I don’t even know if Cristiano knew about the Vici slaughter or is aware that I ran away. I didn’t dare contact him after my blood-soaked engagement, fearing whose side he would be on. Now I’m home, I suppose I don’t have to worry about that anymore. It would be nice to hear his voice.
I wrap a towel around my body, and though my hair is sopping wet, I pad through to the bedroom to where I left my bag on the bed, intending to get my phone out and call Cristiano.
My bag is gone. I stare at the empty spot on the bedclothes. That phone is my lifeline. My only connection to the outside world.
Pietro.
He must have come in here and taken it while I was showering.
Holding securely to my towel, I run out of the room. I find Pietro along the corridor in one of the living rooms, the contents of my bag strewn on the coffee table while he scrolls through my phone. He’s plugged a device into the charging point that seems to have allowed him to get around the need for a passcode.
I hold my hand out, shivering with cold as water slips down my back. “Give that back.”
Pietro ignores me as he scrolls and taps the screen. There’s nothing salacious or incriminating on there, but it’s my phone and my privacy that’s being invaded.
“You have no right—”
“No right?” Pietro looks up, and something ugly shifts in his expression. “You ran away. You embarrassed Don Agnello.” He pockets my phone. “The don gave me very specific instructions about how to handle you until he returns.”
“What instructions?”
His smile makes my blood run cold. “Whatever it takes to make you regret running.”
I snatch for my phone, and Pietro seizes my wrist.
“Get your hands off me,” I cry, shocked by the malice in his expression.
He releases my wrist, draws back his hand, and slaps me across the face. While I’m still reeling, he backhands me evenharder. Pain blossoms in my nose and cheek. As blood drips over my lips, a sob rises up my throat.
“You’re hitting me now as well?” I say through my tears. Pietro has watched Dad strike me dozens of times, but he’s never done so himself.
“Do you think it matters what I do to you? You were brought back here to be punished.”
He raises his hand to hit me again. I should never have gotten into that car. This is my last chance to escape before Dad gets home and things get even worse.
I duck into a crouch, pull back my elbow, and punch Pietro in the balls.
He roars in pain and anger.
I have only a split second to enjoy his humiliation before he seizes me by the hair, drags me over to the balcony door, opens it, and thrusts me out into the freezing air.
He slams the door in my face and locks it.
I hammer on the window with one hand, clutching my damp towel with the other. “Let me back in, asshole. Let me back in!”
The sun has set, and light is fading from the sky. The chilly day is turning into a freezing night. My bare feet prickle with cold, and bitter wind lashes my body.
Pietro puts his hands in his pockets and leers at me through the glass. “You’ll stay there until the don returns.”
Exhaustion and heartache collide with frantic adrenaline, and anger crests inside me. “Fuck you,” I scream, beating the glass. “Let me back in, you limp-dicked motherfucker.”
Nonna cursed harder than a sailor when she was angry, and I feel her presence swelling inside me.
Pietro’s expression fills with spite as he enjoys my helplessness. “Maybe Don Agnello will marry you to someone else. Or maybe he’ll let me be the one to kill you, just like I killed your mother.”
My breath fogs the transparent surface as my pulse throbs in my ears. “What did you say?”
Mom wasn’t murdered. She died in an accident. Anaccident. Her car hit a tree while she was driving late at night. I heard the police breaking the news to Dad while I sobbed on the stairs. Dad was emotionless and silent while he stared past the officers, and then he thanked them for their time. His reaction was unsettling, but I’ve seen Dad shut down emotionally before. It made sense that a man would go into shock when he’s told his wife is dead. Unless…
