Chapter 16
16
GIANNA
The slap lands as soon as the elevator doors seal my fate, the force hard enough to snap my head sideways. Pain explodes in my cheek, but I inhale sharply, blinking back the tears that immediately sting my eyes.
I stare blankly at the wall, refusing to look at him or touch my burning cheek.
The first time he ever hit me, I made the mistake of reacting—raising my hand to my face in shock—and it only earned me another slap. Now I know better. Lock down all reactions. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
The slap held no real shock anyway. I knew this was coming. What I truly dread is what’s waiting for me at home. Dario . I wrecked his favorite car, and I know he won’t let me off the hook. My cousin isn’t that type at all. He finds too much pleasure in causing me pain.
Surprisingly, Uncle Aldo keeps his hands to himself the rest of the elevator ride, grumbling under his breath instead. When the doors open, I follow him meekly towards his car, only briefly considering making a run for it.
No, that would be stupid.
If one of those guys standing around with guns thinks I’m a threat, they’ll shoot me without hesitation. No. I just need to bide my time and wait for the right moment.
As we pass Michael’s Cullinan, my throat closes up, and my chest aches with the weight of his betrayal. I trusted him so much, so completely. What a fool I was. How fucking na?ve.
The driver inside catches my gaze, his eyes widening in surprise as he watches me leave with my uncle.
I look away from him. I can’t bear any reminders of that betrayal.
At Aldo’s limo, his driver, Jacob, sneers as he yanks the door open for me. I avoid his gaze as I scurry in, the door closing behind me feeling like a coffin lid sealing me in.
I squeeze my eyes shut, resting my head against the window and making myself as small as possible when Aldo gets in from the other side.
“You fucking whore,” he spits, venom lacing every syllable. “I fixed a marriage between you and a billionaire, and you chose to run away and spread your legs instead?”
I open my eyes slowly. But I keep my mouth shut.
There’s no point in defending myself. He’ll believe what he wants, and if I so much as try to argue, it will only make things worse. My cheek still burns from the slap earlier—I’m not inviting another one. Or something worse.
His steel gaze demands a response, but I give him nothing. “What was that back there? Did you fuck him? Is that why he looked ready to murder me? What the hell did you say to him, huh? Fucking ungrateful bitch.”
Thankfully, his cheap insults are all I have to endure for now. Uncle Aldo is careful not to hit me in front of witnesses—he’s too concerned with how it might make him look.
Of course, his men see my bruises and probably know exactly what’s happening behind closed doors, but they’ve always turned a blind eye to it.
I breathe through my nose, my numb state slowly dissociating as I think back to the cold look in Michael’s eyes at the airstrip earlier. I should’ve fucking made a run for it then, consequences be damned.
No—scratch that. I should never have gotten into his car that night. I should never have gone home with him at all.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda.
Hindsight is a bitch.
A hot tear slips down my cheek, stinging the bruise no doubt already forming on my face. I discreetly wipe it off and ruthlessly shut down my emotions. Again.
We drive to Uncle Aldo’s mansion in silence, the air thick with his anger.
As we pull into his compound and round the circular driveway, my body locks up. The mansion looms into view—too big, too familiar. My heart beats feverishly, cold dread filling my being as it really sinks in.
I’m back.
Back in his house. Back under his control.
And this time, I don’t think I’m getting out.
Because I know that no matter how much time I buy for myself, escaping again will be damn near impossible now that I’ve done it once and was able to stay hidden for so long.
Lightheaded panic grips me as my throat suddenly seizes up.
I wheeze, struggling for air—then I realize it’s not just panic.
It’s Uncle Aldo’s hand .
His thick fingers crush my throat, cutting off my air supply. My hands fly to his meaty wrist, clawing desperately as I choke, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. But his grip only tightens. Too tight. Too strong. I can’t…
Black spots swarm my vision. My lungs burn. My limbs go weak?—
Then, just when I think I’m about to pass out, he lets go.
I crumple forward, hands bracing against my knees as I gasp, coughing violently, sucking in greedy lungfuls of air.
“That’s for thinking you could make a fool of me,” he says coldly before shoving the door open and stepping out.
My own door swings open, and Jacob stands there, his face blank—as if he didn’t just witness an attempted murder.
So, just like I’ve changed, it seems my uncle has changed too. He no longer gives a shit about appearances. This is a bad development. For me, anyway.
Fucking Michael. I think fiercely as I stumble out of the car, still gasping—though I try to keep it quiet. Uncle Aldo walks ahead, and I have no choice but to follow him into the house. The lights from the golden chandelier in the living room are too bright, stabbing into my eyes like needles.
“You have a visitor waiting for you in your study, honey.”
I squint towards the familiar voice of my aunt Marie, who’s acting like I’m not even here.
