Page 9 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“Adelina, this is Sasha. He’s going to protect you.”
I swallow slowly, my eyes darting from Nero to the strange man and back again. “Where’s my sister?” I ask. I need to know why Gabi is doing this, why I can’t go home where Daddy’s men can protect me.
“Gabriella has gone. She’s needed in Sicily.”
A stab of pain lances through my chest and I’m unable to believe she left without so much as a goodbye. “Well, how long am I staying here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need to talk to my father.”
This can’t be right. Daddy wouldn’t send me away like this. He wouldn’t leave me with strangers indefinitely. But here I stand, having the conversation with Nero while a terrifying man stares me down from across the room.
“Your family is on the verge of war with the Bianchi’s, Adelina. The best thing you can do for them is to stay safe. Sasha will show you to your room.”
My chest suddenly feels tight, and my breaths stilted. “No. I’m leaving.” I take two steps toward the doorway before Sasha shifts his weight, stepping in front of me. His arms remain folded over his chest, his expression bored.
“You need to stay.” Nero’s tone leaves little room for argument, but I refuse to go down that easily.
I spin around to face him with clenched fists, anger bubbling under my skin. “I’m a prisoner now?”
Those honey eyes meet mine, and any friendly pretense slips. The mob boss peeks through. Between these two, I’m not leaving here.
“If you like,” Nero drawls.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from screaming or crying.
“Sasha will show you to your room,” he repeats.
Sasha pushes off the wall and moves past me. He walks towards the stairs without a word said, and I resign myself to the fact that my father wants me here. I have to trust that Daddy is doing what needs to be done for my protection, the same way he always has. I jog to catch up with Sasha’s long strides. The stairs lead to a loft of sorts that hangs over the living space below. Several doors line the hallway, and he stops outside one, opening it before stepping back. I stand awkwardly for a moment, reluctant to pass him. His cool gaze lands on me, and one brow cocks, the only sign of his impatience.
“Thank you.” I hurry past him into the room, and he silently he walks away.
I close the door and release a long breath. If that is my protector, I think I’d rather take my chances with the Bianchi family. The bedroom has the full glass wall that runs around the exterior of the penthouse. Bright light spills in, illuminating the clean, almost clinical lines of the interior. I could easily be in a high-end hotel instead of someone’s home. My one small bag sits on the bed.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed, and everything finally catches up with me. Frustration bubbles over, and hot, angry tears trickle down my cheeks. I swipe at them, wishing I was stronger, that I was more like Gabi. My sister doesn’t need to be sent halfway across the world for her own protection. Gabi wasn’t promised to some guy like a business transaction; no, she’s too important to sell off like falling stock.
I remember trying to hide my tears from my father when I was little. He’d always tell me not to cry. You are a Ricci. You are a lion.
My father never had any sons. If I had a coin for every time someone told Daddy that he needed to re-marry so he could have one, well…I’d be very wealthy. My fathers “business associates,” the mob viewed two girls as a disappointment. Of course, he’s never re-married because he’s still in love with Mama. Even in death, he won’t betray her. But he raised us to be strong and taught us as well as he would any son, all while instilling what is expected of a woman in the mafia. An act is what he would say. A rose with steel petals, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This agreement, this marriage, it doesn’t make any sense. It goes against everything he ever taught me.
Falling back on the bed, I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to drift home. Until thoughts turn to dreams…
When I wake, the room is almost dark. A glow seems to emanate from outside the windows, and when I get up, I see it’s drifting from the buzzing city below. My stomach growls and cramps, reminding me that I haven’t eaten. Hesitantly, I open the bedroom door and peer down the long hall. The lights are on in the penthouse, but I can’t see anyone. My bare feet pad over the hardwood floors as I descend the stairs. This place is too big, too exposed. I feel like a maid creeping through the master’s quarters.
