7. Stella
7
STELLA
L eo’s goon drags me out of the skyscraper’s private elevator, his nails biting into the skin above my elbow, which rests on my duffel bag. I’m not sure why I keep allowing men to manhandle me tonight, but I suppose the shock of the situation hasn’t exactly worn off yet.
My fighting instincts are in hiding, and while I’d like to think they’re saving their strength for later, it’s getting to the point where I can’t even lie to myself.
Not after letting Leopoldo De Tore defile my mouth behind Saint Paul’s. I would have let him do more, too, had we not been interrupted.
The thought sours my stomach.
Perhaps a bout of temporary psychosis could be blamed if I hadn’t seemed to enjoy his kiss so much, despite that razor blade cutting the inside of my cheek. Even now, my tongue slips to the side, gently roving over the pocket of skin it sliced through.
If I try hard enough, I can still taste the blood mixing with his saliva. I don’t like the little thrill that races through me with the memory.
I’m shoved into a heavy metal door, and the force of my collision pushes it open, revealing an immaculate penthouse. Massive walls of glass frame the open area, highlighting the backdrop of the Charles River and the harbor beyond.
The numbing white interior screams emotionally distant luxury, which I suppose is fitting for someone like Leo. I can’t help standing in place, afraid that moving around might taint the wide-planked hardwood floor with my presence.
In the living room, a woman dressed in a polo and black pants, with her reddish-blond hair pulled back and tucked under her collar, kneels on the corner of a white shag rug, scrubbing furiously. Across from her, a man lounges on a cream-colored leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other as he sips from a beer bottle, watching the woman.
His eyes cut to mine as soon as I’m past the door’s threshold, and I try not to recoil from the depth of their coldness.
“Well, well.” He glances behind me as the guard slips back into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. “My son couldn’t even be bothered to retrieve his bride, I see.”
In my peripheral vision, I notice the staff member has frozen in place, her hands covering the dark red stain.
I gently roll my shoulders back and steel myself against Leo’s father. “I assume he had more important things to do.”
“Yes, I do believe I recall something about stopping by one of the clubs. Not sure what he could possibly be doing there, as we hardly ever conduct business in them these days. They’re mostly kept around for our pleasure.” A taunting grin tugs at his haggard face, and he takes another drink from his bottle. “Not to worry, though. If he comes home with lipstick on his collar, maybe he’ll spare you tonight.”
I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I’m not exactly sure why. Nor am I able to resist the bait. “Why should I need sparing?”
His eyebrows hitch. “What, a topolina like you? I highly doubt you’re capable of keeping him satisfied, my dear. He’ll eat you alive.”
I’m not sure the wave of liquid heat that rushes through my limbs is the response he’s expecting his words to elicit, so I ignore it. “You seem very interested in your son’s bedroom habits. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
A dark look passes over the senior De Tore’s face. Slowly, he leans forward, setting his bottle down on the glass coffee table before him. He rises, still in the same suit as before, though I can’t ignore the stain splashed against the lapel, as if rinsed but not thoroughly cleaned.
My gaze darts to the rug, where the strawberry blond resumes her furious scrubbing.
I’ve seen enough spilled blood in my life to recognize it easily, even from across a room.
For a moment, I’m stricken with panic—and not for myself, at least not immediately.
Where is Leo?
Given his possessiveness at Saint Paul’s, I can’t imagine he’d just take off without waiting to make sure I made it to his condo in one piece. Yet he appears nowhere to be found, and here his terrible father is instead, stalking across the room like he has only seconds to make it.
He’s surprisingly quick, even while gripping a cane in his right hand. It doesn’t seem to do anything but make him faster, and then he’s standing before me, glaring down like he’d like to flay me alive before I can open my mouth again.
Hatred burns in his dark eyes, and something deep inside me knows it’s not just me that fire roars for.
Maybe I’m not the only one stuck in this tower.
“If it’d been me at that church,” the man says, his free hand whipping out to grab my throat and yank me closer, “I’d have carved out your lying, cheating father’s tongue, then fucked you on that altar while he watched with blood pouring from his mouth. The last thing he’d have seen was me violating every virgin hole in your boring little body, and then I’d have fed him to you before ripping your heart out.”
Fear rattles my rib cage, but I do my best to focus on his grip. It tightens with each word, constricting my airway, and I’m not sure how much longer I have before I pass out. My vision darkens at the corners, and out of reflex, my fingers claw at him, seeking a reprieve.
