Chapter Eleven
I rubbed the spot where Nestore had bitten me, knowing the subtle soreness meant I’d have a bruise, which had definitely been his intention.
I winced more from shock than pain—not that there wouldn’t be more pain.
There would be. Nestore would make me pay with pain and humiliation.
I had run from him, and in Nestore’s eyes, that made me almost as guilty as my father.
Nestore Romano hated my last name for everything my father had done to him and his family. But me… he hated me for the single act of running away. Every act of kindness and affection before my perceived crime was irrelevant.
I could see it in every menacing twist of his lips, in every harsh look, and in the fierceness of his touch.
I would become his wife.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it.
I wouldn’t be able to run either. Nestore wouldn’t let me succeed a second time.
He had searched for me for more than two years.
My stomach filled with strange warmth at the thought.
I wanted to believe he’d done it because he loved me, but I feared it was more out of hurt pride and fury.
Could this kind of dedication, obsession even, be blamed on love?
Still, remembering his words about how I was in his heart and head, my own heart clenched with emotions.
Even if I got the chance, could I really run again, knowing what it would do to Nestore?
Last time, I hadn’t allowed myself to consider Nestore’s pain for more than a fleeting moment.
I had been too wounded, too desperate to save myself to extend that kind of courtesy toward Nestore.
I slanted a cautious look over to Nestore.
He sat several seats down from me on the private jet.
I wasn’t sure if he couldn’t stand my presence or if he didn’t trust himself around me.
Considering the rage in his eyes, I was surprised he still controlled himself this well.
He was looking out of the window at the night sky.
The city lights spread out below. Soon we would land in Los Angeles.
His expression was devoid of the rage and hatred it usually carried around me.
He looked almost peaceful. With that look, he reminded me of the boy of his early capture—the boy who laughed and smiled, the boy with kindness in his heart.
My father had carved it out of him. I wanted to believe a tiny part of it was still buried deeply within, and I’d be the one to draw it out of him.
I was stronger than the girl from two years ago.
But was I strong enough to beat Nestore’s darkness?
I wasn’t sure.
As if he could feel my gaze on him, he looked my way, and any trace of peacefulness vanished to be replaced by harshness.
He held my gaze as if in silent challenge.
He was a beautiful man, with the features of a Greek god.
He was the man my heart longed for, and my body craved, but what he had in store for me wasn’t what I had envisioned in my fantasies about our joined future.
Eventually, I dropped my gaze. I’d have to fight enough battles in the future. I had to choose them wisely.
When we pulled up to the gates of Romano Manor, my entire body switched to flight mode. I had often missed Nestore while I was gone, but never this place. It was a house of nightmares. Every memory, even the happy ones, was laced with misery and fear.
My hands began to tremble, and I clutched my knees to stop them. Nestore slanted me a curious look, his gaze sliding from my heaving chest down to my fingers clawing at my pants. His expression remained emotionless, cold even.
The steel gates, covered with rambling roses, glided open, giving way to the long driveway up to the hill where the manor sat.
The brick walls surrounding the premises were also covered in rambling roses—thousands of flowers in bloom, a beautiful sight, but a reminder of another horror.
The car pulled up the driveway. Off to the side, I could make out the rose maze in the distance.
The gardens were pristine. Everything was kept immaculately.
Rounded trellises created a tunnel of roses that followed a narrow path from the driveway toward the maze.
A fountain sat in the heart of the driveway with a human-sized figurine in the center.
It hadn’t been there when I’d left. When we came to a stop, my throat tightened until I had trouble breathing.
This place held nothing but horrible memories.
I wished Nestore had burned it down and built a new place for himself. For us.
This would be my home now, too.
Panic clawed at my insides at the mere idea of being a captive in these walls again. Nestore got out and rounded the car. He peered up at the mansion like a conqueror. As if living in this place was his daily battle, a battle he couldn’t lose.
The driver opened my door, but I didn’t get out right away.
After a few deep breaths, I pushed forward and straightened.
Nestore’s gaze swept over to the fountain, and my eyes followed.
