Chapter 2
“Come on, Dad, it’s just a drink.”
“I don’t care what it is. The answer’s no.” He doesn’t spare me a glance. Just inhales that disgusting cigar and keeps his eyes on the laptop, already done with me before I’ve finished speaking.
“But I won’t be alone. My dogs will be running after me, making sure no one will even glance at me.”
Dad lets out a long exhale, making me wonder for how long he’d been keeping it in. He drives his fingers into his eyes and rubs them as if contemplating, but I know he isn’t. He’s realized he’s run out of excuses.
We came to America a few years ago to take over the underworld here, too. He already had everything locked down in Italy, so he dragged me to this pit I never wanted to be in. I didn’t have a choice. Now he’s one of LA’s most feared and prosperous businessmen, and no one dares cross him.
To the outside world, he’s Fabio Calvano—the ruthless mafia emperor, running the entire US underworld. To me, he’s just my father. A man who’s never looked twice in my direction. He never cared for me, and frankly, he never even pretended to. Sad but true, and I’ve stopped hoping it’ll ever change.
I was seven when I finally understood what he was. He looked at me like I’d just walked into the room for the first time in my life. “Your eyes are blue?” That’s what he said. Seven years of being his daughter, and that was all he noticed. That was the moment I stopped expecting anything from him.
“Go to your room,” he says sternly, driving his cigar between his lips. Ew! “And close the door on your way out.”
My jaw tightens. I feel more defeated than I ever have. What did I expect?
I turn my back and head to my room upstairs, the door flanked by my bodyguards. I have no idea why, since they’re paid to watch me and not a damn room. But who am I to judge?
“Going somewhere?” Wes, my personal bodyguard asks, raising his thick brow.
“To my room. May I?” I say sarcastically, smiling broadly.
He takes a step closer, towering over me, but I stay still. I’m not afraid of him—I know he won’t hurt me. Not unless he wants to lose his head. “Cut the sarcasm, princess.”
I cross my arms, take a step closer, and raise my eyes to meet his. “Cut the tough-guy attitude to me, Wes,” I hiss, confident he won’t continue it. “You’re nothing but my father’s pawn. Just like me.”
Colton gives him a side glance, indicating to back off, and shakes his head. Wes’s expression shifts into a smirk, sharp against his dark skin. He steps back and opens the door for me.
“Thank you!” I chirp, faking it the most I ever have.
I try to close the door, but Wes holds it in place, peering at me with his honey eyes, the eagle tattoo on the back of his hand stretching as his fingers tighten around the edge. “You might be a pawn. So am I. The difference is I’m the one who removes the others.”
I huff out a quiet chuckle. “Let’s see what the king and queen think of that. If I fall, you won’t last long.”
His jaw tightens.
Colton grabs Wes’s hand and removes it from my bedroom door. “Have a good night, Miss Calvano,” he says, closing it.
Colton is the nicest of my father’s men. His behavior isn’t random—he has a wife and a young daughter he supports back in Brazil, sending them money whenever he can. He sent them back to her country to make sure she stays away from his—my father’s—dirty business.
Some women have princes to take care of them, while I’m stuck with the asshole bodyguard who thinks he has the upper hand.
I wasn’t always this bold and defiant, especially with them. But I figured, what can they really do to me? I have to stand my ground and show some spine.
My eyes dart around my room. This huge room, filled with things I don’t care or need. Filled with my father’s dirty money and empty promises, trying to make me feel I’m normal. People say money doesn’t bring happiness, and I’m the first to back that up.
The easel stands empty in the corner of my room, charcoal dust scattered around its legs. A broken piece must’ve fallen when I slammed the door. I can’t remember the last time I drew. It used to feel like air in my lungs, but it doesn’t fill me anymore. Now it’s just another weight in my chest.
I want to go out. I’ve made up my mind, and nothing’s going to stop me. I don’t know if I can actually escape this fortress, but it’s worth a try.
I look at myself in the mirror above my white boudoir and decide to stay as I am. Besides, simple clothes will make it easier to slip away, right? So I keep my loose jeans and black fitted sweater, and just throw on my black leather jacket.
