Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Liana
Ipace my bedroom two weeks before the wedding, the plush rug inside my closet, swallowing the sound of my steps as I cut a restless line back and forth, over and over, my fingers trailing over every dress.
Silk, lace, cotton…all textures, all fabrics, yet none of them are right for this.
Anxiety knots around my ribs, a spring wound tight and winding tighter.
The low hum of cicadas filter in from the cracked window.
That sound is the only thing breaking the quiet, but it’s no comfort for me, not right now at least. I catch my own reflection in the full-length mirror and scowl.
My face is pale, my long, dark hair loose and wild, and my eyes are shadowed by sleepless worry.
I can’t help but look away, disgusted with myself.
I should be choosing an outfit for each event on my schedule in the days before the wedding, but I can’t bring myself to pick out anything.
I still have hope my cousin will come and save me.
That he will find a way to get me out of here…
that maybe I can convince Frankie to come with me.
I shake my head at that last stupid thought.
There’s no way Rio’s guard will come with me and it’s naive of me to think otherwise.
‘Get it together, Liana.’
A knock at the door snaps me out of it, making me jump out of my skin. It’s like I’m afraid someone can hear my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call with uncertainty as I exit the closet and turn towards the door, watching it open.
Frankie stands there filling the doorway with his broad shoulders, blocking the light behind him as his eyes sweep over me with that usual, unsettling stillness.
He doesn’t speak, making me tug at the t-shirt I’m wearing nervously.
He just leans into the doorframe, crossing his arms, looking like he’s trying not to intrude but also making it clear he’s not leaving without saying what he came to say.
I eye him but don’t speak a word. I’m still annoyed with his demeanor and the way he acts around me.
His hot and cold back and forth is frustrating.
I watch his arms flex and for a minute I’m almost pulled back into that lustful trance he captures me in every time he’s around…
almost. Then I remember I’m still due to be married in two weeks and that anxiety I’ve had all day creeps back in.
“You’re wearing a path in that carpet,” he says finally, lips twitching into a half-smile that’s more tired than amused.
There’s something careful about his face, something that says he’s noticed more than just the pacing but I don’t give a damn.
I don’t care how tired he is. He isn’t the one who is marrying a stranger and I don’t need his small talk or jokes right now.
I roll my eyes and turn away from him letting out a snarky laugh as I tug at the hem of my shirt again.
“Guess I’m a little nervous. You know…because I’m about to marry a stranger in less than a month.”
“‘A little is putting it mildly,” he shoots back, still teasing.
He clearly didn’t catch my snark which only serves to piss me off more. I turn back around with a glare.
“In case you haven’t taken the hint, I’m not in the mood for your jokes today.”
He straightens immediately, steps into the room, and walks towards me.
I back away from him just as he comes closer, causing him to stop and stare at me with confusion.
I don’t need him coming any closer and smothering me with my own lustful thoughts right now.
I need to stay angry. I want to stay angry, dammit.
“Why don’t we get out of here for a while? Clear your head. Phoenix nightlife might be what you need,” he says softly.
Now it’s my turn to look confused. I blink, thrown by the suggestion.
I thought we were on a full lockdown now that my cousin all but declared he was coming for me.
What has changed? I know he won’t speak to me about Andre.
I know because I’ve tried incessantly over the past couple of weeks.
Every time, he shuts down before storming off angrily and disappearing for days.
When he comes back, he’s always bruised and battered. I try a different tactic instead.
“Nightlife? Frankie, I’m getting married in two weeks.”
His brow arches, and for a split second there’s something sharp in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can name it. In its place is a cocky sparkle instead.
“Exactly,” he says with an even tone. “All the more reason to have a little fun before everything changes.”
I hesitate, my fingers twisting together in my shirt. The thought of escaping this airless room, these endless reminders of choices, vows and expectation…it’s really tempting. Maybe even a little too tempting.
“I don’t think my future husband will enjoy me prancing around Arizona’s nightlife…do you?” I ask him in a slightly teasing tone causing him to scowl.
“It won’t bother him, I promise.”
