Chapter 15
JADE
After he left, I wandered through the house for a while, familiarizing myself with my surroundings should danger strike and I’d need a place to hide. That’s how my brain thinks these days, always looking for a hole to disappear into.
Wrapping my arms around the oversized cozy sweater he bought me, I saunter past guard after guard, their stoic expression enhancing the air of danger surrounding them.
As I walk down a large corridor, I freeze when I pass a room he never showed me.
The grand piano is visible through the glass door, and my fingertips tingle with reminiscence of once playing the keys so well I’d drown in the music, the world around me slipping away.
Could I still play or have my hands forgotten?
FOURTEEN YEARS OLD
“Play that again,” Mom says from behind me, her palms clasped to my shoulders as I peer over at her, a smile brightening her face.
I place my fingers back on the keys, the music drifting, the sound of “Prelude No.1 in C Major” bathing us in tranquility. It’s my mother’s favorite. And it’s mine because of it.
We never had money for a piano of our own, but we didn’t need one, because this one, it belonged to my grandma. She was a classical pianist, and Mom likes to say I inherited her natural talents.
I’ve always loved to play. Once, when I sneaked into the music room at school, I played when no one was there, or at least I thought I was alone. I caught the eye of the music teacher who took me under her wing and taught me everything else I didn’t know.
“You’re truly amazing,” Mom whispers. “Don’t ever forget that, Jade.”
“I won’t.”
Thinking about her still causes a jolt of pain, knowing she’s out there, believing I’m dead, never getting closure. It’s an agony I can’t describe.
I swipe under my eyes, the wet drops soaking up my fingers. Mom would understand why I couldn’t contact her though. She spent her life protecting her children. She’d never want me to put Robby in danger.
I continue to stare at the piano, unable to pull myself away, wanting so badly to know if I could play again, but I won’t try. That’ll only remind me of the good days, and I can’t think of them right now.
I keep moving, even though my heart and soul are still in that room, wishing I could pour myself into every keystroke.
The room beside it seems much safer—a large office by every appearance with its door set open. A black contemporary desk sits in the middle with a high-back leather chair. A long teal sofa stretches across one side, the walls painted a pale gray.
Stepping inside, my feet stride past the soft ivory carpet, the shaggy threads sliding in between my toes, my hand gliding over the polished desk, not a speck of dust on it.
Curiosity sets in and I slip around the desk toward the drawers, wanting to know what a man like that keeps in his office. Maybe I’ll find something that’ll tell me who he really is.
I pull out the top drawer, finding two blue folders and a small note pad lying on top. Reaching for the pad, I don’t expect to find anything in it. But as I open it, my head snaps back.
“How the hell did he know…?” My voice drifts as I read the first page.
Hey, Joelle. Nice snooping.
I flip to the next page, my pulse speeding.
You’re looking especially sexy today.
I read through the two other notes, not understanding how he knew I’d wander in here.
You won’t find anything too exciting, I’m afraid.
Or maybe you will.
Quickly dropping the pad back into the drawer, I take out the folders. My gaze roams around the room, looking for cameras that I know are here. He could be watching me right now. A smile slinks to my lips and I flip a middle finger right before I go into examining the contents of the first folder.
I find receipts with no business name on them, amounts in the thousands. Rifling through the rest, I move on to the next folder. But just as I open it, something slips out, wafting onto the floor.
Kneeling, I retrieve it, turning it around, finding a photo of a man I’d never thought I’d see again. My shock’s hidden behind a rough breath.
I can’t stop staring into Roman’s bloodied face. So much of it, I could barely recognize him. Why does Enzo have this photo? Did he beat him? For me? Now it makes sense why I haven’t seen him since the night Enzo saw us together. Is he dead?
I need answers, and when Enzo’s home, he’s going to give them to me. Taking the picture, I place the folder back inside, closing the drawer and heading back to my room.
As I do, I pass the foyer, the jangle of keys clinking from the outside has me staying exactly where I am.
Enzo walks in, tight gray trousers and a dark navy button-down conforming to his body like they’ve been permanently sewn to him, the taut muscles of his arms, his chest rippling under his clothes as he finds me standing before him.
His brow bends in question, probably noting my tight expression.
“We have to talk,” I say, the photo dangling from my hand.
“Sure, baby.” I’m met with an amusing smirk ticking up the corner of his mouth. “Might this have to do with you snooping through my office?”
“You didn’t exactly tell me not to.”
“You’re right. I didn’t.” He attempts to lock the door behind him, and when he’s about to, a car comes screeching down the street right outside.
He instantly hardens—his face, his body, everything goes on alert. “Stay here and don’t move,” he demands as he runs out of the house, one of his men beside him, whispering into his ear. Enzo shakes his head, saying something in return, but I can’t hear it.
I stay by the door as the tires advance from beyond until a white Mercedes comes to a stop right in front of the house. Two women in short dresses hop out.
