Chapter 7
I can feel them. Their eyes are watching me– Waiting, judging, seeing how I am and how I’ll react. Their whispers aren’t as quiet as they think they are. In this oversized mansion, I can hear what they’re saying. The rumors they’re spreading amongst themselves through these walls appear thinner than they are.
And it feels like a time-ticking bomb counting down to an explosive event.
While I didn’t expect the most exciting time in Damiano’s house, the last three days have been boring torture. The first day, he took me shopping at the boutique he had mentioned. I had met a woman named Alyssia, and the tension had been too palpable to ignore. I had sensed right away that he had either been intimate with her in the past or they didn’t like each other due to some experience, but I had held my questions. It hadn’t mattered as much to me because he hadn’t paid attention to her passive advances, and we had fucked on the way to the boutique. The next day, Damiano had left before I got out of bed. He had left instructions with Marco, his house manager, to ensure I ate and all my needs were met, but he hadn’t returned home until after eleven at night.
And today….. Today I have only seen him long enough in the morning for him to cum inside me, then shower and leave the room. Not that I’m angry or disparaged by the sex. I always have a great time and enjoy every second, but I am going crazy.
I haven’t been this stuck in one place since I was connected to hospital machines years ago.
I need to leave the house and find a place to implement my next plan. I need to find a blind spot in the cameras and a lax guard who will make it easier to exit the gates without causing a stir.
The two men taken from my old apartment hadn’t been escorted out of the front door, so I assumed there was another entrance and exit somewhere.
Or their bodies were discarded discreetly.
That’s most likely what happened.
I’m almost tempted to stumble across this secret place, but that would be difficult to explain. If Damiano isn’t with me, Beary is. The man has become my shadow, and I haven’t asked why.
I know why.
Though he’s protecting me, he’s also watching me and reporting back to Damiano.
With a deep exhale, I stare at myself one last time in the massive bathroom mirror, admiring the flowy halter summer dress I put on. When I had chosen it from the boutique, Damiano looked at me in question but didn’t say anything. I can only assume that he expects me to be insecure about the scars on my body, but I’m not. These scars give me a purpose, a reason to wake up every day with the same plan. I remember first getting them, the intense, sharp, dull pain a razor cut can give before the searing ache takes over. I remember the joy they seemed to bring Luca as he inflicted each one.
Mostly, I remember his screams of protest and agony as I returned the favor.
I fluff my detangled curls to distract myself from my thoughts, then head out of the room. Vlad, whom I’ve begun referring to as Beary, immediately straightens from where he’s standing, and I smile at him. As a mountain of a man, he’s intimidating, but I’m not scared of him.
From what I've noticed, he’s a man of routine.
I’ve watched him walk around the grounds from the window in the master bedroom every morning since I’ve been here. He maintains the garden first thing in the morning, cleaning any dead leaves and debris, which makes the landscapers’ jobs easier when they do come. Then he sits with the few guard dogs I’ve seen here. This morning, he stopped them from ripping a rabbit apart, then came into the house and upstairs, where he always waits for me to make my morning appearance.
Yes, he’s a killer. No, He isn’t heartless, either.
“Good morning.”
Vlad nods at my greeting. The same greeting I’ve given him the last two mornings I’ve woken up here. “What did Viviana make?”
I ask him as I walk down the short hall to the stairs.
He doesn’t answer me. He never does, but I still enjoy our conversations. As a man of few words, the nonverbal responses I get from him mean a lot more than any words he’s ever said to me.
Easily, I pick up the sides of my dress and walk down the stairs. My bare feet welcome the icy chill that skitters through me from the marble tile covering the floor and how cold Damiano keeps it. I know it’s probably unusual for them to see a woman so carefree walking around the house, let alone one that isn’t pompous, but aside from Viviana, nobody has talked to me.
We enter the kitchen to see a simple display of baked pastries and coffee that is being kept warm. Viviana, the chef, attempted to make a large breakfast the first day, but I told her that I’m a simple pastry and coffee person in the morning. I expected her to bring store-bought pastries, but she surprised me by baking fresh ones the following day. She’d claimed that whatever was left would go to the men.