The purple orchid on the edge of the furniture looks ready to shed some of its beautiful flowers. It’s the second time it’s bloomed; rare for this kind of plant. But I’ve managed to keep it alive and interesting. Like me.
I need to make sure that no one will enter my room, so I walk up to the door and open it slightly, sneaking just my head out, drawing Colton’s eyes on me. Wes doesn’t even bother. Typical asshole.
“I’m going to sleep,” I say, my eyes on Colton.
“Have a good night, Miss Calvano,” he replies with a genuine smile, his brown eyes shining. This man is too good to be a bodyguard.
I smile back and push the door, but Wes blocks it again. He leans in closer, a few thin locks slipping loose from his manbun as his eyes narrow. “Don’t try anything.”
“Wes, come on, man.”
“Shut up, Dawson,” he hisses, peering at Colton. Colton rolls his eyes and Wes faces me. “Am I clear, Miss Calvano?”
“You’re an asshole,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
“Still the strongest pawn around.”
My breathing becomes more forced, but I try to keep my cool and not explode in front of him, because I’ll make them suspicious. Instead, I just close the door in his face.
Dio, che stronzo! God, what an asshole!
I can’t let that pig mess with my head. I have one goal, and I’ll succeed. Dad doesn’t let me go out, and Wes will do what he says like a loyal dog. But I am sick and tired of these chains.
Escaping this huge mansion Dad wants to call home wasn’t easy. I had to climb, jump, run, then jump again, but I did it. The perks of memorizing everyone’s schedule and location at that hour. Being in good shape helped a lot, too.
I guess wanting my freedom has made me paranoid. I managed to reach the highway and find myself a cab. The driver was nice, although a bit weird. After a few miles and endless questions I somehow managed to dodge, he brought me downtown to some random bar.
I don’t care about luxuries.
I care about breathing without asking for permission, even if it is only for a little while.
I enter the bar, and everything looks just like I pictured it, or at least how the movies show it—small and a bit run-down with dim lights hanging from the ceiling.
A few people sit quietly, either drinking alone or talking in low voices.
The bartender wipes a glass without looking up.
The place smells like beer, sweat, and fried food.
It’s nothing special, but it’s exactly what I was hoping for.
I walk up to the bar and take a seat on an empty stool.
“What can I get you?” the barman asks, still wiping the glass.
“Uhm,” I mumble. The truth is, I have never drunk anything, and I didn’t even plan what I was going to say. “I mean …”
“Are you lost or just hiding?” he interrupts with a side smirk.
“Nothing. Get me a beer.”
His eyes narrow, and he hesitates. Please, don’t ask for my ID. How did I forget you have to be twenty-one to drink here? I still have two years left.
“How old are you, doll?”
“Actually, today’s my twenty-first birthday.” Luckily, my reflexes hit fast.
His brows furrow, and his whole face scrunches. “And you’re here all alone? Ouch.” He grabs a beer and pops it open. “Here. It’s on the house. Happy birthday.”
I can’t believe that pathetic lie worked. People really will buy anything, huh?
Whatever; today is my one night of freedom. I bring the beer to my lips, but the smell hits me before I even taste it. I need to keep my cool and pretend I belong here.
I take a sip. It’s cold and kinda bitter, but not that bad, actually. For now, that’s what freedom tastes like for me.
Suddenly, I catch a glimpse of a guy at the end of the bar, staring at me. He doesn’t look away when I meet his eyes.
He’s not dressed like the rest. No loud shirt, messy hair, no fake confidence dripping off him. Just a plain black T-shirt, a black leather jacket slung over the back of his stool, and that steady, dark gaze.
I go back to my drink, pretending I don’t care. But I can still feel it. He’s watching me.
I can’t help but smile to myself before I return my eyes to his. They seem dark, brown maybe, like his hair and thick, arched brows. His shoulders are broad, and he seems big. Too big compared to me.
A glass of scotch is dangling loosely between his fingers, emanating a different kind of confidence.
Why does my heart jump like crazy?
I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, bashfully glancing back at my beer bottle, feeling my cheeks flushing—almost burning.
Why is he still looking at me like that?
He looks like the typical bad boy who screams danger and should make me run as fast as I can, but for some reason, I can’t look away.