Uncle Aldo scoffs. “Damn it, I told Carlo to stay in his house until the wedding.”
The wedding?
My pulse jumps as I watch my uncle go towards the direction of his study. Is he still planning to marry me off to Carlo?
I gape at Aunt Marie, and this time, she meets my gaze with a smirk. “You can never get away from us, Gigi. Shouldn’t you know that by now?”
Anger rises like bile in my throat. “If you had a daughter, would you let your husband marry her off to a man like Carlo?”
She chuckles. “Well, I don’t have one, so the comparison you’re trying to make is pointless.”
“You hate me,” I realize. I always thought it was just irritation, annoyance, or maybe even jealousy, but no—it’s hate. “Why?”
She just shrugs, turning away. “Go to your room and wait there for your punishment, Gianna.”
Fuck that.
I watch her go, and when the door shuts behind her, I spin around, making my way to Uncle Aldo’s office. I need to hear what he and Carlo are discussing. If it’s really about me and my doomed wedding.
I press myself against the door just in time to hear my uncle say, “I’ve got our girl back, Carlo.”
“She’ll need to be suitably punished, so she knows running away is never an option… and so she won’t ever try it again.” An unexpectedly nasally voice replies—so that’s what Carlo sounds like? I swallow hard at his words, even though his cruelty isn’t really surprising. I mean, the man killed his own wives.
“Of course, my friend. I’ll see to it. And I’ve already informed the priest to arrive tomorrow afternoon. To avoid further delays and mishaps in your matrimony, I think it’s best to get it done immediately.”
What?
Blood roars in my ears. Without thinking it through, I burst through the door. Three pairs of eyes snap to me. Dario—who I didn’t even realize was also in here—gets to his feet.
Oh, shit.
But I’m already in too deep to back down. So chin high, I forge ahead. “No, Uncle. I’m not marrying anybody. I’m my own person—you can’t just decide to throw me at some man old enough to be my grandfather.”
Carlo’s face darkens to an ugly, blotchy red. He shoves back his chair, ready to lunge. “You little?—”
“We’ll take care of this, Carlo. Rest assured,” Uncle Adlo interrupts, nodding at Dario, who starts approaching me, his face a thunderstorm.
My stomach clenches.
Shit, shit. Me and my big fucking mouth. I never learn, do I? I should have just quietly gone to my room or tried another escape, no matter how hopeless it was.
I turn to run, but where the hell would I even go? There’s nowhere in this house he won’t find me. I barely make it three steps before Dario’s fingers clamp around my upper arm. His grip is bruising, his nails biting into my skin as he yanks me out of the office. He moves fast, dragging me down the hall with long punishing strides, forcing me to stumble-jog just to keep up.
We reach my old bedroom, and before I can even brace myself, he wrenches the door open and hurls me inside so violently I go flying onto the floor, my palms slapping painfully against the cold, hard tiles.
“You think because you ran away you can say whatever the fuck you want and act out in a way that shames us? I won’t stand for it.” His foot swings out, kicking me hard in the ribs.
A sharp, searing pain explodes through my side, knocking the breath from my lungs. I choke on a gasp, instinctively curling in on myself, arms wrapping around my chest in a feeble attempt at protection.
“That’s for wrecking my car,” he pronounces arrogantly.
Fabric rustles, faint over the pounding in my ears. I force myself to blink past the throbbing ache in time to see him shrug off his jacket and toss it aside before hunching down in front of me.
His hand fists in my hair and yanks so hard, my head snaps back. I bite back a cry of pain, my eyes smarting with the sting of tears as he twists the strands tighter. “That’s for causing embarrassment to a family that took you in when you had no one,” he spits, pulling harder. “That fed you, clothed you, and gave you a home.”
I want to laugh. What a fucking joke. But the way he’s holding my hair, forcing me to look him dead in the eyes, drains the fight right out of me. There’s something sick in how he’s looking at me as tears drip down my face. Then, he smiles, the coldness in his eyes thawing just the slightest bit.
He’s enjoying this, like I knew he would.
He tugs my head back even further, and then, with no warning, lashes out with his hand, slapping me so hard that my face snaps to the side, despite his tight grip on my hair. My scalp burns as the flesh stretches, a couple of hair strands violently ripping out in the process.
I can’t hold it in. A pained scream bursts out of me, and he slaps me again.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I whimper, and he gives me another slap, and another, until they all blur together, my face stinging and radiating heat with each strike. The last one drives the corner of my lip into my teeth, and I feel the flesh tear, the metallic, coppery taste of blood filling my mouth.
Finally, he lets go of my hair with a satisfied grunt and gets to his feet. I hold my breath, praying he’s had enough. Praying he’ll just leave.
