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Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare cry.
Familiar voices reach my ears as I make my way downstairs. Stephan, who chauffeurs and serves dinner. Violette, who cleans the house.
“…lined up like they were judging her. It was awful.”
“And on her birthday, too. The poor girl is only seventeen.”
I stagger down the last few steps and into the arms of a comforting, floury woman in an apron. Francesca, our cook. “Do you think that the Mayor—Chiara!”
The horrified expression on her face is the last straw, and a sob rises up my throat. These people are my friends. They’ve always been kind to Mom and me and looked out for me when I was little, especially Francesca. She’s nearly sixty and the lines on her face are as comforting as they are familiar.
She pats my back as I press my face into her shoulder. I refuse to go to pieces over what happened tonight. It’s what those horrible men want, so I hold my breath and grit my teeth against the tears.
“Stephan, are her hands tied? Cut her free.”
Stephan finds a pair of scissors and cuts the zip tie. I pull away from Francesca and gaze down at my shaking hands through blurry eyes.
Violette touches my arm, her brow pinched with worry. “Chiara, what’s happened to you? Was it one of these men?”
I open my mouth to tell them all what happened tonight and what my father intends for me, but before I can say a word, Lorenzo’s seething threat comes back to me.
If you scream for help, I’ll kill anyone who tries to rescue you and make you watch.
My throat convulses. The other three are probably just as ruthless and won’t try to stop him.
“Nothing. I’m fine. I…”
Three doubtful, worried faces stare back at me. There isn’t anyone who can help me right now. I just have to make it through tonight, and then Mom and I will have a year to find a way out of this mess.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s just past eleven. Dad told me I’d be promised to one of these men tonight. I just want to hide down here in the basement kitchen with people who are kind to me.
“Chiara,” Francesca says, reaching out to pat my hair. “Did one of those men hurt you?”
“Of course they hurt her!” Stephan exclaims, brandishing the broken zip tie. “Look at her. Look atthis. We have to do something.”
His face is a mask of fury. If he goes upstairs to face them he’ll be torn to pieces.
“Nothing happened. Don’t worry about me.” They don’t believe me, but they don’t have to as long as they stay down here. I can’t let them put themselves in danger for me.
High on the wall, the clock ticks out the passing seconds.
Tick tock.
Violette glances nervously at the others. “Did you recognize that huge, dark-haired man? He owns all the strip clubs in the city. The girls who work there end up dead if they whisper even one word about what they see and hear.”
Francesca nods. “That’s Cassius Ferragamo. The fair-haired man, the good looking one—I swear that’s Vinicius Angeli. He was arrested for money laundering last year, and then they just let him go.”
“And the other two—” Violette begins.
“Salvatore Fiore and Lorenzo Scava,” I whisper.
They all stare at me, doubtlessly wondering why four such men were invited to my birthday party. Working for the Mayor of Coldlake requires discretion and I’ve never heard the three of them gossip about the important men and women Dad entertains. There are sometimes celebrities who visit and occasionally the governor of the state. They could lose their jobs if Dad thinks they’re being indiscreet, but I can feel them itching to ask me what happened tonight.
I’m more concerned about their lives than their jobs. The longer I stay down here, the more I’m putting them in danger.
I back away from them. “Thank you. I’m fine now, don’t worry about me.”
