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"As I'm sure my father explained, your father owes the Ricci family a substantial debt," he continues matter-of-factly. "Far more than can likely ever be repaid in full."
I nod hesitantly. He's so close I can make out the individual lashes framing his hazelnut eyes, count the faint pockmarks marring his olive skin. Handsome, but slightly weathered. A man who's seen things, done things. My nerves hum like live wires at his nearness.
Antonio toys idly with a lock of my hair, expression flat. But I sense the danger simmering just beneath the nonchalant façade. This close, it's impossible to ignore.
"I do hope you appreciate the...generosity we've shown, allowing you to reside here as our honored guest," he murmurs. His eyes bore into mine. "All things considered, we would be within our rights to handle the situation a bit less...hospitably."
The words send ice trickling down my spine. Visions of being locked away in some dingy basement flash through my mind. Or worse. My fingers clench bloodless around my glass.
"I understand my father owes your family a great deal," I say carefully. "And I'm sure he'll do whatever is necessary to repay that debt." I inject confidence I don't feel into the words.
Antonio's eyes probe my face. "We'll see that he does," he says quietly. His fingers twist deeper into my hair. "I would hate for anything regrettable to happen on account of your father's poor choices. To either of you."
Fear lances through me, but I force my expression to remain neutral. Refusing to show weakness before this predator. "I'm sure my father appreciates your patience in this matter."
The corner of Antonio's mouth hitches. "Patience is a virtue I cultivate when appropriate," he agrees mildly. Too mildly. Then his eyes harden, flashing with cruelty. "But one bad turn does deserve another, as the saying goes."
His meaning is all too clear. Everything hinges on my father coming up with the money he owes, and soon.
Antonio releases my hair and takes a half step back, though his presence still dominates the space around me. I resist the urge to release the breath I've been holding.
"I'll let you get settled in," he says smoothly, as if we were chatting about nothing more sinister than the weather. "I'm sure this has all been quite an ordeal. Please make yourself at home here. My staff is at your disposal, should you require anything."
I nod uncertainly. "Oh. Well, thank you."
The corner of his mouth quirks. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Clara," he says, just low enough for only me to hear. "This should be...entertaining."
With that ominous promise, he turns and melts back into the crowd, who close around him like water. I stare after him, pulse racing. Antonio Ricci is even more intimidating in person than I expected. And clearly more dangerous. This game has higher stakes than I realized. I'm not just a bargaining chip - I'm also a shiny new toy to alleviate his boredom. The thought sends apprehension skittering down my spine. I don't know what exactly he has planned for me, but Antonio Ricci doesn't strike me as the sort of man inclined to make things easy for anyone. I have a sinking feeling this is only the beginning of something twisted and unavoidable.
A hand on my elbow jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. I flinch before realizing it's only Dante. "Let's get you settled in," he says briskly, steering me away from the bustling party. I let him guide me numbly out of the hall, my mind still spinning from the confrontation with Antonio.
Dante leads me up another curved marble staircase up to the third floor. We pass several doors before stopping in front of an ornately carved set near the end of the hall. He takes a key from his pocket and unlocks the door with a heavy click.
My footsteps sink into the plush carpet as I step hesitantly over the threshold. The scent of fresh lilies fills the air. It's a lavish suite, easily three times the size of my cramped apartment bedroom. A massive four-poster bed rests beneath a bay window, draped in embroidered linens and plush pillows. Oil paintings hang on the damask covered walls and ornate sconces pour warm golden light across the space. My footsteps are muffled by an antique Persian rug. It manages to be both stunningly opulent and strangely lifeless. Just like the rest of the mansion.
I drift towards the bed as Dante lingers awkwardly by the door. "The bathroom is through there," he informs me, pointing to a carved door along the interior wall. "If you require anything, use the house phone to call the staff." He gestures to an honest-to-God gilded phone sitting on the nightstand like something out of a history museum.
Seemingly satisfied I'll behave, Dante gives me a thin smile. "Welcome again, Miss Thomas." With that, he slips out and shuts the door behind him with an ominous thud. The definitive click of a lock turning echoes in the silence.
And just like that, I'm alone. I stand frozen in place, straining my ears for any sounds in the hall. But if guards are posted outside my door, they're doing so mutely. The heavy silence presses in around me, broken only by the insistent tick of a clock on the mantel. Time marching on, heedless of the bizarre twists my life has just taken.
Slowly the nervous energy seeps from my limbs, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. So much has happened in the span of a few hours. It feels like days have passed since I was sitting in art history class this morning. I sink down onto the massive bed, its plushness barely denting under my slight weight.
So this is my existence now. Not classes or a degree. But this sterile museum of a mansion. A prisoner flanked by armed guards, my very life dangling by a thread.
It's almost too much to process. I suspected Dad had shady connections, but I never imagined anything on this scale. And now his foolish addiction has led to my captivity at the hands of the mafia elite. Hot tears of anger and frustration burn my eyes, but I blink them back. I refuse to break down. If I'm going to survive this, I need to be strong.
Sliding fully onto silken sheets, I toe off my sneakers and curl onto my side without bothering to undress.
It's still light out, the sun just kissing the tops of the distant hills visible through my window. But I'm suddenly too drained to keep my eyes open for another minute. I let them fall closed, the faint scent of lilies and polished wood following me into sleep.
The last thought that chases through my mind before dreams claim me is intense hazelnut eyes and the dangerous promise they held. This is far from over with Antonio Ricci. Not even close.
CHAPTER4
ANTONIO
The familiar chill of the shipping dock's night air wraps around me like a shadowy cloak, as my younger brother Rafael and I oversee the latest arms deal. Metal crates filled with weapons are heavy with the promise of power, of dominance. The sharp, familiar scent of gun oil and salty sea air is a brutal reminder of the world I am chained to.
