Because what if he doesn’t just have information on my parents’ death …
What if he’s the one who killed them?
Oh, God.
The thought makes my stomach churn. Not just because it would mean I’m now trapped in a house with my parents’ killer but also because of what I felt for him when he touched me, what I let him do to me on that boat.
How can I face myself after I let this mobster finger me until I orgasmed, knowing he might be responsible for my parents’ deaths?
How did I fall so deep into this trap?
Even if I manage to find the answers I’m looking for, he probably won’t ever let me go. You don’t pay a million dollars for something and then let it run away. Marcello doesn’t seem like the type to give up, either, if I did manage to escape. He’d hunt me down and reclaim me. He’d never let me live my life in peace.
I approach the windows and stare outside. There’s a garden with pretty flowers, thick bushes, and luscious trees spread out through the terrain, a cobblestone path winding between. Right in front of the house is a circular driveway with a big fountain in the middle. It’s so serene that it almost makes me wish I could go out there just to smell the roses. Just to pretend everything’s fine.
My fingers splay on the window, and I attempt to push it open, but of course, it’s sealed shut. I don’t have a tool to pick the lock with, but it’s not like that would help me. The window is two stories high, and judging from the small size of the ledge, I’d die while trying to find my way down.
In a moment of desperation, I lean my head against the window, and a single tear escapes my eye, rolling down my cheek only to fall onto the glass and hang there like a gemstone. Like a physical reminder of how bad this whole situation is.
I can’t give up. No matter how bleak things seem. No matter how much violence I’ve experienced, or how much worse things may get. I came to Marcello with a purpose, and I must see it through. If I can’t have my freedom, then at least I still have my drive. I’ll make it my life’s mission to find my parents’ murderer, and if I have to, I’ll sacrifice my body to do it.
I nod to myself. This is it. This is what I’m going to do.
Marcello might have me, but he can’t control my resolve.
He wants me to be his kitten, a pet he can toy with? Fine, I’ll play along. I’ll do what they ask, pretend I’m the good girl. I’ll make him see how good I can be, and when he finally falls for the trap I’ve set, I’ll be there. In the end, I’ll win.
My fingers turn to cat's claws against the window, and I scratch it to mark this space as mine, like the fucking “kitten” he wants me to be. Then I turn around and strut toward the wardrobe, picking out the sexiest, most provocative outfit I can find; a long, pink dress with spaghetti straps and crystals all over the top part. There’s even a pair of white pumps embellished with crystals to match. Perfect.
Marcello won’t know what’s hit him.
I pull off my nightgown and put on the new dress. It fits, which is a surprise. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past Marcello to have secretly taken my measurements when I was drugged and bought all of these clothes, shoes, and bags just to impress me.
I go through all the drawers next. There’s nothing in here that I can use as a weapon, but there is makeup. So I grab whatever I can use and slather it all over myself until I actually look like a foxy girl put up for auction at a fine dining restaurant. Hell, I’ve never looked this good, not even for a wedding.
I gaze at myself in the mirror, and even I can barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
Bombshell.
“Come and get me, motherfucker,” I growl at my reflection as if Marcello can hear me.
He won’t see it coming until I’ve already snagged his heart and ripped it in two just for daring to confine me.
I’ll find out the truth, Mom, Dad. I promise.
Suddenly, someone knocks on the door, and my heart beats in my throat. “Yes?” I didn’t know an hour has passed already. Time flies when you’re having fun plotting the downfall of your enemy. It must be Mario to bring me to the dining room.
Someone outside the door sticks in a key, and I step back just in time.
I’m halfway to saying, “Mario…” when I realize it’s not Mario who walks in.
It’s Marcello.