“But I suppose watching my son ruin you will be just as fun,” he continues, leaning down so his face is a breath away from mine.
I watch as he comes even closer, thinking for sure that he’ll stop eventually. That he’s just trying to scare me.
His lips land on my mouth mere milliseconds later, dry and cracked as they attempt to mold themselves to me. I make a noise in the back of my throat, instantly jerking away, but he fists my neck even more and then shoves his tongue inside.
It’s nothing at all like kissing Leo. That, even if driven by spite, lust, and a sense of doom, had at least been warm. Consuming. Like staring up at a night sky full of stars.
Kissing his father feels like falling into an abyss. It’s a slow implosion, where you feel each molecule and atom in your body expand before nothingness swallows you whole.
I bite him the second I get a chance. He pulls back and slaps me, then runs his tongue over the seam of my lips, chuckling darkly as he finally lets go.
“Perhaps now I understand my son’s keen interest in Rafael’s youngest,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
My stomach churns, and I stumble backward, ignoring the harsh sting in my cheek.
Clearing his throat, the older man smooths his hands down the front of his jacket and turns to the girl across the room. “Anna, tell Leopoldo I’ll see him in the morning. Bright and early. We’ll be waiting for the sheets at our unit on K Street.” He looks back at me, dragging his gaze over my form, and tosses a sadistic smile my way. “Tradition is tradition. Arrivederci, topolina .”
He leaves without saying anything else, though the film of disgust doesn’t evaporate from my skin, even when he’s gone. I rub my face, trying to erase the feel of him, and eventually, the other woman appears in front of me with an ice pack.
“Here,” she says, pressing it into my palm. I didn’t even notice her leave the room to get it. “Sorry about him. He was waiting for Irene, the other housekeeper Mr. De Tore employs, but she was out getting groceries. I swear, it’s like she has some sixth sense when it comes to that man, and I don’t know if it’s because they used to sleep together or what, but she’s always leaving me alone with him.”
I just stare at her. She spins on her heel, marching back to the stain. Gently lifting the ice pack to my cheek, I drop my duffel bag on the floor, watching as she tries with all her might to get the red out of the white fabric.
“What are you using?” I ask, the ice pack freezing against my heated skin.
She pauses, glancing up with big blue eyes. “Uh…club soda?”
I bend down and take the spray bottle, sniffing it. “You need a mixture of warm water and vinegar. And you shouldn’t be scrubbing—you’re just pushing the stain around. Blotting wicks up the liquid from the fabric without making the soiled part any bigger.”
“Oh.” She drops her hands into her lap, and her head falls.
“Also, you should probably be wearing gloves.”
She doesn’t respond for several moments. It takes a second for me to notice her shoulders shaking and that she’s crying.
Eyes wide, I put the bottle down and hold my hands up. Mamma always hated when I told her how to clean things, and Papà hated if I corrected him when he got statistics and figures wrong. It’s a wonder I haven’t learned to keep my mouth shut, even now.
“Look, I wasn’t trying to be a know-it-all?—”
A sob breaks free from her, and she launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. The force of her sudden hug throws me off-balance, and I reach behind me to keep from falling over.
“ Thank you!” she squeals, her breath hot on my neck through her hair. “I’m new here, and the other guests Mr. De Tore brings by are so mean . If I mess anything up, they just laugh or spill something, making it even worse. One time, they broke a vase and blamed it on me, and Mr. De Tore threatened to dock my pay if it happened again. If I don’t have this cleaned up by the time he gets home, I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me.”
She keeps sobbing, clinging to me so tightly that my neck starts to go a little numb. Awkwardly, I lift a hand and press it to her upper back, patting until she quiets down a bit.
I also try to ignore the fact she’s touching me with bacteria-laced fingers. I don’t know whose blood that is or what pathogens she’s spreading, but clearly, she doesn’t care.
After a few minutes, she finally hiccups to a halt, withdrawing herself from me. She wipes aggressively under her eyes, making them even redder as she sits back on her knees.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “I’m just really excited that you’re here, Mr. De Tore’s wife! You seem really…good. Maybe you’ll rub off on him, too.”
I’m not sure how she can get a sense for my character when she’s known me for all of three seconds, but I don’t point that out.
“My name is Anna, by the way. I guess I should’ve introduced myself before I ruined your…” She glances down with a perplexed expression, as if she expected me to be in a wedding gown on my wedding night.
“Stella,” I offer.
