I always obeyed.
Fat lot of good it did you.
Bitterness washed over me.
No shit.
Ettore placed the keycard into the slot. The red light turned green. He pulled on the lever and threw open the door, standing by it. I hesitated. He pinched the bridge of his nose then sighed, agitated. “Vittoria, I have been shot today and lost a decent amount of blood. I am dirty and I am tired as hell. I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say,” he lifted his head and a spark of anger ignited in his eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth, “I have been patient with you in a way that would test even a saint. So, get your ass into the room because you and I are going to have a little talk.” The guilt I felt then evaporated to nothing when he looked me up and down then uttered, “And if you think I’m going to carry you over the threshold, you are out of your fucking mind.”
Our eyes held as I moved into the room.
I knew he had every right to be mad at me. That didn’t mean I had to like it.
Ettore placed the spare card into a slot by the wall and like magic, all of the lights turned on. I glanced around at the huge area around us.
This wasn’t a room. This was something else. To call it an apartment seemed too little. It was a home. Aspectacularhome. Furnished to the nines, it looked like something you would find in an upscale real estate magazine.
The large living area trailed off into multiple rooms. At first glance, I could see there were at least two were bedrooms. It had a wide-open balcony with an entertaining area on it. The plush white sofas made my feet ache with the need to go lie down on them. It had high ceilings and a kitchen with sparkling counters that held a stainless-steel ice bucket and in it, a bottle of champagne. I wanted nothing more than the go check out the reading nook, but I held myself still, poised, and waiting for the attack that I was sure would come.
Vincenza had warned me about Ettore Scala.
He was a vicious, blood-thirsty man who would stop at nothing until the Vero family was utterly destroyed.
How disappointed she would be if she could see me now. To know I had let this monster touch me.
To know I had liked it…
I swallowed hard and lowered my gaze. Under my dress, I pressed my legs together as the fresh memory played back in my mind.
Weak, she would call me.Pitiful. A disgrace.
As I battered myself internally, Ettore brushed past me and made for the bar where he poured himself a tumbler of whisky. I blinked in astonishment as he downed it all in one gulp, placing the glass down with a light slam. And then it was a stare off.
His heavy brows furrowed on me and I could tell he was fighting an internal battle, much as I was. And the silence raged on. I was sure he thought I would become self-conscious enough to speak, but I was quiet by nature. I rarely raised my voice and in the odd instance that I did, I was fast to apologize. At home, Vincenza was the boss. And I was… well…
My heart panged.
…Sorry to even exist.
Ettore poured another for himself, this time a more sensible measure. He lifted the glass and held it to his mouth, asking a reluctant, “How old are you?” before tipping it back.
I cleared my bruised throat, stood awkwardly and tried desperately to avoid his black piercing gaze. “Twenty-one.”
And Ettore closed his eyes, lowered his head and ran a hand down his face, muttering, “Fuck me.”
I willed myself to step back, but my body refused to listen. “I’m sorry.” I wasn’t actually sorry. It was simply force of habit to apologize when things got heated. I was used to shouldering the blame, even for things I had no control over.
He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, refusing to look at me. “I knew you were young, but I didn’t know you werethatyoung.” His expression turned pained and he reached up to touch the covered bullet wound, hissing out, “Earlier, in the limo…”
Oh God, no.
My heart stuttered and my cheeks blazed as I forced out, “I don’t want to talk about that.”
Please don’t make me talk about that.
Ettore stood tall and even though I was sure it wasn’t meant to be intimidating, I suddenly regained use of my limbs and took a small step backwards. His expressive eyes bore in on me. “Much like you, I have been dreading this day. I woke this morning and took my crying children over to their nonno’s, telling them everything was going to be okay. That I was marrying was a nice woman.”
Trepidation pierced a hole in my solar plexus and my throat tightened to a point that I thought I might not be able to breathe ever again.