Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet 1)

But being his favourite had taught me enough about Seamus Moore to know better than to believe a word he said. And as I smiled sharply into his molted face, I knew he was proud of me for seeing through his bullshit. It showed him that he had taught me well.

We were almost there.

The signage for Roma promised us a farther fifteen-minute drive, but I recognized the route well enough, even in the dark, to know we would be there in ten. After that, we would ascend the hill to Aventine, the exclusive neighborhood outside of the tourist scope, tucked among leaves and hedges like a hidden Eden. I had never been to that part of the city. My infrequent modelling career had given me no reason to stray outside of the centro storico unless I was craving my favourite slice of pizza from a small trattoria in the Jewish Quarter.

As we climbed the hill, the Fiat huffing inelegantly with effort, I twisted my hands in my lap and forced myself to take three deep breaths. I had my own plan, and it was about time that I set part one in motion.

“Papa.”

Seamus looked over at me and smiled as he pulled into a small side street. “Yes, carina?”

“I have one condition for the sale.”

One red eyebrow rose, and though I looked nothing like him, it was uncanny how similarly we expressed ourselves in the flowing movement of our hands and the elasticity of our features. I felt a hard pang in my chest and wondered if it was because I would miss him or because I so deeply hated him.

“I will disappear, right here, right now, unless you agree to my terms,” I said.

“Well then.” He waved his hand to go on before flicking the turn single and coasting to the front of a large wrought iron gate. He rolled down the window, but the gates opened before he could speak into the intercom.

I waited, taking in the sloping driveway bracketed by beautifully cut grass and spiraling trees. The house appeared almost immediately, large and traditional with a red clay roof and golden stucco walls. It was beautiful, certainly, but a fake, a very obvious modern reproduction of something the owner could have had authentically with perhaps a few less amenities.

“You need to leave,” I said as I got out of the car quickly and reached into the back to snatch the small duffel bag I had hidden under my seat. “I packed your clothes, some money.” Money that I had shamefully stolen from Sebastian’s getaway fund. “Even your pipe is in here.”

“How thoughtful,” he said, rising out of the small car and staring at me from across the hot metal.

“I’m serious, Papa.” My accent thickened noticeably as my anxiety spiked. We didn’t have much time to linger in the driveway. I had already seen a curtain twitch. “I need you to swear to me that you will never go back there.”

“They need me,” he said, but it lacked conviction because even Seamus Moore wasn’t a good enough liar to make that true.

“They really don’t. You’ve only brought the family shame and misfortune. Until now, it was almost forgivable. You have a gambling problem and a silver tongue.” I shrugged. “You were born like that. But now, you’ve gambled away your daughter. And I won’t ever let you put Giselle or Elena in the same situation.”

“Ah, I see. So you think this is a good trade? The golden daughter martyred for the wicked father?” Seamus’ eyes twinkled merrily. He delighted in my mind, in the games and trades he had imparted to me like wisdom. It wasn’t wisdom, it was foolery, but if he wanted to believe otherwise, I didn’t really care.

“No, I think they’ll be better off without both of us. We attract too much attention,” I said.

The redhead gambler involved with the mafia and the beautiful virgin they lusted after… it didn’t make for a happy ending for anyone, but especially their loved ones.

“Arrogant.”

I shrugged.

“Your sisters are beautiful, too. And your Sebastian.”

My heart started, stuttered, and stopped at the mention of my brother, my other half. But I had thought this out carefully, and I knew the statistics and probabilities of their future more clearly than I could ever foresee my own.

“A handsome man is still a man. And with you gone, they’ll actually have a chance of getting out,” I pointed out.

“No one just ‘gets out’, Cosima.” It was the first time my father’s voice had changed from anything but pleasant. “Not without consequences.”

“I know.” I nodded, the finality of the movement like a hammer. “What do you call this?”

I tossed the bag back into the car and slammed the door shut before turning on my heel to head for the massive oak doors of the villa. A small portfolio containing the only things I cared about in this life was clutched under my arm like something precious and superfluous, like a football.