My reply sticks in my throat, gravelly, heavy, making it impossible to speak.
I won’t do as he says, but I can’t allow him to know. But first, I need to find out if he’s lying to me yet again.
My father is a monster. If he thinks I’m going against him, he will retaliate.
I need to bide my time and figure out a plan.
There has to be some way out of this mess.
I just have to figure out how.
Now, sitting at the table in the formal dining room, I try my best to get out of here unscathed. If there’s no talking at dinner, I’d be a happy camper.
There is nothing to say, so I try to keep my head down the whole time.
Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t agree with my sentiment because as I look down at the table, pushing my salad around the plate, she says my name.
“Viviana. When will you be moving back into the house?”
My head pops up. “What? No one said anything about me moving back in,” I fire at my father. “Why can’t I stay at my apartment?”
“That wouldn’t be proper,” she responds. My father gives me a pointed look. One that clearly says I will not give my parents a hard time about this.
“With you being done with school, I expect you back in the house.”
“I still have graduation . . .” I try to argue, grasping at straws. Every day is needed to figure out a way out of this mess.
“Then I expect you home in one week, young lady. I can’t have people talking.”
And there it is. She doesn’t care about me. She only cares about her reputation. Now that I’m done with my studies, living alone in the city would be scandalous to her religious friends.
I’m expected to be a virginal bride. Too late for that, but at least if they have me under their roof, they think they can keep the gossip low. It’s funny how little they know about me. I’m not one for making a spectacle of myself. I have too much to lose already to chance it.
With a sigh, I nod. “Next week then.”
A very long hour later, I’m back in the car, pulling up to my apartment.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
My options are limited.
Like always, my father has me. If I don’t do what he wants, more than just me will suffer.
I’ve made too many people suffer already.
I can’t do it again.
With my head down and my heart heavy, I step out of the car. Normally, I would speak to Julia about my issues with my father, but seeing as this concerns her, I can’t burden her. Even though she doesn’t know the truth—that he’s using her future to hang over my head—if I told her, she would still tell me to tell my father to stuff it. Jules isn’t one to take orders. She beats to her own drum. I guess growing up without parents, with relatives you don’t know, makes you strong. Because she is. She’s headstrong, the type of girl to make a rash decision regardless of the consequences.
Nope, I can’t tell her. That’s not an option.
I shake myself out of my thoughts and pull the keys for my apartment out of my bag.
Placing it into the lock, I turn the key and swing the door open.
The apartment is pitch-black.
Hadn’t I left the light on?
The small hairs on my neck rise.
Someone is here.
I’m not alone.
The small lamp in the corner of the room flips on.
His eyes.
I know those eyes.
“Hello, Viviana,” a husky voice drawls out, sending a chill down my back. “Let’s pick up from where we left off. Why don’t you have a seat? We have much to discuss.”
3
Matteo
* * *
“Why are you in my apartment?” Her voice cracks, giving away the fear that she is trying to conceal. She holds herself tall, but there is no mistaking the way she sounds. And if that isn’t enough, her eyes keep looking back at the door. She’s nervous, but she tries to hide it. It makes me want to toy with her. But I’m also aware she is a corrupt politician’s daughter through and through when she’s not completely falling over her own feet with shock. Another woman would have cried and fainted long ago.
I lean forward in the chair I’m sitting in and place the gun I’m holding on my knee.
“Come closer. I won’t bite.”
She does the opposite as I say, and instead, she takes a step back, edging toward her escape.
It won’t do her any good. Even if she makes it into the hall, my men are standing outside waiting for her.
Either way, the outcome will be the same.
“Why are you here?” she repeats. There is a false bravado in her voice, and it makes my lips tip up into a smile. I like the way she pretends she’s not terrified. I find something intoxicating about a strong woman who shows no fear.
Regardless of what she portrays, I know the truth, and I will exploit it.
I allow her to move another step, but this time, I shake my head while tsking.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I lift my hand, displaying the gun that rests upon my lap.
Her eyes go wide.
She looks like a deer caught in headlights. There is no mistaking the fear and shock that crosses her face.
“Sit.” This time I leave no room for objection, and much to my pleasure, she obliges me.
Slowly, she crosses into the room, and then she takes a seat. If I was one to laugh, I would because she picks the farthest chair in the room from me to finally sit.
Not that it will help her.
If I wanted to harm her, it wouldn’t matter the distance between us. I would find a way.
“Viviana Marino . . .” I draw out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
As I suspected, her body stiffens at my addressing her by her full name.
“How do you know who I am?”
That’s when I decide to laugh, but it’s not a real laugh. It’s a sinister one.
Perfect for instilling fear in her. “I know everything about you. I know your name.” I gesture around. “I know where you live, your drink of choice, what you studied, how you like your fucking eggs, and most importantly, I know you are the only daughter of Governor Marino,” I finish, deadpan.
“All public knowledge. You use Google.” She shrugs, but she is shaking. I can see it. “Big deal.”
“You majored in English lit. Graduating with a 4.0 average, and your best friend is Julia Checklov. Should I go on? Very well. You’ve been to the hospital two times, once for a broken wrist at the age of fifteen, and the other time from a fire at the age of ten.”
The shock on her face from before has nothing on the look she’s giving me now. Her normally large eyes are even bigger than usual. They look like they will burst from their sockets. She reminds me of a cartoon character.
I think she might pass out from how worked up she is, but instead, she nibbles on her lip and closes her eyes for a moment. When she finally opens them again, she looks calmer, stronger, with a passion that simmers beneath her surface. It’s intriguing, like a perfectly wrapped gift that will be even more enjoyable to tear apart.
“This is about my dad,” she states.
“Smart girl.” I smirk. “Bet you didn’t get that from your daddy.”