He’ll kill me, probably only delaying my death to torture me first.
I wonder who’s left alive among the Vicis to exact revenge. Perhaps the killer last night is a cousin, or a capo. I should have realized something like this might happen and moved farther out of Malus, but I was an emotional mess after the massacre, with no money, and no friends I could go to for help.
I consider going home and begging for a fleet of Montoni bodyguards to shield me from Vici vengeance, but throwing myself on Dad’s mercy means becoming his pawn and being subjected to his cruel words and even crueler fists. He’ll dress me in silk and jewels, parade me around, and sooner or later, probably use me to slaughter another rival family.
My hand shakes as I write a customer’s name on a coffee cup and hand it to Grumpy Graham. Night after night in my dreams, I watch the Vicis die. I wonder what happened to Vincenzo Vici. I wish I could beg for his forgiveness.
“Good afternoon, Miss Montoni.”
I look up, and recognition courses through me. The bulky man standing before me has black hair, a gold earring, and a short beard covering his jaw.
My father’s most trusted capo, Pietro.
I’ve been so petrified that the blond Vici from the laundromat is going to appear that I’ve forgotten my own family is hunting me down.
“What do you want?” I whisper through numb lips.
Pietro’s mouth curves into an ugly smirk. “It took me some time to realize you never left Malus. Don Agnello misses you.I’m taking you home, and we’re going to make him a very happy man.”
I back away from the register, and the cold metal of the counter behind me presses into my back.
The day I told Dad I wasn’t going to marry a stranger, he beat me so hard that he gave me two black eyes. He had to delay my engagement party for a week while I healed. While I was locked in my room, I reasoned that at least by getting married, I would no longer be at my father’s mercy. I feared marrying into the dangerous Vici family, but maybe, just maybe, my husband would feel some affection for me. Not love me. I had no hope of that from an arranged marriage that was all about duty. But if only he wouldn’t beat me, or rape me, I hoped that marriage wouldn’t be worse than the life I was already living.
There were purplish marks under my eyes the morning of the engagement party. As I covered them with makeup, I remembered Mom wincing as she dabbed concealer and powder over painful purple bruises. She never let me see her cry and lied to protect Dad, but I knew that he’d been the one who’d hurt her.
Then when I was fourteen, she died in a car accident. A brutal end to her unhappy life.
I tremble all over. If Pietro drags me home, Dad will beat me so hard and so viciously that he might kill me.
Pietro holds his jacket open slightly, and I glimpse his sleek black gun holstered under his arm. He drops his voice, and his smirk, and his eyes turn hard and threatening. “I said we’re going home.”
“Is something wrong, Adora?” Graham asks from over by the coffee machine, hesitating as he pours milk into a stainless steel jug.
I look around helplessly as despair surges through me. If I don’t go with Pietro, things will turn violent. There are half a dozen innocent people in the coffee shop. I can’t save myself, butI can make sure that no one else gets hurt because of me. There’s already enough blood on my hands.
Swallowing down my fear, I reach under the counter for my bag, and walk out with Pietro gripping my upper arm. His fingers dig possessively into my flesh. Graham calls after me, but I close my ears to his confusion and walk faster.
A sleek black car is waiting by the curb in the freezing afternoon air, and Pietro opens the back door for me. I hesitate before the dark interior, hoping for a reprieve or a chance to flee, but Pietro puts a hand on my back and shoves me inside. I huddle in a ball on the leather seat, trapped under the crushing weight of my despair.
In less than fifteen minutes, we arrive at the Montoni mansion. The entrance to the property is surmounted by stone eagles that glower at me as we pass inside, and the wrought iron gates grind closed behind us. The intimidating edifice of glass and stone is a monument to my father’s power. As sumptuous as it is, this house is a cage dressed up to look like a cold, empty palace.
I get out of the car, and my captor seizes my upper arm once more, yanking me toward the front door. Stumbling over my own feet, I’m dragged up the front steps while I protest, “I can walk by myself.”
“I thought all you knew how to do was run. Get the fuck inside.” He throws me through the front door.
The door slams shut behind us, the cage closing with a clang.
The entrance hall is silent and dim except for a single light trained on the portrait dominating the wall between the sweeping staircases. Don Agnello is posed in a high-backed leather chair, the Montoni signet ring gleaming on his little finger. The artist has captured the arrogant set of his robust jaw and the calculating gleam in his eyes. Dad’s hair curls slightly, like my brother Cristiano’s, but he wears it short, shunning anysoftness that curls might give him. An eagle is perched on his wrist, symbolizing the family’s power and strength. Shadows gather around Dad, but his eyes, the same amber shade as the eagle’s, as my own, blaze forth.
Nothing in this house is warm or inviting. The marble stays cold on the warmest day. My footsteps echo like I’m in a deserted museum at midnight.
I brace for Dad to appear, striding toward me with anger blazing in his face, but the house remains ominously silent.
Pietro points upstairs. “Go take a shower. You’re a mess. Clean yourself up before the don sees you. He’s out right now, but he’ll be expecting you at dinner.”
I force myself to put one foot in front of the other and climb the stairs. My bedroom is as I left it, though someone has tidied away the jewelry box that I sorted through on the afternoon of the engagement party, and the several pairs of high heels I chose not to wear. Probably our housekeeper, Mrs. Santoro. I’ll be happy to see her, at least.
I turn on the shower and get under the spray that’s as hot as I can bear. Steam billows around me. I shampoo my hair and scrub my body, dreading the moment I’ll have to turn the water off and go downstairs for dinner. I wish Cristiano were home. He’s older than I am, and he’s been in Naples these past few years, learning the business from the Italian side of the family. He and I have never been particularly close, but at least Dad never hit me while he was looking.
