Leone follows me, looming just out of striking range. “Are you insane?” he hisses. “That animal had his hands all over you—in public—”
“Lower your voice,” I say, calm as ice.
He does, but the words come faster, hotter. “If your father knew—”
“Then don’t tell him.” I fix him with the look my father taught me. The one that says: this is not a negotiation.
He stares at me, jaw working, the muscle in his cheek jumping like a warning light.
“You think this is a game, Lia?” he says. “You think you can just let some street trash fuck you like a cheap whore and walk away untouched? You have a legacy. A duty. Every person in this building wants to see you fail.”
I turn my back to him, cross to the window, pull the shade halfway up. The campus outside is dark, the yellow glow of walkway lights tracing the empty paths. I can’t see Bam, but I imagine him out there, watching, waiting for me to come crawling.
My skin prickles.
Leone doesn’t take the hint. He paces, hands clenched. “What’s wrong with you?” he says. “You’re smarter than this. You’re not like them. You’re—”
“I’m nothing,” I snap, not even sure why it comes out. “I’m nobody. I’m a princess only in title, a piece for a man who wants to use me as a bargaining chip and you’re just his obedient little pet, Leone, so stop pretending you care.”
He recoils, just a little. I almost feel bad for him.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, finally letting myself sag. My legs are shaky, my pulse a jitter under my skin. I look down at my hands, see the purpled shadow starting to rise on my wrist. Bam left marks. I trace one with my finger, and the memory flickers: his mouth on my neck, his hands on my body, the heat of him when he fucked me against the wall.
It was the first time I felt alive in months.
Leone watches me, eyes flinty. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Lia. Or worse.”
I shrug. “What’s worse than dead?”
He looks at me for a long time, something like grief in his eyes. Then, without another word, he steps into the kitchen and starts clattering around. I hear the sharp snap of a glass being filled with water, the thunk of the fridge door, the angry rustle of plastic. It’s his way of reminding me that I am still under surveillance, that I am never alone.
I wait until I hear him muttering into his phone before I go to the bathroom.
The light is brutal, and my eyes squint against the intrusion. I pull up my shirt and stare at myself in the mirror. There’s a line of bruises across my hips, an angry red mark where Bam’s hand gripped me too tight. My lips are still swollen, my throat flecked with fingerprints. My back is scratched up to shit from the brick,smeared blood dried against my skin. My body is a roadmap of the afternoon, every detour and crash site visible.
I run the tap, splash cold water on my face. The sting is cleansing, but it doesn’t erase the heat inside me. I can still feel his hands. I can still feel how wet I was, how desperate, how I came apart when he—
A knock at the door. “Lia.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
He doesn’t believe me. “Dinner’s in twenty.”
I towel off, pull on a fresh sweater, twist my hair into a knot. I layer on foundation to hide the worst of it, but there’s only so much I can cover. I stare at my face in the mirror until my eyes look dead again, just the way they’re supposed to.
Back in the kitchen, Leone has set the table with two bowls of pasta and a plate of salad, everything perfectly in line. He sits opposite, arms folded, glowering. His phone is on the table, screen-down. He waits until I sit, then speaks:
“You’re going to stop seeing him.”
I fork a mouthful of pasta, chew slowly, savor the sting of garlic and pepper. “No,” I say, and it tastes like freedom.
He slams a fist into the table. The dishes rattle. “You’re a Bonaccorso. Act like it.”
I set my fork down, lean in. “You want to know why I did it?” My voice floats between us, almost unrecognizable in it’s cold edge, the kind that slices skin. “Because I can. Because for once, I wanted to make my own mistake instead of cleaning up yours or Papa’s or the Board’s.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize the girl sitting in front of him.
I finish my food in silence. When I’m done, I stand, collect my plate, rinse it in the sink.
