23. Rork
23
RORK
D oes she think I’m an idiot?
I can’t help but scoff as I watch Bianca squirm under my gaze, her flimsy excuses hanging in the air between us like a bad smell. She must really think I’m that stupid and that I can’t see right through her little act.
Please. I’ve been playing this game longer than she’s been alive. I know every trick in the book, every tell and every sign of a guilty conscience. And right now, Bianca is practically screaming her guilt from the rooftops.
Her face is like an open book, a canvas of emotions that she seems utterly incapable of hiding. Anger, guilt, fear—they’re all there, written in the furrow of her brow and the tightness of her jaw. It’s almost laughable how bad she is at this. For a Mob daughter, she’s got a lot to learn about keeping her cards close to her chest.
I would have thought Nico and Anna would have taught their daughters this, but apparently, I was wrong. Or Bianca is just really, really bad at it.
But even as I feel the anger rising in my throat and the urge to lash out and put her in her place, I find myself hesitating. Because I’m tired. Tired of the games, tired of the constant push and pull between us. I had a rough few days weeding out some traitors in my midst, and right now, the last thing I want is another argument, another battle of wills that will leave us both drained and resentful.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm the rage inside me. “You know what? Fine. You want a snack ? Be my guest.” I put a heavy emphasis on the word, letting her know that I see right through her bullshit. “But you’re not going outside tonight. Not on my watch.”
Bianca’s eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she quickly masks it with a look of meek gratitude that’s clearly forced. I don’t think this girl knows what the word ‘gratitude’ is.
“Of course. Thanks, Rork. I’ll just—I’ll grab something quick and head back to bed.”
I watch as she hurries over to the fridge, her movements stiff and jerky with barely-contained nerves. She grabs an apple from the crisper, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutches it to her chest like a lifeline.
And then she’s gone, scurrying out of the kitchen like a frightened mouse, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she makes her escape.
I lean back in my chair, taking a long swig of whiskey as I try to make sense of what just happened. I really don’t know what to make of Bianca. One minute, she’s all fire and defiance, a force to be reckoned with in her own right. And the next, she’s a scared little girl, running away from the big, bad wolf with her tail tucked between her legs.
It’s frustrating, this constant push and pull between us, the way she gets under my skin, the way she makes me question everything I thought I knew about myself and what I want.
Because as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me that’s drawn to her, a part of me that craves the challenge she represents, how she refuses to be cowed or broken no matter how hard I push.
I sit back down, nursing the last of my whiskey. I can’t seem to shake the thoughts of Bianca from my mind. Her nervous energy, the way her eyes darted around the room like a trapped animal looking for an escape—it’s all too familiar, too reminiscent of the men I killed yesterday.
But there’s something different about her, something that sets her apart from the rest. A fire in her eyes, a stubborn determination that refuses to be extinguished no matter how hard I try to snuff it out.
She reminds me so much of the old Anna I once knew.
With a sigh, I down the last of my drink and push myself to my feet. I’m sick of thinking. Right now, all I want to do is fall into my bed and be unconscious for a few hours.
But as I make my way upstairs and down the hallway toward my room, I find myself hesitating outside Bianca’s door. I don’t hear anything, but that doesn’t mean Bianca is sleeping. A part of me wonders if she’s playing with herself again, but I quickly stamp that thought down.
Another part of me—the louder part, thank you—is tempted to lock her door to ensure she stays exactly where I want her. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that her little trip to the kitchen was more than just a craving for a midnight snack or to get some fresh air.
Fresh air. Ha. My lips curve in a smirk. That was a good one. If I hadn’t been so pissed, I probably would have laughed in her face.
Thank God I had reviewed the security cameras earlier and noticed that the front door was being left unguarded for far too long. Who knows what might have happened? Bianca could have disappeared and no one would have been the wiser.
Well, unless her body was found a few days later. If her body was found. There are a lot of wild animals that prowl in these woods. And even if Bianca somehow managed to avoid the animals, she would have died of exposure. My lands are vast, and she never would have been able to figure out how to find the nearest town. Somehow, I don’t think my darling bride knows how to work a compass.
