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But it's not time to put that on.
I put the ring back in and close the cut out, then stamp my boot against it to be sure it's in place.
Time to put my fixation disorder to good use. My mind is only chanting one thing and it's a verb.
Kill.
If Claudio kills me first before I get him, then he deserves to wear that. I will only earn the right to wear it when I do what is expected of me as a son and heir to the Corte empire to a man who murdered his father.
It’s my darkest challenge. A generational, ruthless, battle. One we must fight.
May the most vicious mafioso win.
Chapter Five
ROSE
“I'm coming,” I holler at the person knocking as I try to dry out my hair hurriedly in the bathroom with the extra cotton white towel provided.
I have spent more time than necessary in the bathroom.
At first, I was staring at myself in the mirror above the sink, doing my best to remind myself that I wasn't dead, yet. That he hasn't killed me. Whatever this is, I am still breathing and that means that there is still a way out. Admittedly, I looked like a mess when I saw my reflection in the mirror. My eyeliner had smeared to form teardrops on my cheeks, the makeup on my face was broken and even the bold chili red lipstick I had on was smeared to the corner of my mouth.
I guess I could say I went through hell. I was driven by the devil, and now I am in what I might call my hell loop, wondering how long I'll spend here subjected to my retribution of being an infidel.
I don't trust Benedetto. Even though he seems like he has good intentions, or sounds like it, I can still smell smoke somewhere around. If he doesn't want to kill me, if he truly wants to protect me, he has a personal reason for doing so. It has nothing to do with me, because I mean, why would he want to protect me for me, as the cheat, when that is grounds enough to empty a bullet into my skull?
And not knowing his reason puts me on edge no matter if I have been treated with utmost care and respect by Evelyn. I feel like any minute now, I will lose his hospitality, and his reason for his sweeping in will surface.
But even with the fear of Benedetto looming and strapping around my neck like a spiky band, when I climbed into the bathtub I unhinged as the water touched my skin.
Every muscle in my body loosened up and my rigid bones gradually started to melt. It felt like last night had been eons ago as I dipped myself in, going underwater. It felt like I lived years compressed into a night and I only stopped to catch my breath when the water touched my skin.
Everything happened so fast. One minute I was out partying with friends, unwinding, and the next minute Mark was dead and I am here, dying from not knowing what would become of me.
The knock comes again and my shoulders slack when I realize the bathroom door was closed and there is a chance that the person knocking didn't hear me.
Now I'm toweled, although still a little damp underneath the white robe I found in the bathroom. I continue hastily to dry my wet hair with the scent of coconut milk from the bath and citrus from the shampoo, while the incessant knocking on the door persists.
I quickly apply some of the argan oil I find on a shelf close to the sink, on my palms and feet, check that my robe is firmly tied around my waist in case it's Benedetto, and toss the towel I was using to dry my hair into the sink.
I grunt and walk out of the palatial honey-brown bathroom. The woodwork is to die for.
I'm never one to bother about details. While some people will stretch it, I am usually the one to find a one-word adjective. But I'm finding that since last night, I've been all about the details. Maybe it's that point where you see death in your face and realize life should be lived in depth, not the shallow way I've been breezing through it.
The room I have been given to stay in is no different in style, continuing the theme of the regality of the castle. Only the drapes and sheets are cotton white, while everything else in here is the same honey brown, with the lush woodwork.
I swing the door open.
“Sorry to make you wait,” I smile at Evelyn by the door, trying to sweep away my disappointment that it's her.
“Hello,” she smiles back, her pony tail corseted into place this early in the morning. She looks put together, with not even the collar of her wrap dress out of place, and the lines of her apron are placed around her waist in a way that shows no twist.
“I was in the bathroom,” I explain my reason for keeping her waiting. Which wasn't intentional because I had thought it was someone else by the door.
“Miss, breakfast is served, will you be coming down or would you prefer to eat in your room?”
“I will be coming down,” I answer. If I get poisoned, it's better to be close to the exit than tucked away in this bedroom.
