Well, he doesn’t.
“It’s a trick. A lie. I don’t believe you.”
“Your father is a monster.” Dante brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes.
I raise my hand to smack his arm away.
He grabs my wrist and holds it firmly. Is he reminding me that he’s in charge? How could I ever forget?
His eyes flicker. And it’s the same darkness, the sadness and brooding that I saw last night and again this morning.
“The video is real.” Dante stares down at me.
When I stop fighting, he releases his tight grip on my wrist. My arm falls to my side.
“We are bringing in a physician to examine you this morning.”
“I feel fine.” My stomach is filled with dread, but I suspect it’s more the news than anything else. “I went to the hospital last night. The ultrasound showed everything was fine. Our baby is healthy.” I rest a hand over my abdomen.
“You’ve been losing weight, struggling to eat for the last couple of weeks. Moreno has a buddy who is a specialist in this kind of thing.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m pregnant. It’s not unusual to suffer from morning sickness.” I shift to sit and prove to him that I’m fine and he is overreacting. But the room spins.
It is probably stress-related. He sure as hell is stressing the crap out of me.
“Fine. I’ll let your specialist examine me, but I’m telling you I’m fine. My father wouldn’t poison me.”
Would he?
I rub my eyes. They sting, but I don’t want him to see me react.
“Can I have some space?” I gesture for the door.
“I’ll be just outside your room if you need anything.”
I scoff under my breath. “I’m sure you will.”
Dante stands and heads out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
Did he just give me permission to leave my room? He did say that he wasn’t locking me in anymore. While I don’t believe him, this is a first.
Maybe he just wants to watch and make sure I don’t keel over and die.
There’s a shuffle of footsteps, and Dante is speaking with someone out in the hallway. With the door wide open, they’re talking quieter than usual. There are no muffled voices behind a door. If they speak a little louder, I can hear everything.
Dante steps out of sight, but he’s still in the hallway.
I slide my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand on wobbly legs—one foot in front of the other.
My stomach is sour, but I chalk it up to the video and news. The baby is fine. I’m fine. Dante is a hypochondriac at best. At worst, he’s trying to manipulate me.
Papa wouldn’t hurt me. I’m sure of it.
It’s a trick—a form of manipulation. Maybe Dante’s men are behind it.
Dante wants me to stay because I’m having his child. But his men, they’d just assume I leave. I’m sure I’m a distraction from the business.
I’ll play along. I’ll let his silly doctor examine me. Maybe if I pretend to be sick, the men who guard me will let their defenses down, and I can escape.