Page 67

The ring grows heavier on my hand as I apply my signature smoky eye, pale pink lip and liner, and dark bronzer. I contour my strong Italian nose. No one else seems to have it, and I’ve always been self-conscious about it.

Standing, I fix the thick straps over my shoulders, the square neckline accentuating my small bust. This dress is as short as I prefer my clothing, only a few inches past my hips. In my strappy heels and green-painted toes, I look like the Black Swan, about to take her place on stage.

My bedroom door opens.

Ello stands there, his back highlighting his menacing form. He notices the black duffel bag on my bed and nods. It’s full of everything I’ll need tonight—spermicide, clothing, and my mask.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Yet, I must.

“Ready?”

I nod, hands pressed to my stomach. Butterflies attack my middle. Or maybe it’s wasps. Whatever it is, I’m going to vomit. Breathing through my mouth, I try to settle my nerves. My fingers tremble as I adjust my gold earrings and try like hell not to pass out.

It’s fine—I’ll be fine.

“Breathe, piccina mia,” Ello murmurs, tucking a stray hair back into my high bun. “This may not be ideal, but it is one more step before freedom.”

“I know.”

My eyes land on my phone beside the bag. I’ve spoken briefly with my stalker since his heartfelt admission. It calms me because, stupidly, inconceivably, there is someone out there who loves me deeply.

I cherish his words like a flickering candle in the dead of winter. It helps me process all of this. I’m desirable—and if I’m going to do the unthinkable, I need to be as sexy as possible to get through it.

“Your mother would be proud,” he signs.

I roll my eyes. “That I’m going to fuck a man on stage, in front of anyone with eyes?”

He lightly slaps my hands. “Language. No, she would be proud of you for taking control of your life. In a way she never could.”

Well, there goes my makeup. My eyes tear up, and I look to the ceiling, blinking them away. He knows what to say to hit all the emotions.

He shakes the bag, getting my attention. “I’ll put this in the car. Frederico is downstairs waiting.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t come in.” He has a sick fascination with my bedroom.

“He’s still in a lot of pain,” Ello says, smiling. “Your friend certainly scared him into behaving right. For the time being.”

My friend. Right.

My eyes go back to the phone.

Ello leaves and I scoop it up, cradling it close to my chest. I should tell my stalker what I plan to do. If he feels as strongly as he claims, he might take offense.

Will he punish me for it? My body shivers, and I touch my lips, feeling the smile there. I certainly hope he does.

But I can’t involve him. This is my choice, and my plan. My family acts as if I’m an invalid, but I can decide for myself.

Carefully, I turn my phone off, placing it into the small clutch. With one more look in the mirror, I exit my room and descend to the foyer.

Freddie stands there, gazing off into the distance. I haven’t seen him since that night, and Dio, he looks rough. His clean-shaven face is dusted with dark hair. There are bags under his eyes, and his nose is bruised. My heart flutters with glee.

He’s dressed for the club in a simple shirt, black slacks, and matching shoes. A thick white bandage wraps around the fingers on his left hand.

Spinning, he takes in my outfit, and something flickers in those dead eyes. I’ve never noticed how much was lacking until now. He’s a corpse, but when he sees me, a dark, predatory giddiness overtakes him.

Lifting my hand with his engagement ring, he kisses it soundly.