re about to leave,” I told him.
“Good. I trust you will behave yourself tonight?” my father asked, lifting a single black brow as he stared at me. Fifteen feet sat between us, and yet he could still peer into my soul and know what I was thinking.
“Of course, Daddy.”
“I hope you mean that. It would be an awful thing to hear that you put yourself in a compromising position in front of your future husband.” The corners of his lips quirked upward when he saw my posture turn rigid.
“Future husband?” Zander couldn’t keep quiet, not even after I threw a look his way.
“I take it Giselle didn’t tell you that I’m in talks with Rocco Moretti about a marriage between her and Luca.” My father knew damn well I didn’t tell him, and that was why he made sure to tell him right before this party, just to make it more awkward for me. Before either Zander or I could say anything, he added, “Go. Have fun—just not too much fun.” He raised his glass in our direction, a toast.
Fuck him.
The strained smile remained on my face until we were out of the house, and it was only when Zander and I were safely alone in his car, the house in the rearview mirror, that Zander spoke, “What the fuck was he talking about?” He glanced at me. “Tell me he was joking.”
“You know my father. You know he doesn’t joke about anything.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and I knew he struggled with the information. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question was heavy and loaded, laced with a ton of jealousy and possessiveness.
“Why, so you could act like this?” I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t tell you because it’s not happening.”
That got Zander to ask, “What do you mean, it’s not happening? It sure as shit sounded like it was happening with the way Miguel was talking about it.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t get over the fact that I might have to marry Luca Moretti. He hated Luca.
“I don’t want to get married. I’m… I don’t care what I have to do, but I’m not going to marry him, Zander. I don’t want to marry anyone.” I pretended not to see Zander’s worried glances in my direction, whispering, “I’m tired of having my father dictate every aspect of my life. I want to live for myself. Don’t tell him that, obviously.”
Zander didn’t say anything for a while. For a long while, because before he said anything else, we arrived at the club. He pulled into a parking space, put the car into park and shut her off. He sat back in his seat, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stared off into space.
Finally, Zander spoke, “Why don’t you tell your father that you don’t want to marry him?”
“I’ve never told my father no for anything before. I always did as he asked, even if… even if I wanted nothing more than to run.” I gulped, fiddling with my hands in my lap. “You have no idea, Zander. The things my father has made me do… you have no idea.”
“I would if you told me.”
I almost did. I opened my mouth, seconds from telling him about that night three years ago—how I’d hated Luca simply for the fact that he was related to Rocco, and how a part of me still harbored that resentment.
But I stopped myself, saying instead, “Tonight is supposed to be a good night. Maybe I’ll tell you later.” I got out of the car, holding back a groan as I did so.No, spilling the truth about Rocco and all the things he did to me that night was not a secret I wanted to tell. Not tonight.
