After breakfast, I head back to my room to get changed. Putting my hair up in a slick ponytail, I adjust the pink bowtie that holds my hair together. I step back and take in my outfit: black tights, 1995 Medusa Versace black minidress, and a gold handbag. Some would say it’s too much, but I say you only live once, and this is New York. There are crazier things out there than wearing a designer dress and going out at ten in the morning.
Maybe a shiny wrap will distract from the cracks.
Once I step outside I notice two new faces within my security detail.
What is going on?
Paranoia grips me by the throat, and something feels wrong. I steel my shaking hands, letting out a slow breath.
“Where’s Dima and Nino?” I ask my head of security, Leo.
Leo’s eyes meet my gaze, unnerving and cold. “They were pulled off duty today, miss.”
“By who?” I ask, frowning.
“The boss.” He avoids prolonged eye contact, which is so unlike him.
I pause. Emiliano never randomly changes my security detail. This can’t be good.
But I’m not safe either way. Inside or outside, I will always have a target on my back. I guess I can ask him later today.
I slide into the limo, barely acknowledging the two new guards standing outside. But then something makes me pause. One of them—the taller one with a buzz cut—hesitates before shutting the door. Just for a second. His eyes flicker to Leo, who gives him a sharp look. The door closes a beat too late.
I don’t know what is happening, but it’s as if a lead ball has settled in my stomach. Thoughts of things that happened and things that might happen swirl around, gripping me with a sense of terror I wish I could be rid of.
Don’t let her win, Mara.
The drive to the mall is uneventful, but that pit in my stomach won’t go away, so I try to focus on what’s outside my window. It has been raining nonstop for the entire week, and the ground is still slick from it.
The car slows as we approach the underground parking garage, and my car door opens before I even reach for the handle. I can see at least three bodyguards in my line of vision. I know there are more, but they’re probably hidden. They surround me as I step into the elevator. I hate people in my personal space, especially men.
I wish I had more say when it comes to my security detail. My brothers think they’re protecting me when, in reality, they’re suffocating me.
The elevator doors slide open and three guards step out before me. It’s loud, especially since it’s a Saturday, but that won’t stop me from making a dent in the fortune my family has amassed.
Just as I’m about to wrap up my shopping spree, it happens again. That feeling. While I’m stepping out of the Versace store, balancing my bags as my bodyguards close in around me, my heel clicks against the polished marble floor, echoing louder than it should.
A shiver slithers down my spine, cold and sharp.
Eyes. On me.
My pulse falters. My skin tightens with awareness. My grip on my handbag turns white-knuckled.
I turn, scanning the crowd. Nothing. Just people moving, shopping, lost in their own lives. I swallow, forcing my shoulders to relax.
You’re being ridiculous.
My phone vibrates just as the limo pulls out of the garage, snapping me out of the unease crawling up my spine.
“What’s up, Matteo? You don’t ever call.”
His voice, bored and low, comes over the speaker, “Ma said you’re babysitting Bee.”
It’s not a question, but a statement.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Stay close to home today. Don’t go anywhere unless it’s to Eli and Val’s place,” he says, tone clipped.
