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“I’ve never been a part of my father’s business,” I tell him tightly. I glance down at my own steak, but resolutely lift my gaze, despite my stomach panging and reminding me that I haven’t eaten since last night. Eating with Nico Armani isn’t a normalcy I want to experience.
“Hmmm,” he hums as he cuts a piece of steak. “And yet, you’ve heard enough about me to know the rumor that I killed my parents. So you may not be a part of your father’s business,topolina, but you certainly seem to have big enough ears to listen.”
I stiffen even further at his words. I’ve now managed to give away that I eavesdropped on my father and brothers, and if it’s information he’s after, then he could try to get it out of me. And I’m not naive enough to think he won’t torture me to get it if it comes down to it. He could just be luring me into complacency to see how long it will take for me to spill family secrets willingly.
He gives me a dry chuckle, pulling me out of my thoughts. “For tonight,topolina, you can keep your family secrets. Instead, I want you to tell me why your family locked you away in that apartment.” He takes another bite of his steak, and adds once he’s swallowed, “You really should try your steak. My chef is amazing in the kitchen, and I’m sure you’ll find the meal much better than anything you’ve had in the past.”
Based on the last meal I had here, I’m sure he’s right, but instead I reply stubbornly, “No, thank you.”
“Fine. Then, you can talk. The apartment,” he prompts.
I consider not answering, but something tells me he won’t appreciate that and will probably just end up forcing me in one way or another. So instead, think through my response. Finally, I reply, “My father bought it for me so I could have some independence.” Yes, that sounds perfectly normal and reasonable.
He sighs, and then pins with a me a hard look that has my heart stuttering in my chest, and my gut clenching. This, this right here, is the expression of a mafia don that gets the answers he wants, no matter what means he has to use to get it. “I do not tolerate lies, Giulia,” he warns me balefully. “Or half truths. So, when I ask you a question, I expect an honest answer. Understood?” I don’t reply, just watch him warily. “Now, the truth.”
I still consider lying to some degree, but something is telling me to tread carefully. I shrug and tell him, “My family has no time for women, and being the only one, means they don’t want me around. And when my father married Carmen, she wanted me gone, so he made sure I was out of the house. Out of sight, and only in mind when he either needs me for something, or feels like checking in on me.” There, that’s simple enough, and the truth.
Nico doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches me, as if gauging to see if I’m telling the truth or I’m going to add more. I hold his gaze, and keep my mouth shut. It seems that I’m talking and asking too many questions today, and I’m not going to dig myself into a deeper hole.
“Hmmm,” he hums, but seems to be willing to let it go… for now. “And yet you don’t really have much independence. You go to the same places every day, at the exact same time. You’re rarely a minute off.” God, if my muscles get any tighter I’ll probably shatter. Looks like he’s been following me for a while to know my routine. “And then, of course there are the bruises on your ribs and stomach. And you don’t strike me as the clumsy type, or the kind to do that to yourself, which means that someone has done it to you.” He lets the unasked question hang between us.
My throat burns with anger at his probing. What right does he have to do this to me? To ask me these questions. I have half a mind to get up from the table and walk away, but I also don’t relish him putting me back here. And why does he care? How is he any better than them? Sure, he hasn’t beaten me, and he doesn’t call me names or try to find fault in what I say, but he’s holding me here against my will. He tied me to the damn bed.
“Your man grabbed and drugged me, so how do you know it didn’t happen while you were having me brought here?” I question, arching a brow.
“You think to insult my intelligence now?” he asks stonily, eyes watching me in a way that reminds me all too much of the look in my father or brothers’ eyes before they lose their temper on me. My heart hammers deep in my chest, and I carefully scoot to the edge of my chair, ready to bolt at the least provocation. “Your family doesn’t even want you, Giulia,” he continues harshly, driving the words at me like daggers. “They lock you away, they beat you whenever the mood strikes, and yet here you are, defending them. Hiding behind lies and accusations that you and I both know aren’t true. Not to mention, you think I didn’t see those bruises when you came in. I know my man didn’t hurt you, because I ordered him to make sure you came to me unharmed. And if he hadn’t, he would be dead right now for not following my orders to the letter. Or is that what you’re hoping? That I will believe you over my trusted man and kill him the moment he walks through the door?” His eyes are intense on mine. “Is that what you are saying, Ms. De Luca? You have no problem with the death of my right hand man on your hands?”
I want to look away, to pretend I haven’t heard a word he’s said. A sour note is filling my belly, as well as a healthy dose of fear. Something tells me he won’t kill whoever the other man is, but at the same time, do I really know anything about this man? Or will he kill him to make a point? No, my conscience could never handle it. “Fine, you want the truth. It was my brother. He was upset that I was following the rules and hadn’t given him an excuse to unleash his anger. As I said before, the men in my family have no use for women, other than the obvious, and I’m no exception.”
He doesn’t react, just watches me. Finally, after what feels like eons, he sits forward, his face still hard and dangerous, but his voice is calm as he responds, “And I take it that this isn’t the first time he’s hit you.”
“No,” I say simply. Where is he going with this? Surely he’s not upset about it? After all, why would he care? I’m just an annoyance to him. A means to an end.
“And yet you want to escape here and go back to that,” he muses, cutting back into his steak.
I glare at him, unable to help myself. “At least there I know what to expect. A beating is better than being held somewhere where you don’t want to be. Spied on with hidden cameras, and tossed around by a man that clearly wants you here for some reason that you can’t figure out. Especially a man with your kind of reputation.”
“And yet, have I beaten you? You’ve already tried my patience enough that if I were a different kind of man I’d have beaten you to the point you would probably be bed-ridden. Or hell I’d have just killed you and saved myself the aggravation. And after your escape attempt earlier, I didn’t lock you in a cold cell in the basement with no access to food or water until you saw the error of your ways. Perhaps next time I’ll consider those options instead.”
“If you were going to do that, you’d have already done it. You may have put me in a pretty prison, but it’s a prison nonetheless. I’m not free to come and go as I choose. Why can’t you just tell me what you want from me? Because while I may not know the ins and outs of my father’s empire, I am still a De Luca, and that means my loyalty is to my family.”
He finishes his steak, sets his utensils on the plate and then reaches for his wine before answering me. “And yet, your loyalty has done nothing but earn you beating after beating, and if what you say is true, your family clearly hates you and is only holding on to you to eventually sell you off to the highest bidder. Or do you think that one day they’ll just forget you exist and you can finally have some sort of life and freedom?”
“I’m perfectly aware of what happens to women in my position.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “My parents’ marriage was arranged, and my mother explained to me when I was very young that my father would pick my husband when he felt the time was right.”
“And yet, he didn’t marry you off when you turned eighteen,” he remarks thoughtfully. “You’re twenty-four, and that is late in life for a woman in your position to be single. Which leads me to believe he has a specific person in mind for you. The question is, who?”
I give him a bland stare. “I can assure you that he never shared that with me.”
He cocks his head slightly. “No matter, if I need to find out, I will. Why the library?”
The abrupt change in questioning throws me and I blink at him in surprise. “Because that’s the only other place in here that feels normal,” I say slowly, unsure of what he’s asking.
“No, why did you go to the library every day? You spent hours there. Why?”
“It was one of the few places I was allowed to go, because my father’s guards can always see me, and I keep to myself, not talking to anyone other than the librarian if I want to know where something is,” I answer honestly. “And it’s one of the few places that I feel comfortable.”
“So I take it you like to read?”
