“My mother will be with me, and still a hard no on the marriage.”
“No marriage. No mother.”
“Why?”
“It’s not important for you to know.”
I laugh bitterly. “Um, yeah. Kinda important to me.”
“All you need to know is I will keep your mother and you safe from Lorenzo.”
“And who’s going to keep me safe from you?”
If the vein in his forehead hadn’t pulsed, I’d swear he had turned into a frozen statue. After a moment, he moves to the door. “I guess you’ll have to weigh out your options.” He leaves, the door closing quietly behind him.
It’s another twenty-four hours before I see anyone other than one of the beasts who wheel in a cart of food every few hours. This morning I risked it and ate one egg and a piece of bacon before polishing off the fruit.
Yesterday’s lunch of chicken Caesar salad and the freshest, warm sourdough bread had been the best I’d ever had. Dinner consisted of chicken marsala, steamed asparagus, and a rich red wine. There were subtle hints of cherry, mesquite, and cinnamon. I grew up on a vineyard and had learned the science behind growing and pressing grapes at a young age, but it had been years since I’d indulged in anything other than boxed wine from the fridge. And even then, it was a rarity.
With three-and-a-half solid meals in me, I feel stronger and more ready to face whatever shit show Stone is planning to throw at me. I try for the door, but it is still locked. I pound on it a few times and call out to the bodyguard.
“Hey, Hulk. You can take my food tray away now.”
I don’t care if it stays in my room all day, I just want a glimpse of the hallway. To take in my surroundings.
When he enters the room, I wait for him to go to the tray, then slip out the door. I make it three steps before Stone blocks my path.
“Going somewhere?”
“Just checking out the prison.”
“When you agree to our arrangement, you’ll be free to move about the estate as you please.”
“Free?” I snort. “Quite the oxymoron. Trap me into a marriage of whatever kind of convenience it is for you so I can wander your fancy estate like a hopeless dog? No thanks.”
I spin on my heel and nearly crash into the Hulk. With grace I don’t expect from such a man, he quickly moves the cart to the side and wheels it down the hall. I give Stone one last glare before marching back into my cell. I have the door ready to slam but his hand stops it.
“It’s a shame. Your mother seems to be enjoying her new accommodations as well as her caretakers.” With that, he gently closes the door. The click of the lock echoes through the room.
“Asshole.” I kick the door and wince at the pain in my toes.
I’m not used to boredom. Taking care of Mama and working on my feet ten-plus hours a day keeps me busy right up until my head hits the pillow. My first years on the lam had kept me up at night, worried Lorenzo’s people would catch wind of our trail. His men were faithful to him, often sacrificing their own lives for the money and protection of the Parisi name.
At the time, I had no choice but to either trust Sonny or witness Mama’s and my death. I still have nightmares from time to time, but they’ve lessened over the years. Last night they all came tumbling back. I woke this morning in a mess of tangled sheets, my body covered in a film of sweat.
I still wear the same leggings and sports bra I found yesterday, and I am pretty sure I still smelled like the diner. With nothing else to do but wait for my moment of escape, I pad across the room to the bathroom and check out the shower.
The electrical panel on the side has too many buttons. I can’t fathom the need for so many options. Pushing the ‘On’ button, I wait for water to come out of one of the ten showerheads.
Nothing. I push a few more buttons before the back wall sputters to life. I close the bathroom door and would’ve locked it if there was one. With nothing to barricade it with, I pray Stone won’t force his way into my prison until after I am clean and fully dressed.
Peeling out of my clothes, I let them drop to the cool, marble tile and step into the shower. Water hits me from my head to my toes. There is another panel on the wall, and I adjust the temperature, then push a few more buttons. The showerheads on the opposite wall come to life and spray into my face.
I blindly fumble around for the dial, easing the pressure until I have the showerheads positioned on various parts of my body and at different intensities. It is like a million hot tub jets, but in a shower. I close my eyes and get lost in the therapeutic spray.
Once I am good and wet, and completely relaxed, I pump the glass bottle of shampoo into my hand and lather it in my hair. It smells like Plumeria. My favorite. Does Stone know or is it a coincidence? Many women in Sicily gravitate toward the floral scent while others prefer exotic, expensive colognes. I’ve never been the type.
Granted I was only eighteen when I left. Maybe my tastes would’ve evolved as I aged. I don’t want them to. Mama and I spent many hours a day in the garden. It was our reprieve from the abuse inside the estate.