Chapter 5 Giuliana #2
Each step up feels like walking toward my own execution, and my ribs protest the climb, forcing me to grip the banister harder than I’d like.
The second floor is just as opulent as the first.
There’s more paintings, more antiques, more evidence of wealth so extreme it stops being impressive and starts being obscene.
“Here.” Maria stops in front of a door near the end of a long hallway.
She produces a key card and swipes it across a panel I hadn’t noticed. The lock clicks open with a sound that reverberates in my chest.
The suite beyond is stunning. Cream silk wallpaper, gold accents on the furniture, a four-poster bed that looks like something from Versailles.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Luca somehow acquired Marie Antionette’s bed at this rate.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the gardens, offering a view of the grounds that stretch toward the lake.
There’s a sitting area with a velvet sofa, a desk with what looks like a Tiffany lamp, and a bathroom visible through an open door that features marble and fixtures that look ridiculously expensive.
It’s a gilded cage, beautiful and suffocating in equal measure.
“Mr. Marchetti will join you for dinner at seven,” Maria repeats, setting my suitcase on a bench at the foot of the bed. “If you need anything before then, press the call button.” She indicates a panel near the door. “Someone will attend to you.”
“Wait,” I start, but she’s already leaving, pulling the door shut behind her. I hear the lock engage with a soft click that sounds like a death sentence.
I’m alone in a room more luxurious than anywhere I’ve ever been, and I’ve never felt more trapped in my life.
I spend the hours until dinner pacing the suite like a caged animal, which is exactly what I am.
My ribs cry out at each turn, each rapid movement, forcing me to slow down.
The bruises on my face are visible in every mirror I pass and my split lip has scabbed over.
Evidence of what happens when I try to resist.
I examine every inch of my prison, testing the windows, locked and probably bulletproof, searching for any electronic devices I could use to contact the outside world, nothing, looking for anything that might be useful for escape, the furniture is too heavy to move, and breaking it would just bring guards running.
My thoughts keep circling back to Dad.
Is he in a room like this, or something worse?
Is he wondering if I’m okay?
Does he know I agreed to this nightmare to save his life?
At 6:45, Maria returns.
She’s carrying a dress.
It’s midnight blue silk and looks like something off the Paris fashion show runway.
Her eyes flick to the bruise on my cheekbone then quickly away.
Her expression suggests that wearing the dress isn’t optional.
“Mr. Marchetti expects you to dress appropriately for dinner.” She lays the dress across the bed.
Her voice is devoid of emotion, but I catch something else underneath.
Is it pity, or maybe just exhaustion from witnessing this same scene play out before with other people? “I will return in ten minutes to escort you.”
“I have clothes,” I protest, gesturing to my suitcase, not wanting to admit that nothing I’ve brought would even compare to the beautiful fabric.
Maria raises one eyebrow, clearly thinking the same thing. “Mr. Marchetti prefers this.” She’s already leaving, the door locking behind her with that terrible click.
I stare at the dress for a long moment, rage and fear warring in my chest.
Every instinct screams at me to refuse, to show up in my jeans and Northwestern sweatshirt as a small act of defiance.
But what would that accomplish besides proving I’m stubborn?
Luca already has all the power here.
Besides, would that defiance be the catalyst for my father’s death?
I can’t take that risk.
So I put on the dress.
It fits perfectly, because of course it does.
He probably had someone steal my measurements from God knows where.
I wince as I zip it up, the movement pulling at my injured ribs.
At least the silk is forgiving enough not to press directly on the bruises.
The dress feels luxurious against my skin, cool and expensive, and I hate how beautiful it makes me feel. I don’t want to be beautiful for him.
I don’t want to be anything for him.
When Maria returns at 6:55 p.m. exactly, I’m standing by the window, watching the sun set over Lake Michigan and wondering if this is what the rest of my life will look like—beautiful views from inside a cage.
She leads me down the hallway, down the stairs, through a maze of rooms until we reach a formal dining room that probably did belong to Versailles.
A table that could seat twenty stretches down the center of the room, set with China and crystal and silver that catches the light from yet another chandelier.
Luca stands at the far end, near the head of the table, wearing a tuxedo like he’s about to attend the opera.
He looks impossibly handsome in the candlelight—dark hair perfectly styled, sharp jawline, those cold eyes looking me up and down.
It feels disgusting.
I want to get in the shower and scour my body.
Does he notice the bruises on my face?
The careful way I’m moving?
Or does he simply not care about the damage his orders caused?
“Giuliana,” he says, and I’m starting to hate my name. “You look exquisite.”
Oh, so he’s going to ignore my injuries. Nice.
I want to throw the compliment back in his face. Instead, I hear myself ask, “How’s my father?”
His expression doesn’t change. “He’s being cared for. You’ll see him when I decide the time is right.”
“I need to know if he’s okay,” I insist, clutching the back of my chair. “I need—”
“You need to sit down and have dinner with me,” he interrupts smoothly, pulling out a chair. “We have much to discuss about our arrangement.”
