Chapter Eleven #2
“You aren’t a king,” I said, because I worried that he’d forgotten. What if he had fully descended into madness? The idea was unbearable, but I’d rather come to terms with it now.
His smirk sharpened, and he stretched his arms out on the rests, flexing long fingers before gripping the rounded ends. “In these walls, in my city, in my territory, I am whatever I decide. If I call myself king, then I am king. My word is law. You’d be better off remembering it too.”
I wrapped my arms around my body.
He looked away with a hard twist of his mouth as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me. “But I am very aware of who I am, Amelia. I am the Underboss. I am the Camorrista. I am Nestore Romano. I am the man you betrayed.”
I nodded because I wasn’t sure what else to do. “Can I go to my room now? Or will you lock me in a cell?”
Nestore shoved to his feet, his eyes alight with torment. “You won’t ever be locked in a cell again. You are too precious to rot in a basement.”
“Instead, you’ll lock me in a gilded cage of your own making?” I asked with a sad smile.
His brows furrowed, then his expression smoothed. “Follow me,” he clipped, face hardening. He strode away, and I had trouble keeping up with his long strides. We followed another staircase up to the bedrooms.
Nestore opened the last door in the hallway. The primary bedroom. I stepped into the familiar room. It was the room where I’d slept before I’d run off. Black silk bedding covered the bed, and heavy black drapes hung from the four posters. “Is this where you sleep?”
Nestore followed me toward the bed. “Not since you left. We’ll share this room once we’re married.” He wrapped a strand of my hair around his index finger. “Only two more weeks before every part of you will be mine.”
I glared. “Not every part,” I whispered, overcome by anger. “My heart belongs to the boy I once knew, not the man in front of me.”
He dropped his finger. A look as if he’d been stabbed passed his face before the cruel mask took its place. “Then I’ll have to make the ownership of your body even more worthwhile.”
He turned abruptly, causing his fur coat to swish past my legs, before he stalked out and thrust the door shut.
What was I supposed to do now?
Was I allowed to walk around the house? Did I even want to? What other horrors would I find?
Was my father still locked in a cell in the basement?
Sometime in the early morning hours, I had fallen asleep but was woken by a soft knock.
I untangled myself from the blankets, disoriented.
I was still in yesterday’s clothes and in desperate need of a shower.
A young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, waited in front of the door when I opened it.
She was lanky and tall with ash-blond hair and an eye-catching gap between her front teeth.
She was gorgeous, especially her full mouth, which caught my attention.
“I’m Francoise, your seamstress. Mr. Romano sent me to take your measurements so I can sew dresses for you.”
My lips parted in surprise.
“May I come in?”
“Uhh, sure.” I stepped back, still completely taken aback.
I had been ripped from my life less than twenty-four hours ago and had trouble catching up.
She pulled a suitcase behind her and set it down on the floor beside the bed.
Inside was a heap of fabrics in different shades of white and cream.
“You’re creating my wedding dress?” I asked.
She shook her head with an apologetic smile. “No, not today. I need you to come to my shop. The fabrics for wedding gowns are too precious and heavy to carry with me. These fabrics are for dresses and nightgowns. Mr. Romano told me he wants to see you in light colors.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Did he?”
I swallowed my anger. This woman had nothing to do with it. She was doing her job. “What if I want a different color or pants?”
She looked at me pleadingly as she gingerly picked up two pieces of clothing. “I’m just following orders. I already made a couple of pieces for you to wear right away.”
“When did you make them?”
She flushed. “In the past few hours. Mr. Romano called me and asked me to create a few dresses for you to wear. Just three pieces. I’ll work on the rest of your wardrobe in the following days.”
She put the dresses down on the bed. As she had said, there were three pieces. One was a simple long-sleeved, floor-length white dress; another was a short dress with long sleeves; and the third was a midi dress with a flared skirt, sweetheart neckline, and short sleeves.
“Could you put them on so I can see if they fit?”
I took the clothes into the bathroom with me and put them down on the rim of the tub.
I peeled out of my clothes, laying them down on the floor, like I had to put down the life I had built.
What was Flavia doing? She must be worried sick by now.
And what about Luciano? Nobody would watch him now.
Despite my reluctance, I changed into the first dress, the floor-length one.
