"Maybe I should show up in exactly this," I shoot back. "Really sell the 'kidnapped schoolteacher' aesthetic. I'm sure that'll go over great with your family."
"You weren't?—"
"Kidnapped, I know. You keep saying that like it makes this better." I stand, my chair scraping against the marble floor. "Is there anything else you need to criticize about me, or can I go figure out where I'm supposed to sleep in this mausoleum?"
He studies me for a long moment, and I can't read his expression. Then he starts to eat, dismissing me completely.
I watch with barely restrained anger as he cuts into his steak, uncaring.
If he could just choke on that food and?—
He finishes eating, stands, buttoning his jacket.
"I have to go out. I won't be back until late." He heads for the door, pauses. "Maria will show you to your room."
"Can't wait," I mutter.
"And Bianca?" He looks back. "Try to get some rest. You're going to need your energy for what's coming."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in this ridiculous dining room with cold food and colder company.
Maria appears moments later, as if summoned by telepathy. "Ready to see your room, Miss Mancini?"
"Sure. Lead the way to whatever gilded cage he's picked out."
She pretends not to hear that, which is probably for the best.
We walk through hallways that all look the same—expensive art, plush carpet, lighting that's somehow both bright and moody. Maria stops at a door near what I'm guessing is the center of the house.
"Here we are," she says, opening it.
I step inside and freeze.
This isn't a guest room.
The space is massive, dominated by a king-size bed with charcoal gray bedding that looks expensive as hell. There's a sitting area with leather chairs, a desk with a laptop I definitely don't own, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens. The closet door is open, revealing suits. Expensive watches on a display case. Men's shoes lined up with military precision.
"This is his room," I say flatly.
Maria's smile is apologetic. "Mr. Vitale thought you'd be more comfortable?—"
"In his bed? How thoughtful." I turn to her. "Where's a guest room around here?"
"Well, there are several, but Mr. Vitale specifically said?—"
"I don't care what he specifically said." I grab my small bag of belongings. "Show me literally any other room. I’ll sleep on the couch if I have to.”
"Miss Mancini, I really think?—"
"Please, Maria." I soften my tone because none of this is her fault. "I just need my own space. Even if it's small. Especially if it's small."
She hesitates, then nods. "There's a room down the hall. It's smaller, but it has an en suite bathroom and?—"
"Perfect. Show me."
We walk down the hall, past three more doors, until she opens one that's maybe a quarter of the size of Dante's room. It's still bigger than my apartment bedroom, with a queen bed, simple furniture, and windows that overlook the side garden instead of the main grounds.
It's not dripping with wealth and testosterone.
