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And on top of that, for two weeks, I’ve been sleeping next to him, letting him crawl into my bed at night and leave before the sun rises.
I don’t want to open that door. Not yet.
His words tick in my mind like a metronome keeping time. It won’t be easy, he had told me. Once I knew everything, we wouldn’t be easy.
Well, no shit.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Maybe my dad was right all along. I’m too weak, too soft, too forgiving to be out on my own. Was all of the babying, the guiding, the using me for his benefit really for my benefit as well? Maybe there was a good reason for me to be protected for so long, protected from the truth, from the world.
Maybe I needed to be protected from myself, too.
I think on this for long minutes, agonizing minutes as I flip from maybe I’m just an idiot, so sheltered that I can’t be trusted in the real world, much less this world, and no, this is just a really fucked-up circumstance. The clock read thirty minutes past when Marco locked me in here, and I wonder how much longer it’ll be.
And what the fuck Dante—Junior—could possibly have to say to keep me from absolutely running in the opposite direction.
Or is it a ploy? All a ruse to get me out of sight before they take me out?
Knowing what I know of the family, I know it's not a negative chance, even if a high-profile mayor's daughter going missing while working for the Carluccios after a soldier tried to kidnap his other daughter wouldn't look good for them.
My eyes move to the fancy, high-tech computer on the dark mahogany desk.
Well, just in case I'm not killed in cold blood, might as well try and get something.
Sitting in the big leather chair, I take the mouse and jiggle it a few times.
I fully expect a lock screen.
There is not a lock screen. So much for super-smart, super-stealth mob boss. God.
But that's not what has my blood boiling.
It's the black and white CCTV footage that shows the girls dancing on stage in one corner.
The bar at another.
The entrance is the bottom left, and the serving station is another.
I realize now there is no way in hell that Dante has gone nearly two months without knowing who I am.
He's known all along.
Jesus Christ.
How could I have been so stupid?
The rage starts to boil under my skin as I watch Sammi slide down the pole.
For a sweet, pretty thing, I've always had a shit temper.
That why when I stand, I don't even think twice when I throw the mouse against a wall, watching it explode into a million pieces.
It feels good.
So I take the keyboard next, toss it as well.
There are papers on the desk that, oops, get tossed all over the floor, the pointy heel of my shoe stabbing a few holes in them.
