He sounds half-asleep, slurring his words. “Blonde, redhead, brunette, take your pick. What are you in the mood for?”
“The maid you sent to my room last night. Was she blonde?”
“Oh…her. I didn’t check her pussy, but the hair on her head was black.”
I end the call, dragging a hand through my hair. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I seeing these images?
There’s no way. Not a chance in hell anything happened between me and Lucia last night. If it had, Carlo would have her by the hair and me hanging by my balls. Besides, what reason would Lucia have to cover for me?
I go out onto the terrace, lighting a cigarette. My eyes settle on the domes of the churches dotting the city skyline.
This has to be my fucked-up subconscious playing tricks on me. Nothing more.
Yes, that should be it.
FIVE
Lucia
I slip out of the evening dress, pull on jeans and a T-shirt. After wiping off my makeup, I sit on the edge of the bed, the small jewelry box in my lap.
I stare at it, turning it over between my fingers. I have to admit, when I first saw him tonight, my heart dropped for a second. All I could think about was whether last night was written all over our faces, especially with the way Tony looked at me. I had no idea if he remembered what happened.
But now I know. He doesn’t.
He doesn’t remember the pain he forced on me. He doesn’t remember signing my death sentence. The alcohol wiped it all away.
I flip open the box. Inside is a necklace, his “gift” to me. A delicate gold chain with two wings forming the shape of a heart. I pick it up, holding it between my fingers, and study it closely as something heavy settles in my chest.
For some reason, it makes me think of my mother.
She was like an angel, gentle, kind, everything good in the world. I lost her last year after a long, grueling illness. It was her death that made Carlo give me one more year to prepare for this marriage.
The door opens, and I instinctively clench the necklace in my fist.
Carlo enters, a glass of liquor in his hand, and shuts the door behind him. Without sparing me a glance, he crosses the room and drops onto the loveseat, then snaps his fingers at me.
“Come here. We need to talk.”
My hands go cold. I’m so on edge that I obey without hesitation, springing to my feet and sitting beside him.
He’s wearing a tight black T-shirt. The light catches the smooth silver of his shaven head, and his features are as emotionless as ever.
I drop my gaze, staring intently at the floral patterns on the carpet.
“When I’m speaking to you, you look at me,” Carlo scolds me.
I raise my head to meet his eyes and force myself to respond, “Yes.”
“Good.”
He takes a slow sip of his drink and goes on.
“I’ll only say this once, so listen carefully. There are rules in this house, rules you’ll learn in time. But there are also rules that come directly from me, as your husband. You’ll commit them to memory tonight.
The first and most important rule: you’re not allowed to have any sort of relationship with Carmen. Apart from meals, where we’re all at the same table, you will not see her. Not during the day, not for any reason. She lives in the other wing, a place you have no reason to go. And I guarantee, she won’t set foot in this wing either.
If she sends for you, for shopping, tea, or any other bullshit women call bonding, you will refuse. Your answer will always be an absoluteno. Is that clear?”
