Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
My brows furrow. It’s hard to see drugging as a form of caring, but maybe in some twisted Mafia way it is. In their world, anything goes to get what you want. And he wants me … that’s for sure.
“When will he be coming back?” I ask.
The man pauses before grabbing a glass of water for himself and sitting down at the table with me. “To be frank, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “He’s the head of the Mafia. I don’t control him.”
“No wonder he bought me like I was some kind of prize …” I scoff, looking down at myself. The nightgown I’m wearing suddenly feels too revealing, and I cross my arms over my chest. Not because the fabric is too thin, but because of how it makes me feel.
Used.
“No,” Mario interjects. “Marcello isn’t like that.” He leans in. “You must understand, Marcello never buys girls. You’re the first.”
“Is that supposed to ease my mind?” I snort. “He was there, and he did it. That’s enough proof for me.”
“Marcello doesn’t usually take part in those auctions. But he told me he saw you, and … he needed to save you from that place,” he says.
My eyes narrow. I don’t think Mario was supposed to tell me this.
“What I’m saying is, Marcello means well,” he adds.
I lean back in my chair. “Well, he should’ve let me go free then.”
Mario clears his throat. “You know he can’t do that. You know too much already.”
I knew it was coming. The obvious threat underneath all the sweet talk.
“Not only that but he’s also taken a particular liking to you …”
“A liking?” I repeat.
Mario nods and then makes a hand gesture to wave it off. “You know what I mean. If Marcello wants you in his house, you can be rest assured he likes you as more than just an acquaintance.”
“Right. And that’s supposed to make me feel better about this whole situation?” I ask. “You make it sound like he’s a good man. But what kind of man throws around cash to buy a kidnapped woman?”
Mario makes an uncomfortable face. “He is a good man. Or at least, he tries to be. Like all of us,” he says. “But none of us are exempt from sin.” He takes a sip of his water and puts down his glass. “C’mon. Let’s get you back to your room. You must be starving, and the soup is getting cold.”
As I stand, he takes hold of my arm and leads me out of the room again, almost as if he’s in a hurry. We walk back upstairs, and I can’t help but feel an impending doom descend over me like a fog clouding my brain. I don’t have enough time to process everything that’s happening as he ushers me back into my room and pushes me toward the wardrobe.
“Go choose an outfit to wear and get dressed,” Mario says as he walks back toward the door. “Choose carefully. You’ll be having dinner with Marcello tonight. I’ll be back to escort you down in an hour or so.”
And before I have a chance to respond to that wild spurt of unexpected information, he’s disappeared into the hallway. He locks the door behind him, trapping me in this giant room that feels more claustrophobic than any other space I’ve ever been in.
I do a quick mental recap of my situation, trying to get my bearings as if that’s even possible.
I’m locked in a mansion.
Owned by a mafia boss like some plaything … a pet.
Worst of all … that monster knows something about my parents.
What the fuck is happening?
Harper
I stare at the wardrobe and all the luxurious clothes it contains. Prada, Gucci, Chanel—everything I could ever imagine but never afford is here. Even the bags are from Hermès, and the shoes are by Jimmy Choo. My fingers brush over the fabrics and leather, wondering what it’d be like to wear them and feel them embrace my skin. If it’d be beautiful and if I’d feel pampered … or if I’d just be pretending to fit in.
I remove a couple of items from the closet and stare at them; there’s a partially see-through dress, a gem-studded dress, and a bright red dress with frilly ends. They’re gorgeous, but a stark reminder of my imprisonment. Like a fancy diamond collar for a dog.
Anger boils to the surface and overwhelms me, and I chuck all the dresses to the side in a burst of rage.
“Fuck!” I yell, slamming the wardrobe closed.
With my hands in my hair, I pace around the room, wondering how I’m ever going to get myself out of this mess. The moment I started tailing Marcello, I let my guard down, and in retrospect, nothing could be stupider. He knew exactly how to wrap me around his finger and make me want him, despite knowing he’s a bad person. Maybe even worse than I initially thought.