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CHAPTER1
Gia
I untuckthe hair from behind my ear, letting it fall to cover my face. I don’t want to be noticed by the man walking by, even though I know he’s harmless. He’s a sweet old man, and he comes in here every day to find a new book to read. I’ve heard him mention to the librarians that he lost his wife a year ago and books give him comfort. He reads everything, from non-fiction to romance. I’ll admit, the romance surprised me, but I suppose nothing should.
Secretly, I love romance books. They’re a guilty pleasure of mine, but I don’t want to share that with anyone. It’s for me, and I like that there is a part of me no one knows about. Still, the last thing I want is for someone to even ask me if I like them, because I don’t think I could speak to them if I wanted to. Speaking to anyone is dangerous, especially if my family finds out.
I bite my lip as I stare down at the page I am reading, but I’m distracted and I can’t figure out why. All day, I’ve had this feeling like something is coming. Something dark and scary, but no matter how many times I try to brush it off, that sense keeps filling me. I’ve looked over my shoulder, but there’s no ghost or boogie man behind me, no one even glancing my way. I purposely sit in the library where I know the cameras can’t see me, so I can rule that out.
I need to get a grip or call the day a wash and go home. It’s not like I’m on a time crunch here, or have any place pressing to be. No, instead I’ll be going home to my silent apartment, where I’ll follow the same routine as always. Where I sit in front of the TV and aimlessly watch lame shows until I finally take a bath and go to bed. All to wake up and repeat the same schedule all over again.
Most would say that I need to get a life, but they’d be wrong. A life is not what I want. I want my freedom, and the only way I keep that is this boring schedule. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, and I never speak to men or women I don’t know.
I can’t even say I have any friends. I’ve never been allowed to get close enough to someone to make them. But that’s okay, I don’t really need them. They’d only be in danger anyway.
I close my eyes and push those thoughts away. There’s no need to dwell on them, and doing so only makes me feel stupid. Instead, I pick up my phone and check the time. I usually stay until closer to six o’clock but I’m obviously not getting anywhere with this today. So instead, I close the book and stand to put it back on the shelf. I feel a sharp pang of annoyance that I can’t enjoy more of it, but I suppose it will be there tomorrow. And if it isn’t, it won’t be the end of the world.
I head for the library exit, but pause briefly as I reach the door. I glance back around my sanctuary one last time, before I push open the door and walk out into the dreary day. Though, really, could I have expected any other kind? The drizzle has me pulling up the hood of my sweater, and I tuck all my hair in so not even the smallest strand sticks out.
I head toward my apartment, slightly irritated by the people surrounding me as I make my way home. This is exactly why I avoid walking the streets this time of the day, but I don’t live far, so I can suck it up this time.
When I finally reach my apartment, I let out a sigh of relief. The building is an older one with charm, but well maintained. The exterior is the old red brick, with black window casings, but the inside is modern, with an elevator and nice finishings. I was lucky to find this place, and even though some may find it sterile, to me, it’s home and it’s comforting.
I ride the elevator to my third floor apartment and walk down the hall to my door at the very end. I take my keys out of my pocket, slide them into the lock, and then twist the knob. And as soon as the door swings open, I want to slam it closed again and walk away. Back to my sanctuary at the library, or to any other place. Because they are here, and I already know what’s going to happen before the night is over.
I do none of those things though. Instead, I calmly walk inside, closing the door softly behind me, but never once giving them my back. To do that would be stupid. Very stupid.
Their eyes on me are cold, calculating, and full of anticipation. I’ll be bleeding and bruised before the night is over, and there is nothing I can do. There is nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And no one is going to step in and come to my rescue. They would be stupid if they did.
“Uncle,” I say softly with a respectful nod of my head. “Cousin,” I say to the man standing behind my uncle, who has placed himself in the leather recliner. Out of the two of them, my cousin, Lorenzo, is far scarier. Not because he is aggressive like my uncle, but because he likes to play and toy with me, and is far more unpredictable. He enjoys causing pain, and I have always been his favorite target. For no other reason than it makes him feel stronger than he actually is.
“You were at the library again,” my uncle, Giovanni, states. It is not a question.
“I was,” I reply. It is one of the few places that I am allowed to go, after all.