My body goes rigid, a burning sensation rolling into my chest.
He has women coming here? While he acts like I matter? Calling me baby. Making me think… I don’t know what.
My stomach recoils with a fury I hadn’t known I had.
He talks to them with his back to me, and I can see his hands moving as they each gaze up at him, the blonde one running her nails up his arm while the one with the pink streaks in her hair bites on her lower lip, her dress matching the color of her strands.
My feet are moving before I have a chance to stop them. A smile falls to my face as I step out, the same one I gave the crowd that filled the club every night. Walking over, I come to stand beside Enzo, my palm roughly catching his shoulder as he glances questioningly at me.
“What are you ladies doing out here?” I ask innocently, while inside, disgust swirls. “It’s cold. Come in,” I continue, gesturing with a hand toward the house.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growls into my ear.
I ignore him, my lips winding up.
“We’d love to!” the pink-haired one practically chirps.
They rush past me, marching right in, with Enzo and me following them.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps again, his hand reaching for my hip, his fingers harshly nipping at my skin, but it only makes the fire inside me burn brighter.
I narrow a glare. “You wanted them here? Well, who am I to stop you?”
“I didn—” he tries to explain but I peel his hand off me and join the women inside, who’ve already made themselves quite at home, their stilettos still on, a tanned leg crossed over the other.
I take my seat opposite them, while Enzo runs a hand through his hair, his forehead furrowed. He’s looking uncharacteristically nervous.
“Would you girls like some water or a glass of wine?” I ask, passing a glance at Enzo, whose eyes look like two large bullets aiming right at me.
My pulse beats faster as we stare each other down, my nails biting into my palm.
“We’d love some wine,” the blonde tosses, curling her lips as she stares at him.
He’s fucked them both. That much is obvious. My body grows numbingly cold, but I have no right to be jealous. He doesn’t owe me a thing. In fact, I’ve hurt him, turned him down more than once, and he’s still here, trying to help me.
He’s beaten Roman for merely putting his hands on me.
What would he do if he knew what the Bianchis have done?
What the men who pay them have done? Would he kill them?
For me? A girl who means nothing to anyone anymore?
An invisible soul trapped in a body burned with scars.
That’s who I am. He can’t possibly fall in love with a woman like that.
No. A man like him doesn’t want a girl who’s sold her body for money.
Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I revert my attention back to him, his gaze still glued to mine, the anger weaved within it.
“Be a good host and go get them some wine,” I taunt, gripped with a feral possessiveness for a man I wish I could have.
His jaw twitches. I swallow against the ache in my throat, hating that these women got to have something I desperately want.
His chest roughly expands, then he marches out of the room. The last thing I want is to be stuck here with these women. I don’t even know why I did what I did, but with the envy swirling through me, I couldn’t control myself.
“So, who are you exactly?” pink hair asks. “We’ve never seen anyone else here before.”
“Yeah,” blondie chimes in. “Are you his sister or something?”
No, Joelle. Don’t do it.
But the thought to piss him off further is a lot more thrilling.
“I am his sister. We’re actually very close, maybe a little too close if you know what I mean.” I pop up a shoulder, leaning my face in with a flirty arch of my brows.
“Wha— Ugh. Do you mean you guys…” The blonde one bulges out her eyes.
“Wow.” The other flips her hair back. “You two look nothing alike.”
I think that just went past her tiny brain.
I shrug. “Our mom must’ve had too much fun with the mailman.”
In that moment, Enzo stomps back in, three glasses in his hands.
“Babe,” the pink one calls. “Oh my God, you never told me your mother had an affair with the mailman.”
The blonde woman keeps looking from Enzo to me, like she’s trying to imagine us fucking.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
“Don't call me babe.” His reply is a sharp bite as he hands them each a glass, looking back at me over his shoulder, his teeth clamping.
The women chug their wines as though it’s a shot, while Enzo steps up to me, his body towering, his eyes holding me captive. “Drink.” He stretches out a commanding hand, and I tentatively retrieve the glass, my heart flipping around like it’s come undone from the grip of my body.
I take a seductive sip.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, Joelle.” He leans into my neck, a gruff whisper twining up my insides, warming every inch of me. “But you’re gonna answer for this.”
I stand, my body flat against his, my breasts licking over the buttons of his shirt.
“For what exactly?” I sneer, my voice lowered.
“I’d never want to get in between you and your extracurricular activities.
” My eyes are hard on his, while his pin me with a thicker glare.
“Now, excuse me.” I rush past him. “I’ll be upstairs while you entertain your friends.
” Taking a final look at him over my shoulder, I find him oozing with fury. “Have a great time.”
I don’t give him a moment to reply, heading for the stairs, and as I climb up, I hear one woman say, “We should go up too. We really missed you, Enzo.” As I enter my room, I hope I don’t hear him fucking them through the walls.