CHAPTER EIGHT: WINTER
I can't determine if it's Enzo's warning or the fact I didn't sleep the night before, but I slept like a baby last night. I'd finished off my dinner tray, sending it back just as empty as I'd left the lunch tray and then I'd crawled into bed and fallen asleep the second my head hit the soft pillow. I hadn't dreamt of monsters again, this time nothing came to visit me in my dreams, but I guess it's a blessing.
A knock sounds at my door before it's opened and I expect a servant to enter the room, but instead it's Enzo. He's standing tall, his arms crossed in front of him and pulling his suit jacket tight across his muscles. His posture is as straight as soldier's. I don't move from the spot in my bed.
"Good morning," he offers coolly, his gaze blank. "Get up."
I blink. "Am I not getting my breakfast?" Nervousness takes over, my hands shaking slightly. "I ate my lunch and dinner yesterday," I quickly inform him.
Is he here to force feed me my breakfast like he warned he would? Did he lie and plan on doing this anyway?
He shakes his head. "You're eating your breakfast downstairs this morning."
"Downstairs?"
“That's what I said." His words are tinged with irritation, making my back straighten. His demeanor is much cooler than yesterday. His eyes roam over me for a moment before the corners of his lips twitch downward. He clears his throat, looking away from me. "I told you, stop asking questions unless you want to be in trouble. Now put on your house shoes and come on."
It's only as I'm kneeling down to get said shoes that I remember what I'm wearing, the air from the vent blowing across my exposed skin. I look down, staring at the way my breasts sit high in the dress from the bra that was picked out for me. I open my mouth to ask if I can change before abruptly snapping it shut, remembering the warning to remain quiet. I press my head against the comforter of the bed, my temple throbbing with pain. Not even a second passes before Enzo is loudly clearing his throat.
I sit up, pulling the shoes on before wordlessly climbing to my feet. Enzo beckons me forward before moving out of the room and I follow closely behind him. The halls are quiet, but I'm not surprised. Other than the servants who bring me my food and the maids who pick up the empty trays, I haven't heard or seen anyone around.
When we get to the top of the spiral steps, I have to keep myself from stopping, my heart picking up in my chest. I don't know why being out of my room freaks me out when being shut in it yesterday was my fear. But something about leaving this level has my hackles raised and I can feel my palms begin to sweat.
What waits for me downstairs?
I know it can't just be breakfast.
When we get to the bottom of the steps, Enzo takes a left, leading us away from the front door. We turn down a long hallway where the aroma of food hits my nose followed by the sound of pots and pans clanging together. At the end of the hall, Enzo pushes a door open, holding it so I can pass by him.
One step into the room, my feet stop.
Giovanni sits at a table, leaned back in the seat, his shoulders relaxed as he peers at his phone. The table is glass, exposing his feet crossed at the ankle beneath it. He's wearing a nicely pressed black suit that fits his frame perfectly. He doesn't move an inch, giving no indication that he knows we're in the room with him.
My gaze moves past him where a skinny woman with long black hair is at a stove, steam coming from the skillet. She turns around and offers me a wide, toothy smile before turning back to the food.
A hand presses into the small of my back, brief but firm. I get the message loud and clear.
Move.
It feels hard to put one foot in front of another as I make my way to the table, but I just manage, my legs shaking slightly. I place my hand against the back of the seat opposite from Giovanni. It's the furthest one from him, all the way at the end, three seats between us on each side. I tug, sliding it back, my gaze on the ground.
"Stop," Giovanni's voice cuts through the room, cold and harsh. My blood runs cold. "You will not sit there, you'll sit here."
I finally lift my gaze, finding Giovanni's hand on the chair to his right. I take a deep gulp, glancing behind me to Enzo, but his gaze isn't on me. He's looking blankly off in the distance, his hands folded behind his back.
"I won't repeat myself," Giovanni says and somehow his voice is even colder.
I release the chair in my grasp, moving to the one next to him. His hand is still on the back of it and when I try to pull it back, it doesn't budge. Nervous and puzzled, I look at Giovanni, but his eyes don't meet mine. Instead, they're roaming over my body, taking in the mesh places on my gown that expose my skin. When his brown eyes lift to mine, there's finally a spark of something different. The coolness I've gotten from him to this point is gone. His eyes narrow slightly, crinkling at the corners, and I wait for him to say something, the growing silence becoming tenser with each passing moment.
"Sit," he finally says, pulling his hand off the chair and going back to his phone.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, falling into the chair quickly since it feels like my legs are going to give out at any moment. I place my hands on top of the cool table, tangling them together and keeping my gaze on them. Giovanni remains silent, tapping at his phone.
I jump slightly when a glass clatters to the table and I look up to find the woman placing a plate in front of Giovanni. It's stacked with eggs, bacon, and some type of thick, fluffy rolls. The woman returns, placing a steaming cup of what looks like coffee beside the plate.
My stomach growls, loud in the otherwise quiet room.
Giovanni's gaze lifts from the phone. "Maybe you shouldn't have chosen not to eat your breakfast yesterday morning," he says, raising a brow. And then he picks his fork up and begin to eat.