Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Luca controls me. I’m his puppet. His toy. Something to show off in a forty-thousand-dollar dress. When he saw me, he said I looked absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. It makes me look like a fucking hooker. Not that I’m judging them. Just wish I was getting something out of this.
Mr. Ronald clears his throat, and the guy lifts his eyes from my chest. “Yes, my dear. I just wanted to congratulate you.” He holds out his right hand.
Thoughtlessly, I reach out and shake it. “Thank you.” My voice is monotone. He says a few more words to Luca and then walks away. My shoulders instantly sag.
“Can you be more … believable?” My father huffs, straightening his suit jacket.
My chest tightens at his words. What did I do to deserve this? Have I made him ashamed? Is this his way of forcing me to make something of my life? Or a way to further his career? He’s very successful. I thought he and Mr. Bianchi put this together, but Luca told me earlier today that it was all him. But it has to be more than that. My father wouldn’t throw me away like I’m nothing unless he had a hand in it.
“I need a drink,” I say, pulling away from between them.
“Nonalcoholic,” Luca warns.
I keep my expression blank, but I’m screaming at him on the inside. Lifting the hem of my dress off the floor, I make my way down the long hallway to the formal dining area. I pass through it to the back and look around before I push open the revolving door to the commercial-size kitchen.
Workers run around with trays in their hands. Cooks are standing at the massive grills. And there’s an assembly line of people preparing plates. I walk through, and nobody even gives me a glance, too busy with keeping up with Luca’s demanding orders. Shoving the back door open, I walk down the long and dark narrow hallway, looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not followed. I come to the end and turn the handle. Closing it softly behind me, I flip the light switch that I know is on the wall, which lights up the staircase and room below.
I lift my dress once again and walk down the stairs, my heels clicking on the wood. I smile once I hit the landing. Going over to the bottles of wine, I pick the one I want and then turn to the cabinet that has a wine opener. After opening it, I don’t even bother to look for a glass. I tip back the bottle and down it like it’s a shot, not even caring that it’s warm.
I don’t know how much time passes before I push myself up off the floor, toss the now empty bottle into the trash, and fumble up the stairs. I trip twice on my dress. Opening the door, I’m much less quiet as I make my way back down the hall and back through the kitchen to the party. No one pays me any attention, though. I’m not the reason they’re here. All four hundred people are here for Luca. For his future. For his business. I’m no one. Nothing. But that’s how women are treated in this world. The Mafia is an exclusive men’s club. The women stay home and raise the children, most of the time in a Catholic upbringing. I know nothing about the religion. I’ve never even entered a church because my parents aren’t religious. Is he going to make me do research? Or make his mother teach me? Was that mentioned in the contract that I didn’t read?
“Haven?”
I stop in my tracks at the sound of her voice. My mother. The woman who has successfully avoided me.
I turn to see her approaching me in a champagne-colored sleeveless Burberry dress. Her bleach blond hair is up in a tight bun, showcasing her delicate neck and the pearls my father gave her for Christmas last year. She looks stunning, as always, and for the first time in my life, I feel nothing but hatred toward her. Where was she when my father signed my name to the contract? Where was she when Nite removed me from my parents’ house? And where has she been for the past couple of days while I’ve been a prisoner here?
She brings her hands up to her face and gasps as she looks me up and down. “You look beautiful. Absolutely stunning.” She reaches out for my hand, but I take a stumbling step back from her. And her perfectly painted on face falls as if I hurt her feelings. “Haven, I—”
“I don’t care,” I interrupt her, then hiccup.
Her green eyes fall to my left hand, and she stares at the rock on my finger. She flinches as if it hurts her to see. She should put herself in my shoes, then maybe she would know how much it hurts to wear it. “Haven, please let me explain.”