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I let out a huff of laughter at the smugness in his tone. “Yes, indeed you did.” I can’t resist a glance up at him. “It was too much, I know.”
A single shake of his head surprises me. “No. I like the sound of your screams. I want more of that, Bianca.”
“Oh.” I sit quietly for a moment, digesting that. Then I say truthfully, “Me too, Rio. Much more.”
Even as I say the words, Felicity’s voice echoes in my head.
We need you to testify against your husband. We’ll be waiting for your call.
I can’t help but wonder if any future screams of mine will be induced only by desire. If I get on Rio’s wrong side, they may well be induced by something so much more terrifying than making love with a mob boss.
21
“Who you were, who you are, and who you will be are three different people.”
Unknown
Bianca
I gapeat the box containing the cell phone on the expansive desk in front of me, wondering if this is a trick.
I’m in Rio’s city office, the one above his nightclub, and the afternoon sun slants in through the floor-to-ceiling windows over near the leather settee. A pair of his goons delivered me here a few minutes ago.
One moment I was sitting outside on my suite’s balcony at the estate, watching the breeze riffle through the trees down by the river as I finished my chicken salad lunch, and the next I was being ushered downstairs and into a waiting black car, to be driven here—to the club where I was first brought in all those weeks ago, trussed up like a Christmas turkey.
Weeks? I’ve lost track of time a little, but I think the kidnapping might have been about two months ago now.
“Is this for real? What is this, Rio?”
He grunts at my obvious shock and studies me, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “What does it look like? I’m giving you a cell phone, Bianca.”
“But I thought you didn’t trust me.” I’m afraid to reach out and touch it in case the phone magically disappears. I want itso damn bad.
“You’ve earned a little trust. Firstly by your behavior at the gala two weeks ago, and in the outings you’ve had since then.”
I think back on the few visits out I’ve been allowed. A couple of times I asked to go to a shopping mall just because I wanted to feel normal. Not possible when you’re flanked by security goons the whole way, but at least it was another connection with the outside world.
And then there’s been one trip back here to the club before today, where Rio met one night with a contingent of businessmen and seemed to want me on display at the time.
I could have run on any of the mall trips—albeit with difficulty given the constant scrutiny every time I leave the estate—but there are always opportunities to slip away in a crowd. Even the best security people need to take their eyes off the prize occasionally, if only to scan their surroundings.
But I chose not to run. And I think I may have finally figured out why.
I was convinced for the longest time that I had Stockholm syndrome, but during my many hours of solitude, I’ve come to the realization that the need to stay has something to do with my heritage. My identity. I had a birth family—I hadparents—who didn’t abandon me as I’ve always thought. It wasn’t for lack of love that I was handed in to that church.
Instead, they were murdered, and my nanny tried to save me from the same fate by hiding me. I need to know more. I need to find out who Bianca Carlotti really is, and the best way I can do that for now is to stay here and learn more about this strange Mafia life into which I was apparently born.
Staying has nothing to do with my complicated feelings for Rio. The whole love-hate thing that threatens to drive me crazy. No. Of course not.
I mentally roll my eyes at my own blatant self-lie.
“This is your reward for good behavior,” Rio says, pushing the box toward me. “Take it.”
Something as simple as a cell phone shouldn’t create so much excitement and joy. I pick up the box with trembling fingers.
“Thank you.” A thought strikes me. “I assume you’ll monitor the usage?”
An almost smile hovers around his lips. “You assume correctly. I don’t trust any person one hundred percent.”
