All I had to do was stick my head outside my door to the one across the hall, the room un-entered for three years. My old room. The one painted a soothing color of sandstone, lovelyfurniture indicating it was nothing more than a guest suite for visitors that never came.
To me, the room was still a tomb and the few times I’d walked in after I’d been attacked, my imagination and my eyes had painted strings of blood and brain matter on the walls.
When the dust had settled, the body tossed into the ocean, the news regarding the identity of the assailant had been even more painful than the order. He’d been an associate of Dante’s. My father had called him a gang member, a kid being initiated into a dangerous clan, an association my father had forbidden. Their friendship was how the monster had bypassed the security.
The bastard touching me had died almost instantly. But Dante had suffered for months until he hadn’t been able to tolerate being ostracized any longer.
My father had never cared that much about the ordeal but had about Dante possibly ignoring his heritage and family requirements. In turn, my father had blamed me for the loss of his son. While never said, the words weren’t needed. I was nothing more than an object.
“I can’t wait for your party,” Sedona mused, pulling me out of my moment of self-pity. “Maybe we can both find dates.”
I couldn’t care less for all the pomp and circumstance, but I had no choice in the matter and there was no discussion. I wasn’t my father’s daughter. I was his possession to be paraded around in front of his rich friends’ sons. If he could obtain significant cash or power by selling me off like prized merchandise, all the better. The highest bidder would win.
“Earth to my best friend,” Sedona pushed.
“I’m right here. Dating? You are kidding me. Right?” I glared at her in the mirror. While she was the daughter of a high-ranking member of the Italian mafia, her father was apparently much more lenient with her. How did I know? Because I’d been forced to endure dozens of stories involving her social status among boys in our private school. “And the party will be stuffy as hell.”
“Well, there is something special about turning eighteen. Finally becoming a woman and capable of making your own decisions.”
My look was much harsher than before. “What decisions have I made since the big day hit last week? Please tell me.”
Her entire face pinched, her deep sigh an indication she couldn’t come up with anything. “You can dress the way you want?”
I burst into anguished laughter. “We shall see. Maybe I’ll test that premise by selecting the sluttiest dress.”
“You don’t own any slutty dresses.”
“Ugh. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll need to go shopping.” With my bodyguard in tow. Wouldn’t that be perfect?
“Try and have some fun. I’ll be there.”
“I know. I’m just frustrated.” None of the dresses seemed right. “Can you believe my father has yet to agree to allowing me to go to university?”
“Then you need to sweet-talk him. I think the red. Definitely the red.”
I tossed the dress, yanking the red one from my bed. “You have met my father. Right?”
Her giggle was insufferable. “He’s protective.”
“He’s suffocating.”
“He loves you.”
“He wants to control me.”
She shrugged and plopped onto the bed. “I know it’s hard, but one day you’ll look back at all this and appreciate how you grew up.”
I doubted it. Yes, I was privileged. Yes, I had beautiful things. None of which I wanted. She didn’t understand the extent of my father’s determined control or his methods of keeping me under his thumb. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on. You have a beautiful cozy home and all the toys you could want.”
She was correct, although the cozy connotation was completely inappropriate for the thousand acres of sprawling vineyards and an estate encompassing several wings. But she was correct about the toys, including a fabulous sports car that I was allowed to drive on rare occasions and only while my bodyguard remained close behind.
“Mmm hmmm,” I muttered, finally tossing the dress on the pile of others and joining her on the bed. Only I threw myself down, placing my hands over my face to keep my moans private. With my luck, my bodyguard Tomaso would come barreling through the door with his gun cocked, ready to take on whatever perpetrator was daring to breach my privacy.
I was nothing but a caged bird longing to be set free.
“I want a new life. Excitement. Adventure. I want to live in a tiny little apartment in Paris, spending my days sketching anddesigning and my nights meandering through museums and art galleries.”
