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“You are her. I already knew it in here.” He taps his chest with a fist. “These results confirm it.”
“They’re fake. I don’t believe you.”
Nausea roils in my stomach. I seem to be making a habit of throwing up since I fell into this nightmare earlier today. Good thing I’ve had nothing to eat for hours and there’s fuck all left in my stomach to bring up.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. I needed to know, and now I do. So, this is how it is going to play out, Bianca.”
I open and close my mouth. Claiming that I’m Bree Walker seems moot at this point. No one believes it here, other than me. And these results…
I stare again at the report. This isn’t a fly-by-night outfit that made something up. This report comes from one of the most prestigious medical facilities in Boston.
Unless the letterhead is fabricated, too.
Were my birth parents actual Mafia? I can’t imagine it. The whole concept is so far removed from the life I’ve always known that it seems like a ludicrous idea.
I look up into Rio’s eyes, and for the first time, I see something other than emptiness. He’s excited by this news in a way that scares me even more.
Scares me, and excites me. And I don’t want to feelanythingalong those lines.
“When you say this is going to play out… Um, do I get to go home at some point?”
Even as I ask the question, I know the answer is going to be one I don’t want to hear.
He looks almost pitying before his lips lift slightly at the corners.
“Youarehome. This is your life now. You should start to get your head around that, because it is not going to change.”
“Living above a club, locked in the suite upstairs, for what purpose?”
I don’t know why I keep pushing, goading him. His reputation may be legit in the media these days, but the dark stories of the past remain. Gregorio Agosti is not someone to antagonize. Not in any way, shape, or form. Those who do tend to end up “disappeared.”
And I don’t want to disappear. I’ve only just turned twenty-five. Ilikelife.
“Not here. I will move you to my family estate in the morning, and then, eventually, we will be married.”
“Okay.” I don’t mean,okay, I agree. My brain simply stops working, and I have nothing left but numbness.
Okay in this instance means,I literally have no idea how to think, feel, or respond to what you’ve just said, you psychopathic monster.
My silence doesn’t seem to faze him. “That’s how this is going to play out, Bianca. You will become my wife, and I will gain control of the Carlotti cartel once and for all. Legally. Because you will sign it over to your new husband as a wedding gift.”
After he dismisses me and one of his men returns me to the suite upstairs, his words play over and over in my head.
The woman who brought the clothing earlier returns at some point with more clothing and a tray of food. I’m sitting on the couch, curled up in the corner hugging my legs, when the door clicks open and she walks in.
“You need to eat, young lady.”
I stare down at my red-painted toenails. I painted them this morning before work…Yesterdaymorning, I correct, glancing at the clock above the desk and realizing it is after 2:00 a.m. I thought then, when I added the red glossy color to the tips of my toes, that it was fun to add a bit of glitz for my birthday—an occasion to be spent with my friends.
Not imprisoned here by a sexy maniac who insists I’m the long-lost child of a cartel he is obviously intending to control via marriage.
I clench my hands against my legs. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“No. You will eat.” She plonks the tray down on the coffee table and slides the whole table closer to me, grunting as she does so. “I will stay until you are done.”
She folds her arms, looking resolute.
Holy hell, is this nightmare ever going to end?