Surprise washed over me. It fit nearly perfectly.
I emerged from the bathroom, and the seamstress immediately set to work, rounding me and touching the fabric at my back where the dress was slightly too big.
“Once I have more clothes for you to wear, I’ll take this in, so it fits perfectly. ”
“How did you know my measurements?” I asked.
“Mr. Romano guessed them, and he did a very good job.”
I sank my teeth into my lower lip. “How long have you been working for him?”
“For a year. I do all of his clothes.”
I regarded her as she tugged at the hem of my dress, which ended about an inch below my ankle, brushing the floor.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was more than his seamstress.
Nestore’s words about how he’d slept with other women cut through me like a sharp knife.
Maybe my jealousy was hypocritical, considering I had left him.
I couldn’t expect him not to move on. Yet I hadn’t.
Nestore had always been with me, even when I’d been thousands of miles away.
I had kept my firsts. I wished he had too.
I shoved those thoughts aside and focused on Francoise.
All three dresses fit me well enough to wear in the following days. The material was a soft cotton-silk mix that flattered my body. I didn’t usually wear white, but apart from that, the pieces would have been to my liking if Nestore hadn’t forced them on me.
Francoise took my measurements after that. “Please pick the fabrics you prefer, then I’ll be done for today.”
I picked a handful of white- and cream-colored fabrics, then Francoise handed me a small bag with new underwear and tights before she left.
I took a quick shower before putting on the long dress and tights, since it was quite cold for an early spring day in Los Angeles.
I braided my long hair and let it trail down across my left shoulder, so the tips brushed my breast, then I moved toward the door.
I was hungry. It was in the early afternoon, as I had slept through the morning.
Stepping out into the hallway, I felt overcome with uncertainty.
I knew this place and where the kitchen was, but my surroundings felt hostile in a way I couldn’t put into words.
The dark floral wallpaper seemed to swallow the light filtering through the half-closed drapes at the end of the corridor.
A shadow moved at the end of the hallway, spiking my pulse in fear. Nestore’s tall form appeared, as if he’d materialized from the shadows. Had he been watching my room?
He wore black pants, a shiny black belt, and a black fur coat, but no shoes or shirt.
My breath stuttered in my chest as he moved closer.
His body was ripped, with a six-pack that made my mouth water embarrassingly, but my eyes began to linger on the many scars and worst of all, the brand in the shape of an L over his sternum that my father had burned into Nestore as a sign of his ownership.
Nestore stopped in front of me, his eyes taking me in from head to toe. “The dress fits you perfectly.”
“Why white?”
He brushed his fingertips across my cheek like a ghost touch. “Because you spent too much time in darkness, and because being bound to me, part of your life will always be shrouded in shadows.”
I sighed. I wanted to argue with him that it didn’t have to be like that. He, too, could step out of the shadows, but I knew he didn’t want to hear it, and worse, I wasn’t entirely sure if it was true. “Why didn’t you have my father’s brand removed?”
Nestore’s eyes flared with pain, then he peered down at the L on his chest. “Because, Amelia, it no longer stands for your father’s ownership of me. You put your brand on my heart, so that’s why the L shall remain.”
I swallowed my rising emotions. When he said things like that, I wanted to believe his plans for me were only kind, but the flickers of menace in his eyes told me a war was raging in his body.
I reached for the burn scar, but Nestore caught my wrist before my fingertips could touch his skin.
“If we marry, I won’t be a Lamorgese for much longer. ”
His smirk came quickly. “When, not if. And by blood, you’ll always be a Lamorgese even when my last name is yours.”
“Did you kill him?” I asked quietly. In the past two years, I had sometimes wondered about my father’s fate—not out of love or pity but simply because I wanted that chapter of my life to be over for good.
He stepped back, and his jaw clenched, eyes turning cold. He motioned for me to go ahead. “You must be hungry. Tonight, we’ll have entertainment, so I want you well-fed and fit.”
“What kind of entertainment?” I whispered. Something about his eager undertone set my teeth on edge.
“Wait and see.”
Nestore picked me up at six sharp from my room. I had prepared myself for the moment I’d open the door to Nestore’s harsh face, but I couldn’t prepare myself for what I saw on his head. A crown made from human fingers topped his head.