I quickly pour myself a cup of coffee, using only creamer, and grab a croissant filled with feta cheese and spinach. Though I’ve managed to seem unmoved by the house, the kitchen always surprises me. The all-white industrial design feels like a chef’s dream. With a gas range stovetop holding enough burners to cook for a party and built-in ovens across, I can’t help but imagine that day I give in to my anxiety and even try to cook something.
Undoubtedly, the house will burn down.
I make my way to the living room through a doorway in the kitchen, where I stop to look out at the grounds. I’ve learned the maids' schedules and know they have cleaned the living room. By now, according to what I’ve noticed the last few days, they should be on the opposite side of the house, which gives me a few hours by myself to sit around. I haven’t bothered going to the other side of the house except to the home gym Damiano showed me when he gave me a quick tour.
Ultimately, there are a bunch of useless empty rooms. Rooms that I can utilize to my advantage.
I’m brought back to the present, and I take in the view that amazes me no matter how much I see it.
It’s far more peaceful and tranquil than I imagined, and I know why Damiano stays here without asking him. Aside from the dramatic pool right outside the house's patio, surrounded by a grand deck, further back, there’s a pond with domesticated ducks roaming the grounds. Lush green covers every inch of the ground and is almost as mesmerizing as the sky, which looks like it’s lowering to kiss the tops of the trees.
Self-imprisonment couldn't have been better.
Arms crossed in front of me, I sip from my coffee and watch the dogs run outside, playing with each other. I’ve never been familiar with dog breeds, but Vlad did tell me they are cane corsos. I love that they are all full black.
It makes me want to keep one in the house.
Talking interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to look at Vlad. As usual, he’s silent and lurking nearby, his face a passive expression of stoicism. I recognize Damiano’s tense tone.
“I don’t give a fuck what my uncle says, Gio. She is not going. She does not represent this house yet, and I won’t jeopardize her life so he can parade her in front of the Rossis.”
I make it evident I’m not trying to hide, nor do I rush towards the voices to hear them better– It’s not as if they are quiet. I stand in front of the window with my arms crossed, still listening. Whatever they’re discussing concerns me.
“Certamente,”
Gio starts, “but if she’s under your protection, the only way that Rossi will believe you is if you show them. If you hide her, keep her in the house hidden away, he will think that she is your prisoner.”
I like Gio’s point. The more freedom I have, the better this exchange will be. I can check off the other names on my list before I get to Tommaso and Aldo.
Or at least I hope so.
“It’s a statement,”
Gio adds after a moment.
Damiano scoffs. “A statement that he isn’t allowed to make because she’s not his.”
His? I want to laugh at the declaration. The fact that he’s delusional enough to think I’m his is hilarious.
He’s mine.
“Do you believe that your un–”
Gio’s question ends suddenly.
From the hallway, Damiano stops walking, and I know he sees me. Not only was his presence strong, but I heard him getting closer. Calmly, I turn and look at him. His eyes roam over my body before they land on my face, and he advances towards me.
“No.”
That is all he says to Gio, who shakes his head frustratedly and walks in the opposite direction. Vlad follows him, leaving us alone, and I sense this isn’t the first time this argument has occurred.
Our eyes stay on each other until he stands before me. I take a sip of my coffee, looking up at him. “Tense morning?”
His eyes shine with mirth before his hands circle the mug I’m holding, encasing my hands beneath his, and lift it to his lips. I watch him drink the coffee and then lower the mug. I calm myself when he licks his lips afterward.
I don’t know how we started sharing our drinks while we are in the same room, but I never want it to change.
He sighs. “The Don wants you to attend Luca’s funeral. He believes that if the Rossis see you with us, they will know you are under our protection, and any threat against you will cease to exist somehow.”
A flicker of trepidation floods me at the thought of finally seeing Aldo after so long. At the same time, embrace that emotion, knowing that I’ll be able to see him, stare him right in the eyes, and he’ll see that I’m no longer a shadow.
“The Don? Your uncle?” I ask.
Damiano nods, drinking from my mug again. “Yes, my uncle.”
A brief silence fills the air. “You don’t agree with him?”
“No, I do.”
Damiano reaches forward. I stand frozen as he moves a piece of hair stuck on my lashes out of my view. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”
“Why?” I ask.
“You always ask so many questions?”
I smile even though there’s nothing joyous behind it. “Normally, I don’t have to ask questions. Until a few days ago, I was taking care of myself.”