It’s not a suggestion. Nothing he says is ever just a suggestion.
I sit, because what choice do I have?
He settles into his own chair, and staff members I hadn’t even noticed appear to serve the first course—something involving oysters and caviar that makes my stomach lurch.
“You signed the documents,” Luca says, swirling wine in a glass that catches the candlelight. “That was wise.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I bite out, shoving the plate away from me.
“There’s always a choice, cara. You chose your father’s life over your freedom. That speaks well of your character.”
The casual way he discusses ruining my life makes my hands clench around my fork. “When can I see him?”
Luca doesn’t look up from his wine. “When I decide you’ve earned that privilege.”
I fight the urge to let my jaw drop. “And how do I earn it?”
His smile is like a shark that’s scented blood. “By being an obedient wife. By accepting your new reality without unnecessary resistance. By remembering that every comfort you enjoy here, every moment of mercy I show your father, exists because I allow it.”
I force myself to take a breath, to push down the rage that wants to explode out of my chest. “What about my animals?”
“Your animals are being cared for at a veterinary hospital,” is his response.
Anger flares in my chest. “I want to see them. To check on their treatment—”
“No.”
The word is final, absolute. I try again anyway because I’ve always pushed boundaries. “My friend Katie—she’ll be worried. Can I at least call her to explain—”
“No.”
“My veterinary license requires continuing education,” I say, trying a different avenue. “If I don’t maintain it—”
“You won’t need it.” He smirks at me.
Each denial lands like a slap and I place my hands in my lap, my hands curled into fists so tight I can feel my nails biting into my skin. “So that’s it? Everything I worked for, everything I built, just…gone?”
Luca leans back in his chair, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting specimen under glass.
His gaze is like an x-ray. “You’re not understanding the situation, Giuliana.
Your previous life is over. The woman who owned that clinic, who had friends and colleagues and independence—she doesn’t exist anymore.
There is only Mrs. Marchetti, and she exists entirely within the boundaries I establish. ”
“I’m not Mrs. Marchetti yet,” I say fiercely, wanting to refute him. To wipe that smug fucking smile off his stupid fucking face.
He inclines his head. “A technicality,” he allows.
“The ceremony is scheduled for six weeks from now. Until then, you’ll remain here, learn the rules of your new life, and prepare to play the role I require of you.
” He sips his wine. “Viktor Torrino expects to meet you next week. You’ll smile, play the devoted fiancée, and convince him that our marriage is a love match rather than what it actually is. ”
“And what is it actually?” I snap.
His smile is ice cold. “Revenge. Your father took something irreplaceable from me. Now I’m taking something irreplaceable from him. And he gets to live knowing it’s entirely his fault.”
The cruelty of it takes my breath away. “You’re a monster,” I whisper.
“Perhaps. But I’m the monster who controls every aspect of your existence now.” He stands, tossing his napkin onto his chair. “Finish your dinner. Maria will escort you back to your room. I suggest you use the time to adjust your expectations about what your life will be from this point forward.”
He’s leaving—just walking away like he hasn’t just confirmed that I’m a prisoner in a game designed to torture my father.
I stand so quickly my chair scrapes against the marble floor.
“Wait—please.” I stand so quickly my chair scrapes against the marble floor, and immediately regret it as pain lances through my ribs. I press a hand to my side involuntarily.
Luca’s eyes drop to where my hand clutches my ribs, then slowly travel up to the bruise on my cheekbone.
His expression doesn’t change. There’s no concern, no regret, not even satisfaction at seeing evidence of his handiwork.
Just cold assessment, like he’s noting the condition of a piece of property.
The deliberate indifference is somehow worse than cruelty would be.
“Just—just tell me if my father is really okay. That’s all I’m asking.” God, I hate that I’m begging but not knowing about my father’s condition is tortuous. Which is exactly what Luca probably wants.
Luca pauses at the doorway, his expression unreadable. “He’s alive. For now, that will have to be enough.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in this obscene dining room with food I can’t eat and wine I can’t drink and the devastating realization that this is my life now.
A prison made of silk and gold. A cage where my captor plays at being Prince Charming while making it crystal clear that I’m not a person to him.
I’m a tool, a weapon to be used against my father.
When Maria comes to collect me, I follow her back to my suite in numb silence. The lock clicks behind me, and I painfully sink onto the edge of that enormous bed, still wearing the dress Luca chose for me, and finally let myself cry.
For my father, who made a terrible mistake and will watch his daughter pay for it. For my animals, being cared for by strangers. For Katie, who must be out of her mind with worry. For my clinic, my career, my independence—everything I built that Luca destroyed not a care in the world.
And for myself, trapped in a gilded cage with a monster who thinks he’s entitled to my suffering as payment for my dad’s fuck up.
Outside my window, the sun finishes setting over Lake Michigan, and I wonder if I’ll ever see freedom again.