Actually, I’m surprised she hasn’t combusted yet at the lack of having a phone. I would have thought people her age would die without one.
But my original thought sends a chill down my spine. Because as much as I want to keep her under my thumb and control every aspect of her life, I know I can’t afford to be too heavy-handed. If I push too hard, if I make her feel like a prisoner, it will only fuel her desire to escape.
And that’s the last thing I need right now, when I’m so close to achieving my ultimate goal.
So, I force myself to keep walking and leave her door unlocked and trust that she won’t be foolish enough to try anything tonight. After all, I’ve stationed men at every exit, made sure that every door and window is locked up tight.
She wouldn’t make it far. Not with my men on high alert, not with the entire property on lockdown.
* * *
When morning comes, I find myself standing outside Bianca’s door once again, my hand poised to knock. I’m half-expecting to find the room empty, to discover that she’s somehow managed to slip away in the night despite all my precautions.
But to my surprise, when I open the door, she’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed as she brushes her hair. For a moment, I’m struck by how beautiful she looks and how much I want to run my fingers through those dark, silken strands.
It’s a thought I quickly push away. I can’t afford to indulge in such weakness. But even so, I can’t help the way my heart seems to skip a beat, how my breath catches in my throat at the sight of her.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice gruff with an emotion I don’t dare to name. “I trust you slept well?”
Bianca looks up at me, and for once, there’s no trace of hostility in those blue eyes. Instead, she seems almost… pleasant. Agreeable, even.
“I did, thank you,” she replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And I’m actually feeling quite hungry this morning. Would it be alright if I joined you for breakfast?”
I blink, taken aback by her sudden willingness to play along. It’s a far cry from the defiant, stubborn woman who refused to share a dining room with me, who purposefully starved herself to avoid my presence. For a moment, I’m not quite sure how to respond.
But then I feel a flicker of something else, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, we’re turning a corner. That perhaps Bianca is starting to see the futility of fighting me at every turn, the wisdom in finding a way to coexist.
“Sure,” I say, stepping back to let her pass as she hops off the bed. “I’d be happy to have your company.”
I find myself watching Bianca out of the corner of my eyes as we make our way down to the dining room. She seems lighter somehow, more at ease than I’ve ever seen her. And despite my better judgment, I can't help but feel a surge of warmth at the sight.
As much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me that craves this, and in that moment, I make a decision. A choice to trust her, to give her the freedom to go outside.
Not because I’m going soft or because I'm losing sight of my ultimate goal, but because I can see now how much more effective my plan might be if we aren’t constantly at each other’s throats. If I can get her to trust me.
It’s a risk, I know, a gamble that could easily backfire if Bianca proves to be more cunning than I’ve given her credit for. But somehow, as I watch her take her seat at the table and reach for a slice of toast, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a risk worth taking.
“What are your plans for the day?” Bianca asks me as she spreads some butter on her toast.
I blink. My plan was to force her to work in the barn, haul out hay, muck out stalls, and get her delicate hands dirty. But… that doesn’t sound appealing at this moment.
“Work,” I lie. “What about you?”
She shrugs. “I thought about checking out the library today,” she says hesitantly. “I get kind of bored, so I wouldn’t mind finding something interesting to read.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You actually like to read? I pegged you for fashion magazines only.”
Bianca flushes, her eyebrows contorting into a scowl. “I don’t read fashion magazines!” she says hotly. “I love to read.”
I can’t resist. “Let me guess–YA novels? I bet you enjoy reading about faeries and werewolves and that kind of shit.”
She stiffens. “You know what? Forget it,” she mutters, moving to stand. “I’ll find something else to occupy my time.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my jaw. Well, I’ve fucked this up. “Wait. That was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Bianca pauses, eyeing me warily. I take it as a cue to press on.
“Look, I may have some books that would interest you. Rare first editions—Austen, the Brontes, that sort of thing. If you’d like to take a look…”
I trail off, the peace offering hanging in the air. Why the fuck am I even doing this? I’m supposed to be breaking her, not offering to show her some of my prized books.
Bianca considers me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of mockery or deceit.
“You have first editions of Jane Austen?” she finally asks, a touch of wonder breaking through her guardedness.
