Chapter 17 Valentina #2
“Really?” a voice shouts from behind as I reach the foot of the grand staircase that leads to the gardens. It’s dry, unmistakably brutish, and belongs to the man Giovanni placed in charge of my watch.
I run as fast as the wind, but Giovanni’s brother is faster. I don’t even reach the edge of the manicured lawn before a hand clamps around my wrist and I’m yanked back.
“Let go!” I shout, twisting hard.
With my mind on the fritz, I slap him across the face without considering the consequences of my actions.
I wince when the contact sets my palm on fire.
Giovanni’s brother only growls. It vibrates through my bones but does absolutely nothing to my insides, proving I’m ruled by my libido only when it comes to Giovanni.
The dark-haired brute steals any further protest by hauling me off my feet and tossing me onto his shoulder. I kick and squirm, but his grip is ironclad. I don’t gain an inch.
“You know this is illegal, right? You can’t hold someone against their will. It’s against the law.”
He snorts. “Says you. You know, you’re lucky you slapped me and not one of the guards. They would have called Giovanni. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
“Why? Because he might have something to say about his baboon brother manhandling me?”
His laugh is the loudest I’ve heard to date. “If you think this is me manhandling you, sweetheart, you’re not close to getting an invitation into Matteo’s bed.”
“Who?”
He slaps my backside, popping my eyes from their sockets.
“Matteo. Pleasure to meet you, Valentina.” As he enters the Caruso mansion with me dangling off his shoulder, he continues.
“You’ve caused quite the ruckus in the Caruso realm.
Haven’t heard so much speculation since Dante’s baby mama showed up at his door, carrying his child in her arms instead of in her gut. ”
I’m lost for a reply, so I stick with insults. “Has anyone ever told you only narcissists speak about themselves in third person?”
His miffed Ha! rumbles through my core. “Sounds about right.”
With my shock too high to continue with our spar, Matteo follows the maid through a maze of hallways and grand living rooms with marble floors and gilded mirrors in silence.
Even with all the blood in my body rushing to my head, I catch glimpses of opulent chandeliers, velvet sofas, and distant sounds of laughter.
Huh?
Humiliation burns my face when the reason for the boisterous chuckles enters my head, but beneath it is a reminder that I’m not invisible here.
It just seems the Caruso brothers have yet to learn that.
Matteo finally stops outside a heavy wooden door. He sets me down, not ungently but not gently, either, before he fixes my feet in place with a stern look. I’d give more of a fight if I weren’t exhausted. Multiple orgasms are draining, so I won’t mention the toll of an emotionally draining day.
When the maid slots a key into the lock, Matteo’s wolf whistle is as arrogant as his words. “The presidential suite. You must give good head.”
I shoot him a dirty look while rubbing my wrists as if I’m injured. I’m not. I just want him to sweat.
Matteo acts nonchalant, but I see the way his eyes dilate when the thought of me being hurt pops into his head.
After opening the door wide enough for his gigantic shoulders to fit through, Matteo gestures for me to enter first. I’m hesitant, but Giovanni exhausted the last of my energy in the orchard.
Furthermore, it’s late. Carlisle is safer than Los Angeles, but I still don’t want to wander its streets at this time of night.
I’ll take the evening to regather my bearings. Then, first thing tomorrow, I’m out of here.
I’m such a liar. The desire to confront Giovanni isn’t the only reason I’m digging in my heels. I’ve always been curious to see how the other half live.
Upon entering my room, I’m momentarily taken aback by its sheer extravagance. The room is vast, easily twice the size of my apartment back in Los Angeles. Dark, polished walnut panels cover the walls, and their surfaces reflect the soft golden light from a crystal chandelier.
The ceiling is high and adorned with intricate swirls and medallions that catch the rainbow hues of the chandelier, and a heavy mahogany desk dominates the space. Its surface is so glossy I can see my reflection in it.
Behind it, mahogany bookshelves stretch from the floor to the ceiling. They’re filled with leather-bound books and the occasional marble book bust. The rug beneath my feet is so thick and plush, it muffles my footsteps.
A pair of wingback chairs is arranged before a fireplace that looks like it’s never seen a speck of dust. On the mantel, a gilded clock ticks quietly, and vases overflowing with fresh lilies flank it. The windows are tall and draped with velvet curtains the color of midnight.
It’s a beautiful room, but in a cold, intimidating way. This room was designed to impress, not to be cozy. The biggest telltale? There’s no bed or anything remotely domestic. It’s more the private office of a king than a place for someone to rest.
I turn to face Matteo, who’s milling by the door. “Is this the right room? I was told I’d be next to Giovanni, but I don’t see a bed.”
A sly smile plays at his lips. “This is the only room next to Giovanni’s.”
“Then where’s the bed?”
He nods toward a discreet door set in the paneling. “It’s in there.”
I march to the doors and throw them open. My heart launches into my throat when I take in the oversized bed in another male-dominated space.
“Our rooms are interconnecting.”
I’m summarizing, but Matteo doesn’t know that. “Uh-huh.”
“And there’s only one bed.”
He makes another agreeing gesture, and the implication behind it makes my blood boil.
I’m to share Giovanni’s space but only be known to his father as his surrogate.
Anger surfaces when my heart reaches the same conclusion as my head.
I’m nothing but a gimmick to this family.
With her hands folded neatly in front of herself, the maid appears. “Would you like anything, signorina? Tea? A blanket?”
I shake my head before forcing a polite smile. “No, thank you.” I don’t need anything because I won’t be here long. The instant I’m alone, I’ll be in the quickest transport home. I’d rather risk the streets of Carlisle at night than be treated like an object.
Matteo seems more adapt at reading minds than knowing when someone needs space. “It’s for your privacy as well as Giovanni’s. The family doesn’t need to know every detail of his personal life.”
I fold my arms over my chest to hide the shake of my hands. “Privacy or secrecy?”
He doesn’t answer me. He just glances at the interconnecting door again. “If you need anything, ask.”
He loiters for a moment, then finally leaves.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I test the handle. It’s locked, so I try the windows next.
Each one is sealed shut as if they anticipated I’d attempt an escape. What other reason would they have to lock the windows?
Even desperate, I wouldn’t risk death by scaling down from this height.
As I stand amid the opulence, I feel more trapped than ever. The grandeur is suffocating, and the secrecy shrouding it makes my skin crawl.
I need to get out of here.
I just have to survive tonight first.