But then—his voice, low and lethal:
“Father thinks of you as his precious brother’s only child and feels protective and responsible for you.” He scoffs like the idea disgusts him. “But trust me, if it were left up to me, you’d be done for after the stunts you’ve pulled.” He punctuates his words with a brutal kick to my stomach just as my bedroom door opens.
My uncle freezes, his gaze falling on me in the fetal position, gasping through my tears—and the color drains from his face.
“You bastard!” He cuffs Dario at the back of his head, making him lurch forward, hands flying out to keep himself upright.
My cousin’s eyes widen in disbelief, and his mouth drops open as he stares at his father. “What?”
If I could, I would mirror his shock, because truly—what? Is he… defending me right now?
“Do you know who found her? You should have left her face alone, punished her where the bruises won’t be so obvious.”
I close my eyes, feeling the sting of his words more deeply than my physical pain.
When will I learn he doesn’t really care about me? If he ever did, that part of him died a long time ago.
“We solicited the Nightshades for their help in finding her, and as it stands, we’re not completely free from their scrutiny yet. Rafael had to release the Mad Hatter to track her down. And from the look on his face, he wasn’t expecting to see me—and didn’t seem happy to let her go. What if he comes looking for her again and finds this!” He waves at me with a snarl, like it’s somehow my fault his son chose to use me as a punching bag.
And—hold on. Who the hell is the Mad Hatter?
I’ve heard of the Nightshades a few times when I eavesdropped on Dario and Carlo’s conversations. They’re a group of men—brothers, I think—who rule the entire underground crime scene in New York City. But this name is new.
Dario sneers down at me. “Oh, so you managed to get the Mad Hatter wrapped around your little finger, huh?”
I blink at him cluelessly, because I have no idea who the hell he’s talking about, and that only seems to piss him off more. He kicks my chest, sending me coughing, spitting out blood from the cut in my lip onto the floor. “Speak!” he yells.
“W–who?” I manage, my voice scratchy.
“The monster who came to find you. Did you fuck him?” His lips twist in disgust, and he presses his foot onto my hair, making me go still, heart pounding in fear.
Uncle Aldo steps forward with a long, exasperated sigh. “That’s enough, Dario. Go to your room.” He nods towards the door.
“I’m–I’m in my room.”
“Not you.” My uncle rolls his eyes, grabs his son, and walks him out the door, locking it behind them. I stay curled on the floor, waiting. Just in case they change their minds and come back.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours.
When I’m sure they’re not returning, I slowly, carefully sit up, wincing at the pain that spreads through my body. My head pounds with a million concentrated migraines that sends the room spinning like I’m drunk.
I sit there for a while longer, groaning and struggling to breathe, tears spilling down my cheeks.
Once the worst of the pain passes—or maybe my body just gets used to it—I push myself to my feet and stumble into my bathroom, wiping my face with shaking hands.
I refuse to give them—or any man—another tear.
The lights flicker on, and I avoid looking at my reflection as I pull off my clothes, wincing with every movement. I make my way to the shower, cranking the heat until the water is scalding, then step under the stream.
The second the water hits my sensitive scalp, I hiss, fresh tears welling in my eyes as pain fires off from almost every single part of my body. I glance down at the drain, my stomach twisting when I see the water running slightly pink. My hand instinctively lifts the back of my head, fingers brushing over the raw wound where a small chunk of hair is missing.
I close my eyes in defeat, shoulders slumping weakly as I let the hot water beat down on my body, streaming down my face and stinging my tired eyes. I stay under the spray until my skin starts to prune and my body feels overheated; only then do I hesitantly turn off the shower and get out, carefully wrapping a towel around my body as I make my way to the cabinet under the sink.
I take out the over-the-counter pain meds I’ve hidden here, and even though the recommended dosage is two, I take four. I’ll need that much if I hope to not luxuriate in pain all night.
Then I turn to check out my scalp and clumsily place a bandage over the wound.
Afterwards, I finally look at my reflection, turning my face this way and that. My lip is split and red, finger-shaped splotches mar my skin—marks that will no doubt darken into purplish bruises by tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
When Uncle Aldo plans to marry me off to Carlo, who I strongly believe will be worse than my cousin and uncle combined.
I let out a shaky sigh as I glance down at the rest of my body before giving the mirror my back and leaving the bathroom. Pulling a nightshirt from my drawer, I ease it on carefully, biting the inside of my cheek when the fabric brushes over a tender spot. Then I lower myself onto the bed with another weary exhale, my body screaming in discomfort even as exhaustion tugs at me.
My backpack is still in Michael’s car. Which means all the money I worked so hard for is gone. Not that my uncle would have let me keep it if he discovered it anyway.
What a long fucking day…
Was it really only this morning I seduced Michael and we almost had sex? Thank God I insisted on him using a condom no matter how tempted I was to forgo it. Because if we had actually gone through with it, I’d have to worry about being pregnant on top of everything else. Uncle Aldo would kill me.