My left hand fixes the collar of his shirt, brushing away some lint. When I look up at Damiano, the smoldering look in his eyes tells me he would rather be doing anything with me than having this conversation. And even though I would love to oblige him, I want to have this talk.
“You asked for my protection, and I’m giving it to you.”
I scoff, aware that I shouldn’t even do that. I step closer to Damiano. The only things between us now are our God-forsaken clothes and my mug. “While the fucking has been great, and the nighttime cuddles have given me a sense of protection that I haven’t had in a long time– Damiano, I know that even if you locked me in a safe room on another planet, Aldo would find a way to get to me.”
He frowns at my words, but we both know it’s true.
“I would watch the way that you speak to me, Amore. What is it they say about the enemy of my enemy?”
His tone is even and calm. I’m aware most people would probably find it intimidating, but I’m spurred on.
An unintentional chuckle that sounds more like a scoff escapes me. “Oh, baby.”
I step up on the tips of my toes and press my lips to his bearded cheek, inhaling his intoxicating musky scent. “We were always going to be friends. We’re just so much more now.”
I don’t try to curb my patronizing tone.
When I attempt to walk away, Damiano grabs my wrist, stopping me. “You think that you can handle seeing the Rossi family, huh? Do you think you can stop them from killing you if I let you back on the fucking streets?”
The menacing tone makes me inhale deeply to withhold my arousal – To curb my obsession with him.
I see he’s trying to get me to realize I would be surrounded by the people who ruined my life. I would have to be near them, aware that they still want me dead, and I want them to perish into thin air without any remnants, but we would have to be cordial at The Council’s command.
A council I don’t answer to. A council that I would eliminate without a second thought if they stood in my way.
He also thinks that I can’t take care of myself. In his eyes, I’m a delicate angel waif who needs his protection. I feel bad that he doesn’t realize he’s just an alibi for me. That when I do manage to get out and kill whom I want when I want, I won’t be looked into because I’m supposedly at his house. That he won’t be none the wiser, like everybody else who believes women are weak, stupid, simple creatures that aren’t worth anything but breeding.
I move back into Damiano, my chest pressing against his, and I stare into his eyes the same way he looks at me. I want to choose my words closely, but being alone for so long wins. “I wish you would dare.”
Tension consumes the air between us. I can see the wheels turning in Damiano’s head, trying to figure out what I mean by that or my reaction if he makes true to his threat.
A throat clearing grabs our attention, and we see Marco standing at the arched living room doorway. “Don Domenico just pulled in the gate, sir.”
Damiano swears under his breath, then looks back at me before he turns to Marco. “Thank you, Marco. See him in and make sure he’s comfortable.”
“Is he here because of the funeral?”
I ask once Marco has walked away.
My wrist is released, and Damiano looks at me. “That and to meet you, I’m sure. He won’t let me bring you into the family without meeting you first.”
Makes sense.
I exhale a deep breath, calming myself as I move to look out the main window briefly. “What do I need to know? Does your uncle think we met some other way?”
“He knows nothing. You’re under my protection, and we intercepted two Rossi men surveilling you.”
That’s a good thing. That means we have a few minutes to concoct a believable story or tell the truth. I look at Damiano. “What will you tell him?”
“That you’re mine, under my protection, and we’re going to get married.”
I chuckle. “You might want to buy a ring before you tell him that if you want to be partially believable.”
Aware of his mistake, Damiano rolls his eyes. “We’ll get you one soon.”
“Am I in love with you?”
I like asking him questions that he must answer before taking too long to think. I enjoy watching my questions process and his quick responses. He thinks on his feet– Exactly what we need to survive this for life.
“Do you want to be?”
He asks me.
The crunch of wheels stopping in gravel catches my attention. I look back at Damiano as I walk towards him. I invade his space with my body, placing my hand on his chest. Deliberately slow, I reach up, taking his chin between my index finger and thumb, and rotate his face down to look at me.
His lips are mere inches from mine, and I search his face for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t want to confuse my obsession with you for love.”
It takes a second for my words to register before Damiano leans in to kiss me. It’s quick but forceful, and I know if his uncle weren’t walking into the house, he would probably spend the next hour or more reigniting my obsession with him. Still, I lean into him, returning the bruising kiss with as much fervor. My nails dig into his arm, which pulls me into him more, making my core moisten at the feeling of his hardened cock against my hip. I move against it before I take his bottom lip between my teeth and suck on it.
