Fuck.
I shove back the chair and stalk out of the room toward my office. For now, I need to put her out of my mind. The upcoming fight I’m hosting at my casino is an inter-society event, which is always fraught with danger during the season. I have shit to do, and it doesn’t involve mooning over some girl who will be mine soon enough.
No matter how fucking beautiful she is.
5
VALENTINA
A week after the party, the bruise on my face has finally shifted to a nasty yellow shade. The yellow shade is easier to cover with concealer, so I can finally stop hiding in my room. The last time I showed my father the bruises Sal left on me, he called me disgusting and told me I probably deserved it. I don’t want to encourage Sal further with my father’s approval.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Adrian and what Rose called him. A monster. And I spent a lot of my time lying in bed over the past few days, wondering if he’s the kind of monster other monsters fear.
A plan forms in my mind, but it’s half-baked at best. I want to talk to Rose about it, but she’s been avoiding me since the party, and since I haven’t been able to leave my room much, I haven’t figured out why.
I finish dressing in comfortable jeans and a T-shirt. My father is out of town for the next week, so at the very least, the reprieve will mean I get to talk to Rose, and we won’t have to see Sal very much.
When I enter the small dining room for breakfast, it’s empty. There is food on the table, though, so I help myself to bacon and toast, then grab the newspaper someone left there earlier.
By the grease stains on the edge of it, and the fact that only a few pieces of bacon are left, I can tell my luck has turned, and Sal is in the house somewhere. If I sneak back to my room after I eat, maybe I won’t have to see his greasy face.
Instead of lingering, I take the paper and my plate up to my room and lock the door. So far, it’s kept him out of my space, that and the hefty fear of my father’s reaction if he discovered him inside. It seems he’s fine with Sal’s bruises but draws the line at premarital sex—thank freaking goodness.
I settle in a chair by my favorite bookcase and balance the plate on my knee while I scan the newspaper. The name of a new casino pops out at me, and I read the article. It’s a puff piece about the restaurants and the great bar service, but I thought I remembered my father talking about an underground society fight being held there soon. Tonight maybe?
I stare at the door and wonder if I can sneak into my father’s office without Sal seeing me. He’d have written something down about it if he planned to attend. And a place like that seems exactly where a girl might find herself a monster-eating monster.
I finish up my toast and re-read the article for any information that might help me. It doesn’t give me anything useful, but it does give me a few minutes to bolster myself into going back downstairs to rummage through my father’s office.
Rose usually helps me do these things. She runs interference with the house staff or plays lookout when necessary. Not that I steal into his office often for information. Well, not recently when I might encounter my fiancé.
Mentally, I should prepare myself for it to actually happen. It would be the easiest thing, the most acquiescing all around. Yet every time I have to consider Sal as my fiancé, I want to puke. I also have very little doubt that once my usefulness to him wears off, he’ll kill me with his own two hands.
Even then, I’m sure my father will find a way to blame me for it.
I fold the newspaper and sit my plate on top of it. Then head back down the stairs. A quick glance along the hallway reveals it’s empty, and I sigh heavily, my shoulders falling away from my ears.
I cross the hardwood floor to the double doors of my father’s office and slip inside. Usually, when he’s not in residence, he keeps them locked, but if he has to go out of town for longer than a day, he won’t just in case one of his associates needs to get inside for something.
As always, the place is immaculate. The staff are ordered to dust daily, and if even one tiny thing is out of place, my father freaks out. I’ve been on the receiving end of one of those hissy fits many times. The cook calls him particular, but that’s because she gets paid double what she would make anywhere else to deal with his crap. I can’t complain either because she is good at her job.