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I know I’m able to handle myself, but no one would believe me if I told them what happened. I need Giovanni’s protection, and if there is anyone I trust to take care of this, it’s my brother Max and the man standing between me and the man who bruised my thigh.
I grab onto Giovanni’s shoulder, trying to pull him back, but my strength compared to his is pathetic. As if I’m a car trying to tow a semi.
Weak, just weak.
“Nina, don’t.” He shrugs me off like a fly that’s bothering him.
The gun clicks as Kirill flinches.
Giovanni only took three bullets out of the chamber. My bet is the next one that clicks will end the man’s life.
I slam my eyes shut, an attempt to shut out what is bound to happen right in front of me, on my sister’s wedding day.
If Giovanni kills him, the entire family will wake up, and my papa will be unbelievably livid.
“Smettila,” a voice says.
Carlo.
I look back down, and Giovanni doesn’t listen as he reloads the gun.
“Nina, leave at once.” Carlo grabs my hand, pushing me in the opposite direction.
My walk is staggered as I try to make my way back to my room.
This is why I want nothing to do with my family.
This is why I asked for those years of freedom.
My cheeks flush, sending heat through my entire body as I realize I don’t have much time left in my little bubble of the normal life I tried so hard to give myself.
* * *
I don’t even remember falling asleep last night. So much happened it’s hard to find a single thing that went right yesterday.
I lift my head off the pillow and notice my sister isn’t here anymore. I have no idea when she decided to leave. I asked her to stay with me, but I didn’t tell her what happened. I don’t need her to worry for me.
Either way, Carlo probably told her by now.
The sunlight breaks through the curtains, forcing me to finally wake up completely. I can’t tell if it was the light that woke me or the loud arguing coming from downstairs.
Nothing in this house can stay private if words are spoken downstairs—the rooms are covered in marble from floor to ceiling.
I throw off the covers and stumble out of bed. My inner thighs are bruised from the grip Kirill had on me last night.
Walking over to my closet, I pull out a sweater and a pair of leggings to cover up what happened. I pause, staring at myself in the mirror.
The entire family probably knows what happened by now. And my fidelity is most likely in question.
They all think I’m a virgin, and I’d like to keep it that way. Everything I did these past two years was for me, and only me. Papa would marry me off to a man worse than Kirill if he knew I wasn’t “pure.”
Papa never fails to tell everyone how careless I am, walking around with my head in the clouds all the time. I shake my head, trying to get those thoughts out of my mind.
If I assume the worst, I won’t be disappointed. Papa will make me marry Kirill, and everyone will think I’m a whore.
I walk down the stairs slowly, feeling my heart pound in my ears. The pressure building inside my head is about to burst—or give me the world’s worst migraine.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see my sister trying to listen in on the conversation in Papa’s office.