I gasped. The white-marble figurine in the center of the fountain was an image of me; my hair was wind-swept, and a tunica-like dress clung to my curves.
One of my hands was extended as if I was reaching out to something, or someone.
Nestore strode past me and up the wide staircase that led up to the columned entrance.
He stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked down at me.
He wore a long black fur coat, which billowed in the gentle breeze like the black strands of his hair.
My breath faltered. The figurine seemed to be looking straight at him, her hands extended in a silent command or plea.
“I had it made from my memory because I didn’t have a single photo of you. It does you justice.”
The beautiful figure was ethereal, like a goddess. Was that how he saw me? Or used to see me?
His eyes cast to me. He held out his hand, palm upward, a mirror move to the one from the figurine.
“Come.”
The word was quiet, but it carried all the way down to where I waited in the car. My gaze traveled up the building looming before me like a menacing giant. This place had been featured in too many of my nightmares. Now it would haunt my waking moments, too.
My heart pounding in my chest, I set a foot closer to the steps, then another. I focused on Nestore’s outstretched hand and not the manor behind him. Despite Nestore’s threatening words, his presence soothed the fears of a younger Amelia.
When I put my hand in his, a shiver coursed down my spine. I followed his gaze. From this vantage point, we could look down at the city spreading out seemingly endlessly. “This is all mine, and now you are too.”
His fingers curled around my hand, and he pulled me into the elegant foyer.
The scent of old wood, fur, and leather drifted into my nose.
A massive chandelier made from bleached antlers hung over our heads, and a bearskin spread on the marble floor.
The flower vases that had adorned the left sideboard were gone, replaced by a samurai sword and a baroque painting of a hunting scene.
He tugged at my hand and led me up the winding staircase to the entrance hall, where a massive tapestry depicted another hunt: men on horses, menacing dogs, and fleeing boars.
Due to the hillside location, the foyer was situated at the level where the staff quarters, kitchen, and cloakroom were, while the even larger entrance hall marked the true beginning of the living quarters.
My sneakers squeaked on the shiny marble floor.
This place looked like I remembered it, except for a few details like the trophy boards decorating the high walls.
At first glance, I thought they were animal bones, but upon closer look, I recognized a few human hand skeletons, several skulls, and even a few thigh bones and pelvises.
The chandelier was created from a human rib cage.
I felt dizzy looking at the many human bones around me, all bleached white. Mementos of Nestore’s quest for revenge. This place was a graveyard, not a home. The air felt heavy, loaded with dark memories. I wanted out, but there was no escaping.
Nestore’s lips pulled into a satisfied smirk. He gestured at the display of bones. “You knew many of these men. Our tormentors. Now forever exhibited as a warning for those who think they could disobey me.”
I shook my head, suppressing a wave of nausea. “This is…” I wasn’t even sure what to say, except for disgusting and crazy. “Madness.”
Nestore scanned the trophies. “It’s a necessary precaution.”
“If police ever set foot inside, you’d be in trouble.”
Nestore chuckled, expression alight with playful mirth. “Nobody sets foot into my home without my permission, Amelia. Do not concern yourself with such silly worries.”
“What do you want me to worry about?”
He tugged me closer and cupped my cheek almost lovingly. “How to make up for your transgression.”
“Can I?” I breathed.
Nestore was so used to his anger. Was he still capable of forgiveness?
“We’ll see.” He dropped his hand and opened the double doors to the ballroom.
My belly tightened, remembering all the bloodshed this room had seen.
The aroma of firewood carried over to me from the massive dark gray marble fireplace, where ambers glowed.
I froze, my lips parting. At the end of the room, a platform had been set up.
A massive dark throne and a slightly smaller white-gray throne sat on top of it.
As we got closer, I could see that the smaller throne had been made from driftwood, while the bigger one had been made from almost black wood.
“After our wedding, this will be your throne,” Nestore said as he gestured to the driftwood throne.
He sat on the black throne, leaned back, and spread his legs with a smirk. He enjoyed my obvious shock.