The Woman with the Ring (Costa Family)

The man clearly liked his music.

Across from the bed was a dresser. Above was a framed piece of art in reds and blacks that made me immediately feel unsettled when looking at it, so I didn’t spend much time with that.

Finished with the bedroom, I walked through to the master bath.

A low, whimpering noise escaped me. Because it was the bathroom of my dreams with its glass shower enclosure with multiple shower heads as well as a rain shower head above. The tile in it was a muted black that gave it a sexy look I’d only ever seen in movies. The large soaking tub to the side of the space was a similar black color. As were the double sink vanities. Even the sinks themselves and the toilet were black.

It should have been oppressive, but it just looked sleek and sexy and way too inviting.

I guess it was a good thing I liked it since I would be using it day in and out. And it was damn sure an improvement from my shoebox, outdated bathroom in my apartment.

Curious, I moved toward the vanity it looked like Primo used, picking up the little black bottle of cologne sitting there, and taking a sniff.

“Damn him,” I grumbled as my body responded to the spicy scent.

It was right about then that I finally caught sight of myself in the round mirror above the vanity, though.

It wasn’t good.

I guess I figured I must have looked rough, but the reality was worse than expected. Dried mascara clung to my cheeks. My eyes were puffy from my panic attack crying. And the skin of my cheeks was raw from the tears.

It shouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t want to be pretty for him. But some internal vanity reared its ugly head, having me grabbing for one of the washcloths—black, and I felt it was safe to assume it was Primo’s favorite color—wet it, and went to work on my face with cold water until I got all my smeared makeup off, leaving me looking younger than I did with it on.

Reaching up, I pulled the tie out of my hair, shaking the long strands out over my shoulders as I took a few deep, steadying breaths.

It was pointless to freak out, after all. It wouldn’t change my fate.

What I should have been focusing on was how to work this situation to my advantage. There had to be a way, even if nothing was coming to me at the moment.

Dropping the washcloth in the—yep, black—hamper, I moved toward the only other door, opening it, and finding myself in a mini hallway that went off in both directions.

Giant, walk-in, his & her closets.

The left side was filled with Primo’s wardrobe that seemed to consist of nothing but black. The man didn’t own a single item of white clothing. The one to the right, though, was empty save for the built-in shelving units. It was a closet I wouldn’t have a panic attack about entering.

Small wins.

I had to count them.

They might be few and far between.

I moved back out of the closet and bathroom to go stand in the bedroom, unsure what to do with myself for however long it was going to take for Primo to return to drag me to my fate.

I found myself pacing the room for a few useless moments, needing to spend my nervous energy. Once it was gone, I found myself dropping onto the edge of the bed. For all of two minutes before unwanted images flashed through my mind.

Of me in that bed.

Of Primo in it as well.

He wanted an heir.

It was non-negotiable.

Which meant I was going to need to endure sex with him.

Would he take it if I wasn’t willing?

Of course he would. Because I was never going to be willing.

On a choked, dying animal noise, I moved off the bed, dropping down on the floor over near his record player instead, leaning back against the wall, closing my eyes, and trying to escape from the warehouse in my mind.

My mind went right where it always went.

To my family.

Emilio would blame himself. And I had no way of reaching out to remind him that it was my choice, that I would do anything to save him and all our loved ones. My mother. God, my mother was going to be a wreck. An absolute wreck. Same went for my other siblings, for my cousins. Especially because it was going to be weeks or months before Primo would let me reach out to them to let them know I was okay.

“There’s a bed right there,” the loud, smooth, deep voice said, making my whole body jolt as my eyes shot open, finding Primo standing just inside the doorway.

“Your bed,” I said, voice rough.

That damn brow rose again and I decided it was a condescending movement. And I hated him even more for it.