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“A promising start. Do I need to ask my dad to be available for your retainer, in the event that youdoget into trouble?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Wiping her hands on her suit jacket, she shrugs. “All I need to know then. Keep the rest to yourself, but Jesus Christ, Care, don’t shut me out completely. I’m still your friend, right, secrets aside?”
“Of course, you are.” I shoot her a wide-mouthed grin; it stretches painfully across my face, nearly splitting it in two.
“Good, because I need a date to the birthday shindig I’m throwing myself a few weekends from now.”
I groan, any hope that her work would keep her from wanting to do birthday stuff shattered. “I don’t really feel like partying.”
“Oh, come on! You say that every year, and every year we go out and get plastered, and you have a great time.”
“A great time throwing up, you mean.”
She giggles, her hand coming up to cover the small gap in her front teeth. “Vomit is an indication of a good time, yes. I’m not taking no for an answer, Caroline. Think of it as a bachelorette-party-birthday extravaganza, something to make up for that honeymoon you guys didn’t take.” Glancing around, she nods, eyes lingering on the tall, white walls and the grand staircase. “Why didn’t you have one again?”
“We had to reschedule, something about a conflict with Elia’s work.But,I’ll go out with you this time, especially if it means I get to ditch the warden.” Hooking my thumb over my shoulder, I point toward Leo, who hasn’t moved a single muscle the entire time we’ve been standing here.
Glancing down the counter at an envelope I discarded—the precursor to baking today—she scans the page from the King’s Trace D.M.V., acknowledging a name change request I never submitted. Because, apparently, my husband is a crazy person.
Sitting up and ignoring the paper, she claps her hands together, already pulling her iPhone from her jacket pocket and typing something out on it. “I’m telling your sister to meet us there for drinks. I had a friend at Jupiter hook me up with exclusive VIP tickets, which cost an absolute fortune. Honestly, knowing who you married, I don’t know why we can’t get in for free.”
Eyes narrowing, I reach for my own muffin, taking a bite right off the top. “Where are we going?”
“Crimson.”
As I take a second bite, the tangy fruit flavor exploding against my tongue like a tiny orgasm, my stomach flutters. Many of my father’s men frequent the club, known for its high-caliber cocaine and high-security presence. But with Elia on the hunt, looking for insight into my past, it’s impossible to get in without being noticed.
Maybe with the help of these tickets, bought under someone else’s name, I’ll have a fighting chance.
When Elia finally comes home that night, long after Liv has eaten an entire tin of my muffins and made plans to pick me up Friday at midnight, I’m lounging on the sofa in the living room, scrolling through what’s available on Netflix.
He stumbles inside, suit jacket and shirt askew, hair tousled, reeking of stale whiskey and cigars. Leo assists him over the threshold and into the front room, settling him down in the armchair across from me.
I see a quick flash of Benito’s bald head as the front door shuts, making me miss the crusty bastard. At least he sometimes smiled.
Ignoring his drunken state, I continue looking for something to lift my spirits, the weight of my life seeping into my bones, trying to drag me into a deep depression. Elia’s heated gaze bores into my skin, setting my soul aflame, but I don’t give in.
“Principessa.” His voice is breathy, weightless, as it drifts across the room to me.
Still, I ignore him, unwilling to acknowledge the desire and concern lurking in his eyes.
We’re supposed to be enemies, bound by a singular purpose: duty, loyalty.
He wants to protect me, appear noble and powerful to his men, this town, and I want to free myself of the bondage that’s kept me broken for so long. Caged. Fighting. My loyalty lies with me, and that’s why I’m here.
The way my husband looks at me, though, makes me wish things were different. Makes me forget that I want revenge. And he may think he’s using me, protecting me, but he has no fucking clue that I’m the predator. That I’m using him, waiting for the chance to strike.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.” His head flops onto the back of the chair, chin pointing toward the vaulted ceiling. His eyes trace the circular motion of the fan mounted at the peak. “What’s a pure, innocent soul doing with someone as wretched as me?”
I purse my lips but keep my eyes on the television. “Maybe I’m not so pure and innocent.”
Snapping his head back, I see a smile grace his perfect features for a moment. A shiver skitters along my skin, scattering goosebumps in its wake. “Oh, don’t I fucking know it.”
I settle on a British baking show, watching the contestants go through the motions and trying not to focus on Elia unbuttoning his dress shirt from the corner of my eye. His movements are slow, lazy, and the warmth from his stare bores into me like a cattle prod trying to brand me.
“Do you believe in fate, Caroline? Destiny?”
