What kind of a monster could? Wait . . .
“Are you saying my father knows this? That can’t be possible.”
“Not only is it possible but it is exactly what is happening. My cousin has made allies with some very powerful people. Your father is hoping to leverage Salvatore’s connections to get him a ticket into the White House. But your father isn’t a stupid man. He knows my cousin will sell him out the first chance he gets . . . That’s where you come in.”
“And how exactly does marrying me off help him?”
“Then you become family. He helps your father make the connections he needs, and in return, your father will help my cousin. Having you as Salvatore’s wife will help him obtain the goal.”
“I can’t believe my father would knowingly allow that to happen to the girls.”
“Then you don’t know your father very well, luckily for you. Men will do a lot of ugly things to maintain power. I assure you.”
His words are no longer talking about his cousin. He’s talking about our marriage. I am a power piece for him too.
“Now let’s go.”
He starts to walk toward the door.
“I’m not ready,” I say to his back. He looks over his shoulder, his green eyes piercing.
“Pack a bag. Just what you need for tonight. I’ll have my people come tomorrow and get the rest.”
Before I can say anything else, he turns back around, pulling his phone from his pocket to make a call.
I head into my bedroom to grab pajamas and a change of clothes for tomorrow. Jeans and a sweater. Casual. Next, I head into my bathroom and grab the necessities for one night. When everything is packed in my bag. I walk back out of the room and find him where I left him.
Still in the foyer on the phone.
He must hear me approach because he hangs up and turns toward me. He looks arrogant and strong as he stares at me. Most of all, dangerous. Like with the snap of a finger, he could have me disappear. He very likely could. I should be scared, petrified, but I’m in too much shock to register what is happening.
“Ready?” he asks.
“That's not the word I would say.”
He chuckles. “I like your fight.”
“Famous last words.”
“Don’t worry, Viviana, as my wife, you will live a long and healthy life, whether you want to or not.”
That’s when it finally hits me. Smashing into my gut. All the air leaves my lungs at his presence and what that means for the future. The future . . . will I have one?
There is no time to think of that. Instead, I need to sharpen my claws and make it through this, no matter the cost.
I will get in the car with a man who most certainly can kill me.
And worse, I will marry him.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
But he’s right. My father would stop at nothing to get the White House, and if that means aligning himself with less than reputable men, so be it.
The idea I was supposed to marry a man who would hurt women has my stomach churning.
A thought pops into my head. . .
“You don’t do what your cousin does?” I blurt out. Because never in the conversation before in my apartment did it even dawn on me to ask. “You don’t traffic women?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, I see him turn his head toward me. He’s too close in the back of the Escalade. And when his pensive stare meets mine, it feels like there is a vacuum in the car that sucks all the oxygen from it.
“Do not ask me such silly questions, Princess.”
“Well, if you won’t tell me, what the hell else am I supposed to believe?” I fire back.
“Viviana.” The way he says my name makes the tiny hairs on my arm stand up. It’s lethal. I know I have gone too far, and I’m afraid of what the consequences will be. “You are not to question me.” He doesn’t say anything more.
Nor does he try to lighten the mood. It’s oppressive.
I can barely breathe.
With each pull of oxygen, it’s as if my chest has a band around it.
It tightens until the point where I can’t breathe.
“Can I open the window?”
“No.”
The one-word answer echoes through the car. He is really fond of one-word answers, I realize.
Even though I can’t open it, I turn to look out into the city night.
The streets are busy. But then again, it is Manhattan.
Even at ten, people walk. Bars are open. Clubs are frequented. I watch as the sea of red and yellow lights whisk by and lose myself in the view. An escape only the city can provide.
This is why I chose to go to college at NYU.
My father would never let me go far, but I fought to come here.
It’s another world.
And now I realize my past few years might have been the only freedom I’ll ever know.
The city flies by, and I wonder where we are going. I’m surprised when his driver pulls up to what appears to be an abandoned warehouse.
I wait as Matteo gets out of the car once we pull into the garage, and when he steps out, I follow him.
The building isn’t what I expect. There are cars, but it’s not your typical garage. This one looks like a garage you see in a movie about carjackers.
There must be over ten million dollars’ worth of merchandise here.
What have I gotten myself into?
All of a sudden, the door across the garage opens, and three men step out. Each tall, dark, and handsome, like they walked off a cover of a magazine, but this magazine is for criminals, with dark eyes and evil sneers on their scruffy faces.
These men are not the type of men you want to bump into while walking down an abandoned street.
They look lethal.
Again, these men appear in action movies and play the villain’s role.
When they start to make their way over to me, I’m not surprised.
Scared but not shocked.
They don’t say a word, but one of them takes all my bags, and while one rifles through them, another one moves to search me.
As much as I want to object, I know I can’t.
I’m used to being searched. I’m used to my things being searched. It’s the nature of my family, so I know what they have to do. Instead of objecting, I spread my arms out, and I kick out my legs.
Might as well make it easy for them.
It doesn’t take them long. They obviously don’t find anything.
One of the guys nods, and then Matteo starts to walk.
He doesn’t wait for me, but I follow him regardless.
Like a lost puppy trying to find its way.
Neither of us speaks one word, and I feel as though the silence is oppressive.
Or maybe it’s my nerves that are.
Either way, I feel like an athlete with asthma who ran a marathon and realized they forgot their inhaler once they got to the finish line.
My only hope is he doesn’t realize how off-kilter I am.
If he does, he at least has the decency not to say anything as he stops and opens the door for me, allowing me to walk through first.
I’m surprised when I step inside.
This warehouse is a fully furnished and functioning house.
“I will show you to your room.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he starts to walk in the direction of a hallway. I watch as he strides in front of me, walking tall and with a purpose. This man is always in complete command of every situation, even something as simple as heading down the hall. I wonder if he can ever relax. Ever smile.