I shudder.
I can’t believe I thought Michael was different from the other men in my life. I can’t believe I almost fell for him.
My eyes start to sting, and I sniff aggressively. No. No, I’m not going to cry, goddamn it . But the ache in my chest is ten thousand times worse than any pain Dario or my uncle could inflict on my body.
I was so stupid, so stupid .
I should have known he was in the mafia, with all his stupid tattoos and piercings and the fact that he could kill a man so nonchalantly—how did I not see it?
His words come back to me hauntingly, ‘There’s nothing he can do to me.’
I should have realized then. No ordinary man can be so fearless in the face of my uncle’s wrath.
So he possibly has a high rank in the syndicate. Maybe something to do with the Nightshades? Now that I think about it, the de-facto head of the Nightshades is someone named Rafael.
Is that the same Rafael we went to meet today?
Michael said it’s his friend, but… could he be his boss?
The pain in Michael’s eyes as the elevators closed flashes in my mind. Could he have had no choice?
I roll onto my side, wincing but embracing the physical pain over the emotional one. “No, Gianna. What you’re not going to do is create excuses for a man who’s already proven with his actions that he doesn’t give a shit about you.”
The monster who found you.
Why did Uncle Aldo call him that? Is Michael the one they referred to as the Mad Hatter? His last name is Hart, so that would check out, I guess.
He should have brought me back to Manhattan that very first night he saved me. Why did he have to give me hope? What is he, a sadist?
Is he really a monster?
“Get the fuck out of my head, Michael,” I grit out, flipping onto my back with another sharp wince.
Staring up at the ceiling, I start counting sheep aloud, forcing his face, his voice, his goddamn everything out of my head.
He can go to hell.
I’m sure he’ll feel right at home there, with all the other demons.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, I’m being shaken awake. My whole body screams in protest, and I groan, slapping away the intrusive hand. “That hurts, Michael.”
“ Miss ! You must wake up now, miss.”
My eyes snap open to see Pauline, one of the maids who’ve been… not exactly kind, but never outright cruel either in the past, hovering over me, her face tight with urgency. I sit up too fast, trying to ignore the pain that slices through me, but my breath catches in my throat, and something shifts from my chest, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
I peek over the edge of the bed.
An ice pack.
“Did you put that on me?” I ask her, genuinely surprised. She could get in serious trouble for that.
She bites her lip and nods hesitantly. “I thought you might need it, but you were already asleep when I came in last night, and I didn’t want to wake you. So… I just placed it there.”
A small, reluctant warmth spreads in my chest. “Thank you.” I try to smile, to show her I mean it, but my lips pull, making me wince.
“You need to get dressed right away.” She glances over her shoulder like she expects someone to barge in at any moment. Someone like Dario. My stomach knots, and I eye the door warily.
“The master wants you in his office,” she continues. “He says it’s important—that I should bring you right away.”
What fresh hell awaits now?
I sigh heavily as I carefully swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Alright, thank you, Pauline. I’ll be right there.”
Once she’s gone, I drag myself to the bathroom, where I quickly swish some mouthwash around my sore mouth. Uncle Aldo doesn’t like waiting, and I can’t risk getting hit again today.
The pain meds must have kicked in because, despite the mirror’s evidence—bruises on my face, scab at the corner of my lips, dark splotches on my chest—I don’t feel as much pain as I did last night.
I spit out the mouthwash, rinse my face, and head to the closet. The bra goes on first, followed by a loose sweatshirt—not because I’m cold, but because I need something that won’t press against my bruises—along with a pair of slacks. My fingers work fast, twisting my hair into a bun while carefully avoiding the wounded spot on my scalp. The skin there is oversensitive, still smarting a little.
For a second, I consider putting on concealer to hide the bruises on my face, but there’s no time. And really, I don’t give a shit about covering them up. What’s the point, anyway?
I leave my room, making my way to Uncle Aldo’s office, his men studiously avoiding my gaze as I pass them—which is nothing new. Outside the office door, I pause, trying to hear what’s going on in there.
Is Carlo here this early for our supposed wedding? I’d rather die.
But it’s silent in there, so I exhale and knock to announce my presence.
“Come in.”
Huh. There’s something off about Uncle Aldo’s voice this morning. It’s thin, almost like he’s scared shitless.
That’s… weird.
I open the door and walk in, coming to a sudden halt when I see him—the tall, restless figure pacing the office floor. Michael .
My heart does a long, hopeful thud that I immediately try to squash.
He turns sharply at the sound of the door, his electric blue eyes locking onto mine, and goes still. His gaze sweeps over me, widening in surprise as he takes me in. Then, in three long strides, he’s in front of me, raising a hand towards my face.
I flinch back reflexively.
His jaw clenches, eyes hardening into murderous ice. “Who did this to you?” he growls.