“Ah, there you are.”
We break apart at the sight of his uncle entering the living room.
Damiano clears his throat. He smooths down his shirt, pushing himself back into the calculated facade I’m used to being confronted with until he rips my clothes off me like a madman. Right now, he’s stoic, standing tall and looking as delicious as he did a moment ago.
“Don Domenico.”
He addresses his uncle respectfully. “How are you? Do you need anything?”
Attached to Damiano’s hip, I watch his uncle go to the couch and sit down with a grunt. He pats his knee habitually, looking between me and Damiano. “No, nipotino, Marco is making me tea.”
He sputters momentarily, coughing loudly after his words, and controls it a second later with a deep exhale.
“Marco, please bring water.”
I look at Damiano and instantly see his concern. When I return my gaze to Don Domenico, it suddenly makes sense.
He has cancer.
From the thin balding of his hair, I see that he's started chemo, and its side effects are showing. His complexion seems a little blanched, his cheeks are sunken in from the weight he’s undoubtedly lost, and the air of fatigue he carries is enough evidence. But that’s where all signs of sickness end. When I initially thought of Don Domenico, I imagined an older man with a harsh voice and overpowering demeanor on the hefty side.
He’s none of these.
While he’s not as tall as Damiano, they are evidently related. They both have the same face shape. Despite thinning, his uncle's salt and pepper-colored hair still looks full enough to be combed back. His face is shaved clean, and rather than Damiano’s brown eyes that I love to stare into, his uncle has green eyes.
I imagine that when he was younger, he was quite the heartthrob.
Marco enters with a pitcher of water and places it on the table, but I move forward, disentangling myself from Damiano and pouring Don Domenico a glass.
I’m sure what I did offended Marco, but I don’t care. Memories of my grandfather, who was going through chemo when our murders occurred, urge me to appear like the perfect fiancée without thinking.
I push the glass towards Damiano’s uncle, casting an apologetic look at Marco, who briefly smiles at me before announcing that he’s leaving to check on the kettle.
“Sit.”
Damiano moves me to sit across from his uncle.
We both wait quietly as his uncle drinks the water, emptying the glass. He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. “Grazie.”
I nod.
It’s strange to me that after all these years, the sight of a sick person reminds me of my grandfather and how I would’ve helped him in this scenario. The fact that I’ve never checked on him bothers me now. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. I’ve never looked into if the cancer became terminal or if the chemo helped and he went into remission.
At this point, it doesn’t matter anymore.
We both wait on the couch next to Damiano as his uncle looks at us momentarily, quietly assessing us.
The older man finally sighs. “Well, Gio had one thing right. You two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
I see that Damiano’s hand is on my knee, and my hand is on top of his. It has been this way since the first night. When we went to bed, we were on separate sides of the bed, but somehow, we woke up with our limbs tangled around each other. Our bodies are like magnets, always pulling us together even when we want to kill each other possibly.
“But,”
the older man continues, “if you want to fool Rossi into thinking that you fully intend on this being your woman, you must do more.”
He looks at Damiano, whose jaw flexes in tension.
“Zio, we talked about this. It’s not safe to have her out in public.”
I would beg to differ but keep quiet. I’m content just watching the exchange between the two.
Don Domenico frowns, tsking after a moment. “No place is safe, Dami.”
My heart skips a beat at the nickname. “You are the next Don. You run an empire. You have to show her off. Keeping her here cowering makes you look weak, and if you look weak, then we all do.”
I withhold my smirk. I’ve been dying in this house, feeling like I’m wasting away from boredom…. And it has only been three days.
His uncle stands, ending the conversation that never started. He only came by to ensure that Damiano knew he had no choice, and he did this in a calm tone that showed there was no other option. If I remember anything about Lorenzo Rossi, Aldo, and Tommaso’s father, he constantly yelled and exaggerated his dominance.
Damiano and I stand as well. His uncle looks down at our hands, which are still somehow connected, and shakes his head. “Walk me out, Dami. I have news.”
Don Domenico nods at me. Echo.”
“Don Domenico.”
I release Damiano so he can leave with his uncle, watching them switch to speaking Italian.
I smile.
It will feel good to kill again.