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Most of society would consider Giovanni a monster. What does it mean that I love him with every fiber of my being, anyway?
“It’s not a judgment,” Giancarlo tells me. Our entrees arrive in decadent, savory glory. He cuts into his beef tenderloin and peers across the table at me, his face only partially lit by the candles. The other half falls into the shade. “You’re right that it can be complicated. Most human emotion is. I’m fortunate not to experience most of it.”
“Oh, c’mon.Everyonefeels.”
He rips the piece of succulent steak from the tip of his fork, chews a while, and answers only after he swallows. “So hopeful. You sound like my mother. She was very pure-hearted too. Always saw the best in people. She hoped she could change my father. Do you think she succeeded?”
Gio’s told me enough about his upbringing to know she failed. At no fault of her own, Giuliano Sorrentino was a ruthless man incapable of change.
“Shefailed,” Giancarlo says. “She never even came close. My father never cared.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do with that information. It sounds like your poor mother tried her best but was mistreated.”
“Do you think it would be any different for you?” His dark gaze dips from my face to his steak as he cuts another piece.
Cold air has blown into my lungs, making me feel breathless. “What would be different for me?”
“You dreamed of being my brother’s bride. He was his father’s son. Do you think it would be different for you? Do you think he would change for you? You could escape the fate my mother met?”
Before I can make sense of what he means, Fozzi approaches the table. He mutters something into Giancarlo’s ear. I only catch a scrap of what’s said—something about finding out who someone is.
Whatever its significance, it’s enough to interrupt our meal. Giancarlo nods and tosses his cloth napkin on the table. He pushes his chair back and announces he has to go.
“Are you coming back?”
He rounds the table, coming up on my side. Once close enough, he reaches out and his long fingers grip my chin. He tips my head, my eyes connecting with his. “Behave yourself. I might return later for dessert. Just us.”
His touch vanishes as quickly as it came. I blink and he’s no longer gripping my chin. He’s nearing the door, Fozzi a couple steps behind him. The door slams shut. I’m left alone with only the waitstaff.
The young waiter I flirted with earlier cautiously pads over. He collects Giancarlo’s side of the table, balancing multiple dishes at once. I’m still lost as to how I’ve ended up alone, absentmindedly watching him clear half the table.
If I heard Giancarlo correctly, he believes there are similarities between his mother and me. He thinks I’d end up just like her with Giovanni. What other purpose does it serve to tell me this if not to make me doubt my feelings?
It’s another mind game he’s playing. My relationship with Gio was nothing like the relationship their parents had.
He says he might come back later for dessert. More mind games and manipulation. More opportunity to prey on me.
I need an out.Now.
The young waiter clearing the table catches my eye. Desperate times…
“You can take mine too,” I say, helping him. “I’m still not feeling too well. I probably need to lie down some more.”
“Of course, miss. If there’s anything the waitstaff can do, please let one of us know.”
I touch his arm to hold him back. His skin tinges red as soon as I do. It’s almost cute. “Actually,” I say gently. “There is something. Do you think I could use your phone?”
“Miss, I don’t believe I’m able to let you.”
“It would make me feel better. I just want to call my friend. She’s no one important to the Sorrentino’s. She dances at the Dollhouse. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?” My fingers glide over the hairs on his forearm, my touch slow and gentle. His hairs only stand up straighter. Meeting his uncertain green eyes, I say, “I used to dance there too. It’s a gentleman’s club. Have you ever been?”
“N-no.” His voice shakes. The red splotches on his skin deepen.
“You should visit sometime. Tasha and the girls wouldloveto have you. Maybe I can set something up.”
He glances left and right, checking if any of the other waitstaff are paying us any attention. They’ve busied themselves with righting the room, returning the furniture to its original positions. From within the breast pocket of his dress shirt, he produces his phone. I swipe it from his grasp as subtly as possible and disappear into the bedroom.
“I’ll be quick,” I promise.
When I was first taken captive by Giovanni, he hadn’t allowed me to use any form of communication with the outside world. He’d had Louis monitoring me so closely, he was practically breathing down my neck.
But once we started dating for real, I was free to call Tasha—and whoever else—anytime I wanted. I’ve memorized her number because of this. I dial her within seconds, praying she’ll answer.
“Come on, come on,” I say on the fourth ring. My heart beats fast in my chest as I watch the door. Any second, someone can walk in. Giancarlo returning after all. The young waiter changing his mind and asking for his phone back. One of Giancarlo’s men checking up on me. I hold my breath as the ringing stops and the familiar voice I’ve been hoping for answers on the other end. “Hello, Tash. Don’t hang up. It’s me, Falynn. I need your help.”
