I was near broke and desperately lonely.
I longed for companionship, someone to share in my passion and my struggle. A lover, a friend, either would be leaps and bounds above what I’d had in recent years. But I’d long since written off the possibility.
I bristled as the very reason for that walked through the door.
My uncle stepped into the quiet space, his dark eyes landing squarely on me. “Francesca. You’re looking well.”
I nodded cordially, doing all I could to mask my true feelings. I might have been lonely, but I still valued my life. And my uncle had the power to eradicate it altogether. I was very aware of that fact. He made sure of it.
The Rossi family, myself excluded, had once been one of the most feared mafia organizations in Las Vegas. I’d picked up from my eavesdropping that their power had diminished over the years, but nevertheless, with my uncle at the helm they were ruthless, cunning, and cruel.
I hated my uncle with a passion that had only grown over time.
Though I did everything I could to avoid him, he knew exactly where to find me when the urge hit. As it apparently had today.
“What can I do for you?” I asked stiffly.
“I’d like you to come for dinner tomorrow night. Marcelle is cooking up a feast,” he shared, referring to his latest wife.
I fought hard to control my reaction, knowing it was useless.
His gaze dropped to my neck, no doubt zeroing in on my pulse that had quickened in fear. He was like a predator honing in on a kill. He could smell weakness from a mile away, and I still had yet to build up my full armor against him.
“Thank you, but I have plans,” I murmured.
He cocked his head to the side as though amused I would attempt to defy him, even in some small way. “Let me rephrase. Dinner is at seven; we will see you then.”
With that he turned on a heel and strode from the bakery.
Shit.
****
The next evening I pulled through the gate and up the drive of my uncle’s mansion with the same trepidation I always felt when I was summoned here. Luckily that didn’t happen all that often. Mainly when his new wife, who was close to my age, got a wild hair to host a dinner party and wanted me to bring a dessert. The tiramisu I’d made sat on the seat next to me. It had turned out beautifully, its delicate layers in stark contrast to the harsh reality that awaited.
I stepped out of the old hatchback I’d had since high school and straightened my blouse. I’d dressed as casually as I dared, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
Especially if Bruno was around.
Miraculously, he’d kept his distance for the most part over the years. I had a feeling that had something to do with my uncle, perhaps one small glimmer of fondness for me that had protected me from what Bruno had in store.
Or maybe he was just biding his time. I shuddered at the thought.
I rang the bell, the sound echoing through the grandiose interior, followed by the fierce but thankfully distant barking of the guard dogs. They were kept out back for such occasions.
“Francesca,” Marcelle greeted, her overdone lips forced into a tight-lipped smile as she opened the door and ushered me inside. She was my uncle’s fourth wife and the youngest, only two years older than my twenty-three years. I believed he’d been in love once, or as close as a man like him could get, with my aunt Sharon. They’d had a son, my cousin, and had been married for close to a decade. When things had soured, he’d allowed her to leave him and to relocate up to Hawthorne, Nevada, a small town north of Vegas.
His other wives hadn’t been allowed to leave on their own terms. Exactly what that meant, I’d never wanted to know.
“Hi, Marcelle,” I greeted, carrying the dessert in my arms and following her through the marble entryway to the kitchen just beyond.
I bristled at the sight of Bruno standing at the counter, a tumbler of brown liquor in his hand. He eyed me as he always did, with a mixture of lust and contempt.
A quick glance around proved this would be a small dinner, with only my uncle, Marcelle, Bruno, and his latest arm candy.
I was relieved he had someone with him.Hopefully it would keep his attention off me.
“How nice of you to join your family, Francesca,” Bruno sneered as I sat stiffly at the table.
