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Sweat trickles down my back as I swallow hard, feeling the rough fabric of my clothes cling damply to my skin. This is the third day wearing this same outfit, carefully scrubbing it in the bathroom sink last night. Hardly the attire fit for breakfast where servants bustled and served me in the impossibly opulent mansion of the Ricci crime family.
My cheeks burn with shame, but I force it down and meet their penetrating stares head on. It feels like they can all sense my inner turmoil, how confused and conflicted I feel. Like they know all about the stolen kiss with Antonio, how I fled him breathless in the garden, and how I'm wearing dirty clothes because they didn't bother providing me with anything else before forcing me to stay here.
Worst of all, Antonio sits aloof and remote at the far end of the long mahogany table, not even glancing in my direction. The icy detachment cuts through me sharper than any knife. After the fire we shared yesterday, how can he ignore me so completely now?
I clench my napkin tightly in my lap, knuckles bone white. I will not show weakness here. The smallest crack in my composure could prove fatal in this viper's nest.
"My dear Clara," Giovanni Ricci playfully teases, leaning back in his leather chair and steepling his fingers. "You're starting to blend in with the furniture. The same drab color, the same style every day. I know you love your university and all, but how many of their T-shirts do you own?"
His brothers chuckle at my expense. Anger bubbles up within me, despite knowing Giovanni likely only meant it as good-natured ribbing. How dare he mock me? I didn't ask for this imprisonment, ripped violently from my campus with barely time to grab my backpack. And now I'm chastised like a wayward child for not somehow prepping a glamorous captivity wardrobe?
"Well, Giovanni," I snap, my voice dripping venom as I meet his taunting gaze directly. "Forgive me for not putting on a fashion show for your entertainment. I didn't exactly bring luggage when your 'invitation' arrived."
My barbed words have their effect. The Ricci brothers exchange uneasy glances, the mirth draining from their expressions. No one speaks to them this way, I realize.
Antonio holds up a hand, forestalling his brothers' reactions. His stern gaze fixes upon me for the first time since we parted last night, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"You don't have any clothes," he states plainly, his voice still like ice. His dark eyes turn to me, expression unreadable. Searching me, probing me for any sign of weakness.
I sit up straighter, refusing to look away. "I don't carry a wardrobe with me to class. But I'm making do just fine with what I have." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
Antonio regards me cryptically across the long table set with crystal glasses and steaming platters of food. I meet his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to back down.
Finally, he shakes his head, the barest hint of amusement playing on his stern lips.
"Miss Thomas, my apologies. I'll arrange for one of my men to escort you on a shopping trip today. Please, buy anything you need for an extended stay." His voice holds no malice, only cool authority.
I hesitate, fiddling with my coffee cup, stomach churning at the thought of my meager bank account. With my father's massive unpaid debt hanging over us, even a few new shirts and panties feels extravagant. There are far more important uses for any funds now.
"Actually, if it's possible, I'd really rather go to my apartment and pick up some of my own things," I counter carefully, keeping my tone light and casual. My eyes plead for Antonio to understand. Let me have this small piece of my old life back.
But the crime lord just shakes his head, uncompromising as stone. "I'm afraid that's out of the question. We can't risk you making contact with your father."
Of course. I should have known better than to ask. They aim to keep my father and I separated, hostages to each other's continued good behavior. The thought makes my blood boil, even as I force myself to take a calming breath. I cannot afford to make a scene here.
"It's just...I don't exactly have... I mean, I can't afford a new wardrobe at the moment. Not with my father's debts," I explain slowly, unable to mask my embarrassment and frustration.
Antonio regards me with that cryptic stare, while Giovanni's gaze softens, almost pitying. But underneath the heavy silence, I notice a subtle shift in Antonio's dark eyes. His voice drops to a low murmur meant only for me.
"Use my black card, Clara. Buy whatever you need."
Before I can protest, he reaches into his suit jacket and presses the cool, heavy metal card into my palm. Its weight underscores his words, brooking no argument. The message comes through loud and clear. For now, I'm to play the part of the kept woman under their control, no matter how it grates against my pride.
Swallowing back my arguments, I nod stiffly. "Thank you, I...appreciate your generosity."
The inadequate words taste bitter on my tongue, but my father's life hangs precariously in the balance. I must tread carefully among these wolves. One misstep could prove fatal for us both.
So I allow myself to be escorted from the lavish Ricci estate by one of their hulking henchmen after breakfast. He's silent as I slide into the back of the sleek black town car idling in front of the sprawling mansion. But menace and power ripple off his muscular frame in waves.
Out on the bustling city streets, I feel exposed and vulnerable chauffeured by this stranger. I want to beg him to just keep going, far away from this waking nightmare.
Instead, I dig my nails into my palms and offer the bodyguard a tight smile as the car glides to a smooth stop in front of a glittering, upscale boutique. I don't even recognize the elite designer brands carried here. My thrifted, Bohemian style will seem woefully out of place among these polished golden racks of clothes worth more than two months rent at my cramped apartment.
As we enter the elegant marble and glass store, solicitous sales people descend, offering flutes of champagne. I turn back to my escort. "Can we just go to the mall, or somewhere a little... simpler?"
His face tightens as he stands guard near the entrance. "Mr. Ricci was clear about your attire," he reminds me as if my opinion is no longer necessary in the matter.
I remind myself, this shopping trip is about survival now. My pride and values are secondary to ensuring my father and I both make it through this ordeal alive.
