I bite my bottom lip as I cross the threshold into the bathroom, wondering how long it’s going to take for me to get out of this dress.
Then I hear a snap that makes me jolt.
I yelp and quickly catch my dress so it doesn’t fall. I look back to see Alessandro standing there with a knife, looking indifferent. Or maybe annoyed.
I panic, but he quickly turns and walks away.
“Your suitcase is in the closet,” he calls from the hallway. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I slam the bathroom door shut, locking it, even though he just proved he’s not going to assault me. At least not yet.
I finally let the dress fall, and a sob escapes me as I turn on the shower to mask the noise—my emotions hitting me now that I’m alone and technically safe. I can’t even pinpoint what it is I actually feel. Relief? Fear? Anger?
I step into the shower once it’s warm enough; my mind’s eye flashes with images of the violence I witnessed in the courtyard. I want to freak out—to scream and cry and throw all of his perfectly organized soaps around.
But I know I need to get a hold of myself if I want to get out of this place. Clearly, marrying Alessandro isn’t actually going to be my future like I had believed for the past several months.
I need to escape. Even if I have to risk my life to do so.
Chapter 8
Alessandro
Whensomeonefinallygetshere to guard the door, I take the opportunity to light a cigarette on my balcony. I desperately need to get some air after all of that. My hand quivers as I light the thing. I realize how overheated I feel and shed my various top layers until I’m down to a plain white t-shirt.
I kick the railing out of frustration, feeling like I screwed something up with Sofia. That dress was a golden opportunity to intimidate her—to set the tone of this captor-prisoner relationship. Instead, I simply helped her by cutting it and walked away. It would have been better if I had let her struggle with it independently first, forcing her to ask for help. But knowing Sofia, she would have gotten out of it herself, anyway.
Marco taunted me for being too soft, that I would fuck everything up with this marriage. And I worry that he’s right.
After I calm down, I take a seat and stare vacantly out into the city, wishing I were somewhere else. I let her take over my bedroom. My space. Once Marco’s settled down from the fight, I’ll ask him if we can move her somewhere else in the castle.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text from Gio.
Vincenzo is in a coma. Marco wants everyone to meet in the infirmary.
My sister already told me he got shot, but I didn’t know how much damage was done—however, Gio’s text reminded me of my good luck. I haven’t even had time to process this information. My whole life I assumed that after Marco dies, I’ll have to deal with Vincenzo’s reign. Which wouldn’t be much of an improvement. But now? Maybe my life of horribly bad luck is turning around.
I feel… hopeful as I head back inside. I lean against the bathroom door trying to listen to Sofia. I hear the shower running and her crying quietly. She’s going to be in there a while.
I nod my head at my soldier, Antonio, waiting by the main door before leaving. He’s young, not even twenty-five yet, but I trust him. Not that there’s much for him to do today other than stand there and not let an American woman walk out the front door.
“Make sure she doesn’t leave. Hands off.”
“Of course, boss.”
I take a few steps out of my place. The bounce in my step deflates when I hear my sister sobbing behind her door. It’s odd; I just talked to her a moment ago, and she seemed fine. I linger near, wondering if I should intrude. She’s not the type to cry like this, so something must be seriously wrong.
I knock three times.
“Elena?”
There’s a pause that lasts long enough that I almost walk away and leave her alone, then I hear her shuffling towards me.
The door opens.
My sister’s eyes are red and puffy. “What?” She snaps, annoyed by my presence.
I should have given her space.