This time I scowl.
“You’re right. I almost forgot, the old man doesn’t give a damn about his new virgin bride. He only cares if I bleed on my wedding night.”
Frankie’s face remains neutral as he steps closer to me and pulls my chin up so I’m forced to look at him.
“I assure you that isn’t true, Little Datura. Any man would be lucky to have you as their bride, virgin or not.”
I’m stuck in that same damn trance he gets me in every time as I get lost in his gaze and nod in defeat.
“Okay,” I say, before I can talk myself out of it. “Let’s go out.”
He smiles, just enough to show satisfaction, then tips his head toward the closet. “Wear something different from your usual sundresses. I’m taking you to a nightclub.”
When he leaves I enter my closet and study the rows of dresses, but it’s not a hard choice.
I reach for the short black one, the one I bought just to see if I could.
It’s the one I pulled off a rack last time we went shopping, waiting to see if I could get any reaction out of Frankie.
He just shrugged his shoulders but I bought it anyway.
Pulling off my clothes, I slip on the dress and stare at myself in the mirror.
It’s perfect. The way it clings in all the right places, sleek and dark, and a little dangerous.
My heart kicks up as I slide my hand down the fabric, smoothing it over my hips.
I decide to pair it with strappy heels that make me feel even sexier.
I’ve never been allowed in something like this.
If my cousin saw me right now, he would have a stroke.
The thought makes me smirk as I continue to stare into the mirror.
“Oh Andre, your baby cousin isn’t a little girl anymore.
If you can’t save me from this, I might as well have a little fun while I can,” I murmur into the empty closet before turning away from the mirror and walking out.
Inside my bathroom I sit at the vanity and prepare to do my hair and makeup.
Now this, I was taught. I learned how to paint my face and prep my hair, but more for the standards of a mafia princess.
Tonight though, I’m going to do something a little different.
Gone is the tight chignon and pale lipstick and instead I decide on long loose curls that cascade down my back.
I finish the look off with a deep red shade of lipstick that makes my lips look even more pouty than they already are.
When I step into the hallway, Frankie’s reaction is immediate.
His breath catches, a soft, involuntary sound, and his eyes go dark as they rake over me.
For a second, he just stares at me, like he’s forgotten how to speak.
Then he remembers himself, reins it in, and gives me a small, almost formal nod. Checkmate.
“You look…” His voice is rougher than usual. He clears his throat, tries again. “…ready.”
I laugh, ignoring the tight coil in my belly as I watch him attempt not to stare at me. I’m silently loving seeing the desire behind his gaze.
The drive to the club brims with unspoken desire and sexual tension. Frankie's hands grip the wheel, knuckles pale in the soft glow of the dashboard. I want to say something just to break this awkward silence.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” I say eventually, glancing over at him. I’m not sure why I’m pretending I don’t know what’s happening. It’s plain as day, the way he keeps avoiding staring at me, and I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy it. He shifts in his seat but still doesn’t look at me.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
His jaw ticks and he even makes that look sexy.
“About how much trouble I’m going to get into.”
There’s a dry edge to his voice that makes me laugh, despite myself. I don’t miss how he says he will get into trouble and not the both of us. Weird.
Scorpion looks like nothing from the outside.
Plain brick, no hint of what’s inside at all.
But the second we step through the doors, it’s an entirely different world.
Bass pulses loudly and strobe lights cut through clouds of perfume, the air thick with sweat and lust. Bodies move together everywhere, including on the dance floor.
It’s wild and intoxicating and almost too much all at once.
Frankie’s hand finds the small of my back as we weave through the crowd towards a velvet-roped VIP section.
Two men guard the entrance, their faces like stone.
Frankie leans in, whispers something I can’t catch, and they step aside.
I should be used to this, especially since I dealt with it in Italy, but somehow it still pisses me off to be followed around.
Just once, I would like to be able to enjoy going somewhere without being watched like a hawk.
Frankie sees my scowl and immediately grabs a drink from the server waiting in our section, before handing it to me.
“Relax, Datura. Tonight is supposed to be fun.”