I nod, feeling a small spark of warmth at her enthusiasm. “ Pride and Prejudice , Emma , Sense and Sensibility . Even Northanger Abbey . All first printings.”
“Impressive,” Bianca murmurs. “I’d like to see them. If the offer still stands.”
Tell her no! My mind screams, but my mouth has other plans.
“It does,” I reply, rising from my seat. “Shall we?”
Leading her to the library, I mull over this unexpected turn. I didn’t know Bianca liked to read. Hell, I don’t even know the first thing about her. It never mattered to me. I only saw her as a tool against her father.
The realization unsettles me and makes me question my own motivations.
When we step into the library, I watch Bianca’s face light up at the sight of those leather-bound spines, and I feel a flicker of something else beneath the ambivalence and acrimony.
Something that feels perilously close to understanding.
I’m unexpectedly pleased by her obvious delight. She trails reverent fingers over antique spines, her eyes wide with wonder.
“I can’t believe you have all these,” she murmurs, carefully extracting a volume from its place. “A first edition of Persuasion … it’s incredible.”
I feel a sudden rush of warmth at her appreciation, a pleasant change from our usual traded barbs. “If you think that’s impressive, wait until you see this,” I reply, leading her to a locked glass case nestled in an alcove.
With a flourish, I produce a key and unlock the case, presenting the contents to Bianca. “Behold, the true treasures. A 1535 edition of Morte d’Arthur . An original 1590 printing of The Faerie Queene . And the pièce de résistance…” I carefully lift out a cloth-wrapped parcel, gently unveiling it. “A 1485 printing of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales .”
Bianca gasps softly, her hand hovering over the manuscript as if itching to touch but afraid to make contact. “Rork… this is extraordinary . I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The naked awe in her voice ignites a spark of satisfaction in my chest. I find myself eager to impress her further.
“Remarkable, isn’t it?” I murmur, moving to stand beside her. “To think, these pages were printed over 500 years ago and still exist. The stories they could tell…”
Bianca turns to me, our faces suddenly close in the intimate space of the alcove. This near, I can see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes, the faint freckles dusting her nose. For a moment, the air between us feels charged.
She swallows, her gaze dropping to my mouth for the space of a heartbeat. “Thank you. For showing me. It… it means a lot.”
I feel the words like a physical touch, a whisper of heat against my skin. I have the sudden, mad urge to close the distance between us, to cover her mouth with my own and taste her lips again.
But I resist, stepping back with a slight clearing of my throat. “It’s my pleasure,” I manage, my voice husky to my own ears. “It’s not often I get to share my collection with someone who appreciates it.”
Bianca bites her lip, clearly hesitating over what to say next. “Well, if you ever want someone to geek out over ancient texts with, you know where to find me.”
The offer hangs in the air between us, loaded with unspoken possibilities. I feel the weight of it like a physical thing, a tipping point balancing on the edge of a knife.
I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
This is too dangerous, being this close to Bianca, bonding over books. I need to get the fuck out of here. The intensity of Bianca’s proximity, the unexpected connection over our shared passion… it’s thrown me off balance.
Clearing my throat, I take a step back, needing to regain some semblance of control. “Feel free to borrow whatever you like,” I offer, gesturing to the shelves. “My library is at your disposal.”
Bianca’s eyes widen before a beautiful smile crosses her features. “Thank you, Rork. That’s really nice of you.”
I wave off her gratitude, suddenly desperate to escape the confines of the library and the unsettling emotions it’s stirred up. “It’s nothing. I have to go—I have work to do.”
With that, I turn on my heel and leave like the little bitch I am. As I stride down the hall, I chastise myself for my weakness. I’m supposed to be using Bianca, not getting drawn in by her.
My plan for revenge should be my sole focus.
But even as I try to redirect my thoughts, I can’t shake the image of Bianca's face alight with wonder, the feeling of that charged moment between us. Some traitorous part of me wants to explore this new facet of her, to peel back the layers and discover the woman beneath the hostage.
This is just a tactic , I tell myself. Gaining her trust will make her ultimate betrayal all the more devastating.