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We rode in silence while crushing tension gripped and squeezed my chest. My dress felt tight, and a cold sweat broke through with rolling chills. The car’s motion added to the smothering air that traveled with us with each bump and sway in my body. I refused to look out the window. Miami would have to wait; I wouldn’t face it in such a state.
Minutes passed, and the outline of my dagger against my fingertips didn’t offer the air I so desperately craved. Instead, my fingers became numb and damp. The longer I waited, the more my hair stuck to the back of my neck.
Breathe.
But all I smelled was him. All I felt was his warmth. All I sensed was his darkness.
Distant gates announced our arrival, and they opened, revealing the grand and beautiful fortress that hid killers. A few men stepped away from the shadows as their boss rolled inside, and where my eyes turned, hidden cameras I’d grown accustomed to flooded my view. Not one inch of the perimeter was left unseen by the eyes of surveillance.
I’d passed the same gates, stepped into the same circular stone drive, and listened to the spurts of water from the fountain under the pending light of the moon a few nights ago.
But the sun now exposed the cruel reality.
My future.
The magnificent custom-built manor was nothing more than a beautiful, detailed façade.
“Katia?” Lucca’s voice drifted. I shifted my head away from his view and closed my eyes. The weight on my chest increased. “Katia.” His voice grew stronger.
Lucca traveled with no shadows in his city, and he parked the car, leaving the engine running. It was just us and the punishing suffocation.
“Sì.” Italian flew from my lips in longing for familiarity. Since arriving in the States, the times I have communicated with others have all been in English. The simpleyesbrought back a piece I'd missed.
“Che succede?” Lucca’s English was no match for his dominant Italian tongue. It was captivating and dangerous. But his question meant nothing, even if it had been asked,what’s wrong?
The switch of language brought more of myself back than the sharp dagger had done on the ride. Now that I had the chance to use it, I didn’t switch to English. I wanted to use it, listen to it, and bathe in it until I felt whole again.
“Your Italian is flawless.”
Lucca, too, spoke back in Italian. “It’s my first language. I only spoke English as a child when needed. The day I turned fourteen was the day it became my main form of communication.”
He’d said more than I’d expected. Even his tone had relaxed.Did he too feel the ease of its poetry?
I crushed the idea. All men in our world spoke the language. He couldn’t possibly feel the comfort and solace like I did.
“Now, answer me,” he demanded.
I spun and stared into his dark eyes with the same judgment he carried.
The tremors of my fingers had slowed but remained, as did the pressure of my chest. I had asked for honesty, but how could I offer such a thing when the questions asked were too raw to admit?
I settled for half the truth. “The flight left me feeling unwell.”
His eyes narrowed, my answer wasn’t appreciated, and silence stretched.
“Then let me walk you toourroom to rest.” Lucca opened his door and exited the car.
I didn’t flinch as the car door shut loudly. I flinched when he spoke back in bitter English.
Bodies swarmedin and out of view. Too many for me to keep up with and become familiar with their features. The walk up to the house, following behind him, felt inferior. I was already out of my comfort zone with a floor plan I had no knowledge of. A city I wasn’t familiar with, and a mansion with an exit without an escape. The clicking sound of the door closing behind me finalized who I used to be.
We continued walking in silence until he veered to the left. There, two large staircases met in the middle of the grand room that overlooked the inside of the courtyard and entry. He swayed to the one on the left.
“Wait.” I hummed.
Lucca stopped but didn’t face me. I was thankful because I wasn’t even sure why I stopped him. Maybe I just wanted a minute to think. A second to gather my composure and courage to grasp my future. Or maybe I wasn’t ready to see the bed we would share, or the room where my things would blend with his.
“I’m thirsty.” That was what I managed to utter.
