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Without warning, he squeezes my right breast. “Is your will yours to keep or mine to own?”
God, I yearned for his touch. I prayed I’d see him again.
Foolish, foolish girl.
With every ounce of self-preservation, I force his hand away. “Did you draw a similar line across Kelly’s skin when you hurt her?”
His eyes narrow. “She wasn’t a loyal friend to you.”
“She was there for me after my mother died.” Yet abandoned you for New York City the same week your father was murdered. If you hadn’t run into her in the grocery store during her brief trip home, you’d still be in Marietta.
A tear slips loose and runs down my cheek.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Ask me why I spared her life?”
“Because you hurt her.”
“She got off lightly. Go on. Ask.”
“Why didn’t you kill her?”
“Because you’ve lost too much already.” His admission feels like ice water’s been tossed in my face, and I blink in shock.
“You’re here until I say so.”
“And then?”
He wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, tosses it onto the counter, and walks away. But not before leaving me more confused than ever. “Right now, ‘then’ doesn’t exist.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Our intense exchange in the kitchen is long behind us as we fall into a routine, with my days spent at the beach or helping Mama Biello, and with Sandro closeted inside his office, men charging in and out, on a mission to complete his bidding.
The few encounters we’ve had have been brief and uneventful. It’s like his twisted admission about why he spared Kelly’s life never happened. Why confess about showing me kindness, then lock me in this incredibly beautiful cage and ignore me?
Why do I even care?
I ask myself this question as I approach his office door. The reason I’m seeking him out is to ask him if I can contact my grandparents. It hurts knowing they must be out of their minds with worry. Did Kelly contact them? Sandro warned her to keep quiet, so I’m unsure if she’d dare do so. Considering my mental state when I left Marietta, what must my grandparents believe after my last desperate text message followed by this long period of silence?
I raise my fist to knock but shouting inside his office stops me.
“You had the motherfucker?” Sandro booms.
“Yes, boss. But he escaped.”
“Escaped. Unbelievable. He’s a full-blown degenerate. A thrill-seeking, sex-fiend drug addict. How could this happen?”
I hesitate, curious about who Sandro was talking about.
The office falls quiet, and I now feel awkward approaching him. I turn to slip away, but then the door’s thrown open.
Two men grab me by the elbows, haul me inside, and deposit me in front of Sandro’s desk.
“Leave us,” Sandro barks, his men clearly relieved to obey his order.
My heart sinks as he pins me with a deadly glare. “Eavesdropping?”
“No,” I gasp. “I was about to knock, but you began shouting …”