Well, joke’s on him, because what I need to do next is … pee. Of course.
I glance around, pretending to check out the place, even though what I’m really doing is locating the restroom. And yep, it’s right past him, tucked behind the far corner of the bar.
Great.
I sigh quietly, and slide off the stool.
As I walk past him, I try to act normal. Like I haven’t been overanalyzing his clean-shaven and sharp jawline for the past three minutes. I don’t look at him, and he doesn’t look at me either, but I can feel it. He knows where I’m going.
Keep it cool, I tell myself. It’s just the restroom. Not a runway.
But damn, my knees feel weird.
I try to walk steady, casual, but fuck my luck, my foot catches on the leg of a stool. My body jolts forward, off balance.
Before I can react, his arm wraps around my waist, firm and quick, pulling me in.
I crash lightly into him, chest to chest, and for a split second, we’re frozen like a still from some old movie.
His eyes meet mine. Gosh, he’s too close. I can smell the scotch on his breath, feel the heat off his skin. One hand is on my waist, the other still holding his glass like he didn’t even flinch.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I nod, but I don’t move, and neither does he. It’s only a second, but it stretches, charged and stupidly perfect.
“Yeah.” I finally manage to articulate a single word. “I trip over stuff sometimes. I mean, I—” I gulp. “Nothing.”
His well-defined lips curve. He lets go slowly, making sure I’ve got my balance.
I clear my throat and take a step back, pretending I didn’t just short-circuit.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear again.
Yes, he’s big. Not only is he tall—about 6’3”—but he’s also broad and strong.
His hair is styled in a tousled undercut, the sides closely shaved while the longer top falls in messy waves across his forehead, giving him a sharp yet effortlessly rebellious look.
He looks young, around twenty-seven, and his cheek bones have that reddish healthy blush.
I always loved that about men. And those rings on his fingers make him look like a complete bad boy.
His brown eyes linger on me for a bit longer. Then he smiles and sips his drink.
“You don’t look like you’re from around here.” He sets the glass on the counter.
“How did you—?” My eyes widen.
“You’re too … well-kept for this place.”
“Is that an insult?”
His smile broads. “I would never.” The way he says it makes my stomach flip, which is ridiculous. I roll my eyes, but I’m fighting a smile. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “So, what’s your story? How did you end up in this place?”
Tell him what? Which version of my life would sound good enough, without making me look like some pathetic damsel waiting for a prince to save her?
That I’m a coward who can’t even bring myself to run from my own family?
His gaze locks on me and doesn’t let go, tracing the lines of my face like he’s memorizing them.
It’s too much, yet I can’t look away. The air between us thickens, and a shiver crawls down my spine.
I should feel uneasy, but I don’t. All I can think about is the look in his eyes and how weird it is that I like it.
“Is it too obvious that I don’t belong here?” I ask, bashfully.
He raises a brow. “It depends. Are you trying to fit in or stand out?”
“Uhm … I haven’t thought of that.”
“It can’t be that hard,” he says with a smirk that makes him the most alluring man I’ve ever seen in my life. God, and that tiniest dimple on his chin makes him even more irresistible.
He has that modeling beauty that makes you incapable of taking your eyes away. I haven’t seen such a man before.
He brushes a hand through his hair, and I catch sight of the small hoop in his tragus. Other than that, he doesn’t have any other piercings. Small tattoos are scattered across his strong arms, a snake coiled along his forearm standing out the most.
He catches me looking and lifts a brow again, this time with a hint of a smile.
“I didn’t mean to make it a hard question, little orchid.” He leans back on the counter. “I can ask something easier, if that helps.”
I squint. “Little orchid?”
He reaches for the pin tucked into the side of my hair, where it decorates my loose half-updo.
“You didn’t tell me your name, so I have to improvise.” He noticed my hair pin. He noticed they’re tiny white orchids.
He extends his hand. “I’m Adam, by the way.”
Adam … What a sexy and melodic name that is. Pretty normal, but still, when a man like him owns it, hits differently.
Oh God, I’m blushing so much that I’ll make a fool out of myself.
“There you are.”
I jump in surprise, my eyes widening.
Cazzo! Fuck!