A knot has formed in my throat, so hard and so big I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to breathe normally again. I knew that he helped us escape. I suspected that he paid a price. Seeing the proof of that is almost too much to stand. “So you distracted them?”
“They were looking for an attack. I gave them one.”
“And they realized it was you?”
“Not right away.” Something cold flickers over his expression. “When they connected me to the explosion, they figured out why I’d done it. Nunzio told them we had been meeting in secret.”
I gasp because they were family. Cousins, technically, but like brothers. Giovanni had told Nunzio about meeting me in the pool house, had used his help to do it. “How could he do that to you?”
“They probably threatened him. Threatened his parents.” A pause. “Or maybe he didn’t want to get strung up in the basement like I was.”
Without meaning to, I take a step forward. A step toward him.
He puts his hand up to stop me. “I don’t need your pity, bella. Don’t waste it on me. I show you this so you’ll understand. So you don’t look to me for mercy. I have none.”
I swallow hard. He’s right. How can I beg him for freedom when he was tortured to try and save me? Those are not his scars. They’re mine. He took them for me. Grief shudders through me for the boy who died that night, in spirit if not in body. I may have believed him gone all this time, but now I know exactly how it happened. It broke something in him, and God, just the knowledge is breaking something inside me.
“You want me to wear that dress tomorrow night? Fine. I owe you that.” I force myself to take a breath. “I owe you more than I can ever repay. You want me to stand up in front of a priest and say the words I do for whatever power it will bring you? Fine.”
If I expected to see satisfaction, I would have been disappointed. I’m giving up everything I have to a statue made of stone. He doesn’t move, still naked from the waist up, still impenetrable.
I do take a step closer then, because I’m not completely defenseless here. At least, I hope I’m not. “But you can’t force me to consummate this marriage. I’m asking—” I’m more than asking. I’m begging. “Please, Gio. I may not love the man you are now, but don’t make me hate you.”
His head cocks to the side, his eyes incisive, like he’s trying to figure me out. “Do my scars disgust you that much?”
The crack that formed inside me at the sight of them breaks into a thousand pieces. “No, Gio—how could you think that? Your body doesn’t disgust me.” His body is beautiful and strong, a temple of masculine power. The scars don’t detract from that. He’s been forged in fire.
“Then what?”
“I don’t want to be forced, Giovanni. Not about that.”
He takes a step close, and his legs are long enough that we’re only inches apart. The air fills with the salt and spice of him. My heart races. His eyes are dark pools that I can sink into, quicksand, pulling me down faster the harder I struggle.
“Then don’t make me force you, bella. Don’t fight.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I can’t agree to this. It would be the same, whether I lashed out at him with my fists or whether I lay still and accepted him. Either way, it would be force. Because I have no choice. I can have no real choice as long as he holds me here.
“One more thing,” he murmurs. “Don’t ask Maria for help again. It won’t work.”
My breath catches in my chest. I hadn’t been sure she would help me, but I’d hoped she wouldn’t tell on me. Apparently her loyalty to Giovanni runs deeper than I thought. Certainly deeper than any of the household help felt for my father.
Before I can respond, he turns and strides from the room, his shirt and suit jacket still draped over the gold fabric of my dress, a symbol of his command over me even when he’s gone.
Chapter Eleven
I told Giovanni I would stay and do what he needed. I think I might owe him that, not that I have much choice at the moment. But I’m not going to stay forever. Whatever power play he’s working on will end eventually. My mother escaped my father. I’ll find a way to leave too.
For right now, I’m focused on getting a message to Honor. She’ll be crazy with worry. She would have tried to call me the night of the party at the Grand and expected me to meet her for a spa day the next morning. For that matter, Amy will worry too. I have to at least let them know I’m alive, that I’m safe.
As safe as you can be with a mafia capo holding you captive.
The next morning I’m determined to find a crack in the walls. Clearly the girl, Maria, told Giovanni about me asking for help. Asking again won’t do any good and, more than likely, would just piss off Gio once he heard. Instead I focus on trying to get information. Maybe she can tell me something useful.
The tray she brings in this morning is piled with thick French toast and sliced fruit. She sets it down while Romero takes a snarling Lupo downstairs. Worry tugs at me as I watch the gray mop of fur disappear through the door, tail between his legs, body low to the ground. He doesn’t trust Romero, which is understandable. I don’t either. But he doesn’t trust me, doesn’t trust anyone.
That’s no way to live.
Maria looks like she’s about to leave once she sets the food out.