I don’t respond, and it only grates on him further.
“Hello? Are you fucking listening?”
“Yes,” I force out. “I understand.”
As I say it, I’m wondering if there’s a way Abella can help me get out of this marriage. She offered to talk to Angelo before, but realistically, I’m not sure what he can do. He’s the don, but this has always been the way of theCosa Nostra. Women are married off to whoever their fathers see fit. I’ve never heard of a don interfering with that tradition.
“From now on, I want access to your location at all times,” Riccardo goes on. “I’m setting you up a new phone with a shared email account that I can monitor, and you’ll be deleting any social media you have. And before you think about trying to be sneaky, know that I have tech guys who can track everything you do.”
My lungs feel like they’re in a vise, and it hurts to breathe, but he doesn’t stop there.
“I also need to go through your closet. Those little skirts and crop tops aren’t going to fly around other men. You can wear those at home for me, but that’s it. We’ll need to discuss your makeup, too.”
When I remain silent, he huffs out his irritation.
“I need a verbal fucking confirmation, Gabi. This isn’t that difficult to understand.”
“Okay,” I rasp. “I hear you.”
“There will also be some ground rules we need to discuss about your free time once we’re married. I expect you to dedicate yourself to your home life. I’ll let you see your friends oncea month, and when you have our first baby, we’ll revisit that conversation. You’ll be busy, and you need to understand your priorities.”
Darkness edges my vision as I consider how bleak my future will be if I don’t do something. I know I won’t be able to live like this, but I can’t give voice to those thoughts. If Riccardo gets so much as an inkling that I might be up to something, he’ll probably drag me down the aisle tomorrow.
“Gabi,” he barks. “Don’t make me keep repeating myself.”
“Okay,” I blurt. “I’m sorry.”
Another frustrated sound scrapes against my ear. “From now on, I want you to text me every day when you get home from school and tell me what you’re doing.”
“Alright. I understand.”
“You sound like a fucking robot,” he chastises me. “Jesus. You don’t even know how lucky you are to have me. Other men would not put up with this shit.”
When I say nothing, his rage escalates, and this entire conversation has proven that Riccardo is so much worse than I thought.
“You should know I have plenty of women who are way hotter than you that would line up to marry me. I’m doing you a favor, but I’m starting to wonder what’s in it for me. Do you know how pissed Michael will be if you fuck this up?”
“Yes,” I clip out.
“It won’t end well for you,” he threatens. “So make an effort. On Sunday, you can leave the island with me and show your appreciation by sucking my dick as a trial run. It will be good practice for you to learn now. When we’re married, I’ll expect you to greet me with a blow job when I come home from work.”
I clutch my stomach, suppressing the urge to vomit as I make a noise I hope sounds like agreement, rather than revulsion.
He rants about something else, but my mind drifts, and I just keep repeating the same thing until, finally, he tires of the conversation and releases me from the call.
I shove my phone under the other pillow and use the remote to draw the shades before I bury myself beneath the covers.
Hours slip away, but I’m not sure I even sleep. I stare into the blackness, completely empty. When the reminder on my phone goes off, I get up and move around like a zombie, feeding Beppe before Julian offers to take him out for his walk. I nod, silently thanking him before I go back to bed.
When Beppe joins me again, we take shelter under the covers until a knock at my door wakes me up.
“Miss Bianchi,” Julian calls out. “It’s almost time to leave. Is everything okay?”
I glance at the time on my phone, disoriented and confused when I realize it’s the next day. I must have slept over seventeen hours, but I’m still exhausted.
“I’m staying home,” I tell him. “I don’t feel well.”
“Okay. Can I order you some breakfast?”
