Then, all at once, he began to tell us what we needed to know.
“The p-password for the main c-computer is 4Q8Zy73,” he said, and my father stepped forward making him repeat it as he recorded his words with his phone.
On and on it went with Antonio divulging things we hadn’t even imagined the Bonifacios to have. It was an absolute treasure trove, and despite my father’s so-called change of heart, I knew the real reason why we’d succeeded. It was because of my suggestion. All Antonio had needed was more of a push.
After he’d spoken for roughly fifteen minutes, he seemed to run out of juice. We had plenty to run with, and since I’d already informed our men to check his facts, I knew that so far, everything he’d said was one hundred percent truthful. Still, my father nodded at Vittorio to continue the electrical torture, accompanied by horsewhipping. Antonio’s screams altered in pitch, and after asking why and swearing he’d told us everything, when Vittorio hit him again, he began to laugh hysterically. Manically.
His laughter became weeping, then he spouted nothing but nonsense. This was it. His mind had splintered. My father had pushed him too far, and now, we’d get nothing more out of him. The sheer wastefulness of this annoyed me, but I dared not contradict my father. Instead, I left to follow up on what I was certain would only be the tip of the Bonifacio iceberg while also making preparations to surprise my bride-to-be.
5
Lucia
After Romeo’s two consecutive visits, I didn’t see him again. A week passed, and the longer he stayed away, the more agitated I became. Because while the man himself had not appeared in my room, gifts sent by him did. Every single night.
The first night he sent a pair of dangling diamond earrings which glimmered with every move I made. I had been accustomed to wearing such jewelry all the time to our famiglia’s many formal functions and donning them made me feel sad again. I tore them out of my ears immediately, tears filling my eyes. Had Romeo sent these because he’d known they would upset me?
The next day I received a pair of stiletto shoes which I refused to put on. Doing so would mean giving in to whatever sadistic game he craved to play with me, and I wasn’t having it. I kicked the shoes under my bed and tossed the earrings into the top drawer of my dresser in a huff. Out of sight, out of mind.
When the third box came, I seriously considered ignoring it. He couldn’t hurt me if I didn’t let him. Right? I threw the box into the corner savagely, but this only made the cardboard bust open, expelling its contents. And its contents included more tissue as well as a formal evening gown in a scarlet red.
“Signore Romeo might become angry if he comes and sees how you’re treating his presents,” Philippa told me, fear all over her expression. But I didn’t care.
“Signore Romeo can fuck off,” I spat, then paused at my own coarse language.
I’d never used such a word in my life, but Romeo drove me to such distraction. I both loved and hated how he made me feel when he stopped by, and I despised being avoided in person while granting me one salacious present after another. I presented a strong front while the maid remained in the room but as soon as she vanished, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness, feeling guilty and confused.
Romeo excelled at making me feel both.
The following night a much smaller box came, and I sat on my bed, staring at it. Would it be better to open it or leave it untouched? Should I conceal it from sight or leave it lying like trash on the floor? Ultimately, I left it unopened beside the butterfly on my dresser. But then, Philippa arrived in the middle of the night and shook me awake. She flicked on my lamp, causing yellow light to blind me. Bewildered at being awakened, I blinked at her, trying to let my vision adjust. Only then did I notice how sleepy and flustered she looked. I sat up.
“Here, signorina. He told me I must give you this.”
She didn’t have to explain who “he” was.
“Why?” I asked, but she’d scampered out like some skittish nocturnal creature.
I unfolded the piece of paper to see his flawless script.
Open the gifts, Lucia, or I will be displeased.
My head jerked up as I glared around the room. He was watching me? How? Was it as uncomplicated as Philippa tattling on me, or was this more insidious? While I could detect no evidence of cameras, I was no spy. I knew from overhearing my father that there were ways to monitor people without their knowledge. I yanked my bed linens more closely to my chest, then realized how foolish that was. Romeo had already seen me naked, had touched the most intimate and private parts of my body. Still, I felt violated, as if I’d been laid out for anyone who happened by to ogle.
I doubted that even if Romeo had been watching me that he would allow anyone else to do so. The man had been so insanely jealous that he’d clocked my poor brother. I thought of Antonio and felt a pang. Though he’d always been the heir, in truth, he hadn’t been the best suited to it. While strong and manly, he also had a sensitive, more artistic spirit. Had he not been a Bonifacio, he might’ve lived in Soho doing nothing more hazardous than asking passersby if he could paint their portraits.
It was the thought of Antonio that finally made me heed Romeo’s words. My captor had been physically violent with my brother once already. I didn’t want to give him an excuse to get aggressive with him again.
I crossed to my dresser and flung off the box’s lid. Inside lay a pair of silken panties, black with pictures of strawberries all over them. They looked almost innocent with that unique pattern until I lifted them to discover they too were crotchless. Beneath was another note.
Strawberries to match your glistening strawberry lips, farfalla. Both sets. Just wait to see what I can do with each, not to mention the real fruit.
I read over the words again, unsure of why he’d said, “both sets.” Then when it dawned on me that he meant both sets of lips, I felt my face heat, probably going just as red as he’d described. My nipples instantly beaded as the space between my legs grew damp. Damn him! Controlling me with nothing more than some handwritten words on a scrap of paper. And yet unbidden, a voice inside of me offered a counterpoint.
You know you like it.
As I crawled back into bed, I sighed, knowing it was true.
The next evening brought a matching strawberry bra with a detail I’d never seen on such a piece of clothing before. The space for each nipple had been cut out, not raggedly as an amateur might do with a pair of scissors, but professionally. The garment had been made that way. Purposely. And by now, I knew the reason why.
The subsequent night when Philippa brought my dinner, I saw that she wasn’t carrying any gifts, and I felt a glut of relief. Maybe he’d chosen to offer me a reprieve. But then, she revealed what I’d be dining on that night.
“Strawberries from Signore Romeo,” she said. “He told me not to wrap them this time.”
So Philippa had been doing his dirty work. Wrapping and boxing up the gifts. Possibly going out and buying them as well. That meant my maid knew every debauched thing he’d sent to me since I’d been brought here. I tore my gaze from her, mortified.
The seventh night the gift felt different. Denser and heavier yet not very big. I opened it and gasped, finding a picture of my parents on their wedding day. They too had been brokered into an arranged marriage, but they’d grown to truly love one another over the years. I knew my father would’ve done almost anything for my mother, and she would’ve done the same for him. As horrendous as witnessing them dying on the same day had been for me, at least neither had to stay behind and be widowed for the other.