"Crystal." She touches that pendant again, fingers worrying the gold. "And I want to see my mother. Once a week. No exceptions."
"Done."
"That's it?" She looks suspicious now. "You're just agreeing?"
"I expected you'd want to see her. I'm not trying to erase your life, Miss Mancini. Just borrow it for a while." I head for the door again. "But understand this—you will obey me. When I tell you to be somewhere, you're there. When I tell you to smile, you smile. When I tell you to convince my family that you're desperately in love with me, you do it without question. You embarrass me, make me look like a fool, or try to run?"
I turn back, let her see the coldness in my eyes.
"Your mother doesn't just lose her spot at St. Catherine's. She disappears into the worst public facility I can find. And I'll make sure you have visiting rights, so you can watch every excruciating moment of her decline. We clear?"
The color drains from her face, but she doesn't look away. "Clear."
"Good."
"What if I need more time?"
"You don't."
I open the door, step into the hallway. The smoke and closed air of the apartment give way to the stale corridor, and I can finally breathe again.
I have what I need. A woman who's desperate enough to cooperate and smart enough to pull off the act. A woman with enough fire that no one will question why I chose her over Caterina fucking Belland.
And a woman who, despite everything, looks at me with something other than fear.
That last part is going to be a problem.
But I've dealt with worse problems before.
This should be easy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bianca
Thirty minutes.
That's all it took for my entire life to implode.
Thirty minutes ago, I was a schoolteacher with a sick mother and a boyfriend I thought I could trust. Now I'm standing in a smoke-filled apartment in Newark, bought by a man who looks like he stepped out of a Forbes magazine and acts like he stepped out of a nightmare.
My hands are shaking badly. I shove them into my pockets so no one will see.
I want to bolt. God, I want to run so badly my legs are practically vibrating with it.
But I can't.
Because Mom is lying in a hospital bed at St. Catherine's, hooked up to machines that keep her comfortable while poison drips into her veins trying to kill her. And the only reason she's there and not in some overcrowded public ward where the nurses are too overworked to care is because of the man who just walked out that door.
The man who owns me now.
I want to laugh again but I don’t want their attention on me.
I press my fingers against the gold cross, feeling the familiar edges dig into my palm.
Turns out I'm the one who has to keep the promise of always being there for my mom, now.
"Miss Mancini."
