22
Gianna (18 years)
Crossing the date with a red marker, I capped it and stood back, gaping at the calendar that had more red crosses than black numbers on a white background. I’d been locked up for nineteen days. Since the funeral, I rarely saw my father and the few times he did visit were spent with him trying to get me to talk. I said nothing.
I desperately wanted to see Zayne. My nights had turned into dreams only of him and I’d either wake crying or aroused when I dreamt of his touches and his lovemaking. I was going crazy and just the thought of seeing him or hearing his voice, kept me moving from day to day.
Ripping the wrapper on a mars bar, I moved over to the window and stared out, loving the hue of the spring sunlight on the colorful gardens. I savored the sweet rolling around in my mouth, courtesy of Julian.
He’d also visited and while he wasn’t allowed to bring a phone, he’d come bearing gifts in the form of chocolate, a puzzle, or a board game. I looked forward to our time together until his last visit when he mentioned that my father warned if I continued my stubborn streak, he’d fire Julian. I’d cried for three whole days after he left. Julian was my only tie to my mother, I couldn’t lose him which meant I’d have to indulge my father on his next visit.
The door opened on cue. “Sweetheart?” Think of the devil and he shall deign to appear.
“I told you, not to call me that,” I replied without turning away from the window. The view outside far more appreciable than the man standing just inside my door. “How long do you plan on keeping me a prisoner?” I set the half-eaten bar down on the ledge and licked my fingers.
“You’re not a prisoner, Gianna.” His tone sounded a lot more patient today. “You’re more than welcome to dine with me but you’ve refused on several occasions.” I heard him walk further into the room, his expensive shoes scraping against the wooden flooring.
I saw no reason to share meals with him. He wasn’t worthy of the father title. Besides, my appetite had dwindled and while I didn’t care about the weight loss it started, I’d become conscious of the vomiting that seemed to happen more frequently in the last week. At first, I assumed it was just my body’s reaction to the grief but then the housekeeper who’d brought my meals, suggested I might be pregnant. My joy lasted three days until the appearance of my period, while the bleeding was lighter than normal, it quickly put an end to that notion. Still, the vomiting persisted. Although today, I’d managed to keep down the plain dried toast and black tea.
“You don’t trust me to explore this beautiful estate I’m supposed to call home, how am I to believe I’m not a prisoner,” I mumbled, breaking the silence between us but preferring the study of my nail polish to his presence.
He let out a heavy sigh. “Trust is a commodity in my line of work and if I can’t trust the person closest to me with my secrets and business, who can I trust then?”
Slowly, I turned. “So, am I to believe that because my mother is dead, you’ve given up that insane notion to have me married to a crime lord?”
“Your mother died doing what she thought was right. Protecting you. But I think her intentions might’ve been a bit misguided.”
My brow shot, anger curling a steady path down my spine, stiffening my shoulders. “A bit?”
“God, you remind me of her.” He laughed. A soft sound that only served to further enhance my ire. “She challenged me—”
“Is that what you want? Me challenging you. Calling bullshit on your rescinded promise?” I threw back with a heated glare.
“Sometimes promises are broken for reasons far more important than the promise itself.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
His expression changed, as though he were contemplating my words before he moved closer to the window and looked out. “You’re right and you shouldn’t.” He shifted his gaze to me. “After all, I betrayed the most sacred trust between a father and his child by offering you as a mere transaction, to fulfill a debt I should’ve never incurred in the first place.”
“You don’t say,” I scoffed.
His lips pursed into a thin line before he shook his head. “Look, hate me all you want, Gianna but it doesn’t detract from the fact that the man you trusted as your better half betrayed you far worse than I could. At least with me, I have a chance to rescind my offer to my partners. Now, that my daughter is back with me, I want to spend more time getting to know the person she’s become.” He slipped his hands into his pants pockets and stepped closer to me. “That man killed the people you loved, how would he redeem himself in your eyes.”
“Those photos don’t prove anything just that someone killed them.” My blood heated. I hated that he was painting Zayne in a light that could ring true because I’d seen him kill. He was capable of it. “You don’t know he did.”
“Still don’t believe me, do you?”
“Well, you haven’t exactly given me something solid to believe you and locking me up for my so-called protection doesn’t score you any points on the father wanting to get to know his daughter better front. It just makes me hate you more.”
“Fine. Listen to this then and if you still don’t believe me after that, then I rest my case.” He tossed something on the bed and walked out.
Frowning, I leaned down and picked up the device. It was a recorder, the size of my palm. Dropping to the edge of the mattress, I hit play.
“What’s your relationship with Ria, Gabriel?”