He makes a small sound in his throat as he pushes himself to his feet. He is not an overly tall man, topping out at five-ten, his once black hair now turning silver as he ages, and a few more lines forming along his forehead and around his mouth, but he is still formidable. As one of my father’s underbosses, he is powerful, and he wears it like a cloak. Every move, every glance, is full of the reminder of who he is and what damage he could inflict when crossed. And I’m no exception to that rule.
I’m a female, after all, and the men in my family view women as lower than dogs unless they can give them the sons they desire. It’s the only reason my father has kept me alive at this point in my life. It’s surprising I still have not been sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. Though, the more visits I receive, I know that time is getting shorter and shorter. It’s why I’m set on enjoying the little freedom I have.
“You waste your time and beauty with your nose in books, niece,” Giovanni muses as he steps closer. I don’t reply, I wait because I know there’s more. “Yet your father gives you this apartment and this freedom, and you waste it away in a dusty library instead of doing your duty.” His dark eyes harden. “Or perhaps that is why you want this apartment. Are you whoring yourself out to any man with a cock, Giulia?” His hand comes up and slaps me hard enough to send me flying onto the floor. “You think you can act that way and shame us? I will not stand for it.” He lashes out his foot and kicks me hard in the side, making me gasp in pain and curl into myself.
I wonder why I’m not used to this yet? Between my uncle, cousin, father, and brothers, I should be used to the pain and bruises. I should be numb to it all, but instead, my body betrays me each time.
My uncle steps back, straightening his suit jacket, and huffing out a breath of annoyance. Like it’s my fault I’m causing him to beat me. I don’t argue or try to reason with him. I did it once, and he beat me more. Instead, I lie here as he stalks away. Now it’s Lorenzo’s turn.
“I don’t think my little cousin would be that stupid, Pops,” Lorenzo scoffs, and I hear his footsteps as he gets closer. “After all, she knows what would happen if she did.” I bite back a cry of pain as he steps on my hair, twisting his shoe so it pulls on the strands. I feel them rip from the roots, and I dig my nails into my palms to keep from moving. “Don’t you, my sweet cousin?” he purrs down at me.
“Yes, Lorenzo,” I manage to grit out, careful to keep my voice soft. I never raise my voice, never allow any of my pain or anger to show. It would be a death sentence. Being the only female De Luca by birth doesn’t award me any favors. And if I don’t want to end up with busted ribs, or a broken nose, then I have to keep my mouth shut.
“See?” Lorenzo says happily, removing his foot. I still don’t move. I don’t dare. “Our sweet Gia would never disgrace us that way.” I bite back another cry when he grabs me by my arm and hauls me to my feet. I stare into his cold, dead, dark eyes. The very ones that haunt my nightmares. He gives me a cold, cruel smile. “Because if you do, I’ll take great pleasure in killing you myself, worthless cunt.” Then he shoves me away, and I hit the couch, toppling onto the leather cushions.
Carefully I push myself up into a sitting position and tell myself that I need to keep calm, even as my anger builds. I’m tired of being a punching bag, of being deemed worthless because my mother birthed a daughter instead of another son. When I was a child, I made the mistake of pointing out it is the father’s sperm that decides gender. That earned me a beating so bad I was in bed for over a week. The De Luca’s don’t take well to being told they are the problem. And they will never allow a woman to be in the right. We are nothing but a vessel to them.
My uncle often lords it over my father that his wife bore him five sons, not a girl in sight. The only reason my father didn’t kill or sell me, is because of my grandfather, when he was alive; helpfully pointed out that I am a good bargaining chip to have. Once I became old enough, they could secure a marriage for me, unite another family to ours and grow stronger. Bigger. More powerful. So they let me live, though at times, I often wish they had killed me. Death would be a sweeter than this life.
“Get off your ass and make me a drink, Gia,” my uncle snaps, glaring at me.
Stiffly, I rise to my feet and move toward the mini bar, built for this very purpose. My father and uncle love to drink and it’s expected of me to serve them when they are in my home. And lately, it is a lot. So much so, I know what is coming. They are no doubt searching for the perfect person to sell me off to, in their eyes, to take me off their hands.