“Oh, I know who you are. Mr. De Tore’s told us a lot about you. Mainly about how you’re not supposed to leave the condo, but…other stuff too! Is it true you were accepted to Stanford? And that you got an almost-perfect score on the SATs? You must be, like, super smart.”
Only some of that is true. I bombed my SATs yet wound up with an acceptance letter, anyway.
I don’t admit that, though, because I want her to believe the rumor—that’s what I want to believe still—and yet a smart person wouldn’t be here right now.
Trapped in a tower, awaiting her villainous captor’s return.
An intelligent person would have found a way out—or wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.
So, maybe the years I spent with my nose in books, sneaking into the science labs after school, or studying above my grade level—maybe none of that matters.
At least not to fate.
It was foolish of me to believe my end would be anything other than tragic.
The front door of the condo swings open. “ Anna .”
A tall, pale woman with black hair, dark eyes, and bright red lips juts her hip out to the side, glaring at the blond beside me as she appears in the doorway. She’s got an armful of brown paper bags, and she’s wearing the same uniform as Anna, though she fills hers out a bit differently.
I can’t help admiring the striking beauty she emanates. Anna is innocent and young, whereas this stranger is… alluring . Fierce and unyielding.
Her presence feels much like Leo’s, and I spend more time than I should staring at her.
Despite my situation, I feel a longing in my chest. One I haven’t paid much attention to my whole life, aware that my parents would never have approved of an attraction to the same gender. To them, men were my only option, but I’ve always wanted more than that.
When this woman looks at me, though, that desire dries up. Like she’s cutting it off with her own scissors.
“Help me bring up the rest of these bags and stop pestering the new resident.” She directs the order at her colleague, who breaks into a wide grin and scrambles to her feet.
“Irene!” Anna runs over, pulling the new woman into a hug. A head of lettuce and a box of lasagna fall to the floor, and Irene grunts but allows the contact anyway. “You missed it. Flavio was here, and he was awful to Mrs. De Tore.”
My nose scrunches up at that name.
“What a surprise. He doesn’t have a decent bone in his disgusting body.” The other woman gently peels Anna from her, bending down to scoop up the food. She glances at me, narrowing her eyes. “What? Are you planning to tell your new master that his staff uses premade pasta? It’s a little early to be plotting ways to get us fired, don’t you think?”
I frown. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes, heading to the open attached kitchen, where she sets the bags on the marble island. “Every one of Leopoldo’s paramours who steps foot in this place is the same: threatened by the existence of others, desperate to get him to change. Men, women, it doesn’t matter—they always think throwing us under the bus will put them in his good graces, but it never does.”
“Irene,” Anna says, looking at me from the corner of her eyes. “Stella’s not like that. Seriously. She’s not like the others, and even though Mr. De Tore doesn’t want her to leave the condo, I can already tell he’s different with her. Maybe he’s in love !”
Pausing, Irene seems to consider this. She stares down at the counter, her gaze so unyielding that she could probably strike a hole through it.
“Just think!” Anna bounces over, grabbing my arm and sighing wistfully. “Soon, you’ll have a big ceremony with the whole family. Maybe you’ll even honeymoon somewhere fun, like the Maldives! And then you’ll come back and never have to lift a finger or worry about a single thing again . Mr. De Tore will take care of everything—forever. You can just relax and do whatever you want up here. I mean, you’ll be expected to cook, probably, and make nice with the other wives of Mr. De Tore’s business associates, but still. You’ll be totally taken care of. Won’t that be lovely?” Anna turns, beaming up at me.
God, she’s young—possibly younger than my eighteen years—and I can’t help wondering how she came to work for Leo’s family. Inviting outsiders into the fold is generally frowned upon, yet it’s clear that Anna has no real understanding of how terrible everything she just said sounds.
Suddenly, my chest feels unbearably tight, like a thousand-pound weight was thrown on me. My throat closes, cutting off my airway and stifling the oxygen from my lungs.
My entire future gone in the blink of an eye—the length of one brain-melting kiss.
Death would have been better than this, right?
Am I really giving up? Resigning myself to this fate?
This is all you will ever be good for . I can practically hear Mamma’s mantra, beaten into us as kids about how we were meant to be wives and nothing more.
But this was never what I wanted for myself.
Never what I thought I deserved.
Eventually, Anna runs out of the condo to help bring up more groceries. I meet Irene’s cold, calculated gaze through the columns separating the kitchen from the living room.
She gives a small half shake of her head. “There’s no escaping now.”