Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Liana
The SUV is huge and imposing and the air conditioning is cranked so high, I find myself shivering.
Not that the chill is the only reason I’m shivering.
It’s both men in front of me. Well actually, it’s the younger one with tattooed arms that drums his fingers on the console in a slow deliberate rhythm.
I notice his bruised knuckles and wonder what happened.
‘Was he in a fight? Who are these men sent to pick me up?’
He hasn’t looked at me much, but every once in a while, I find him glancing back at me.
It’s assessing, like he could cut me open with a glance and I don’t know why, but it intrigues me.
He’s so good looking it should be a crime.
It’s a different kind of sexy though. He’s alluring and dangerous and… dirty.
My thighs clench together as I clutch my book tighter in my lap, nails digging half-moons into the cover. I should read, get lost in someone else’s mess, but the sentences blur together when I try. Every pothole in the road rattles straight up my already stiff spine.
“So,” I say finally, my voice breaking through the silence, “what’s the plan? You dropping me at the cartel daycare until my husband shows up with his dentures and walker?”
I know I shouldn’t speak this way. I was taught better but I’m so bitter right now, I can’t even help myself.
I don’t want to be here. I never wanted to leave Italy or my family and now I’m here, being picked up by these random men and driven to some cage, where I’ll spend the rest of my life trapped.
I know I should have been prepared for this life.
After all, I was raised to be married off one day…
I just didn’t think it would be somewhere outside of Italy.
I watch as the driver’s mouth twitches, like he’s about to laugh at my joke, but something holds him back. The tattooed guy doesn’t move or react at all which makes me want to say more. His face remains a blank mask as he continues to stare ahead.
“Careful,” he says after a second. His voice is smooth, low and with an edge I can’t place.
I must have really pissed him off. Maybe he has a crush on my new husband?
He can have the bastard. What a shame if he was into men though because he really is a sight to be seen.
“Not everyone here thinks your jokes are cute.”
“Lucky for me I don’t care what you think,” I shoot back without thinking. The words burn my throat as soon as I spit them out and I cringe.
‘Shut up, Liana. You have no idea what these men are like or how they operate. Who knows what kind of punishments your new husband will allow.’
I turn my face to the window and press my forehead to the glass. The sun outside is blinding with the desert rolling on forever. I hate it already.
I expect him to snap, to put me in my place like my uncle always does. But he just leans back in his seat, casual, almost bored. His lips twitch but not with a smile or a frown. It’s something in between…something unreadable. The silence stretches and my heart thuds so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
‘Don’t let him win, Liana. Say something.‘
‘Shut up, Liana. Don’t get yourself into trouble already.’
The devil on my shoulder ends up winning the battle as I open my mouth to speak again.
“So what about you?” I ask, forcing my voice steady. “You stuck on babysitting duty too, or are you just the driver’s emotional support pet?”
‘Jesus. I’m definitely a glutton for punishment.’
His head tilts just barely, but it’s enough to let me know he heard.
Then his head turns back towards me and his sharp, green eyes catch mine, for just a split second.
He looks down at my clenched hands, at the book still sitting in my lap between them and the corner of his mouth lifts.
It’s not friendly, not mocking, but I get the feeling he’s filing something away for later.
“Something like that,” he says.
‘That’s it. Bastard.’
I wanted more of a reaction and the fact he isn't giving me one pisses me off further.
It gets under my skin. Who is he, really?
He looks too dangerous and too tightly wound to play backup.
And the way the driver watched him earlier, like he was waiting for a signal…
it made me uneasy. He seems important and I want to know why.
I shift in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of how much space I’ve been taking up. My knees knock together and I hug the book tighter, like the paper and ink could shield me from them…or my future husband.
He doesn’t look back again. He’s strictly business, his voice low as he murmurs something to the driver in Spanish. I can’t catch the words. Not that I would understand them completely but I might catch a few things if they spoke a little louder.
I give up trying to listen and turn to the window to see the landscape shifting.
The desert is slowly giving way to the first hints of civilization.
At first, it’s just a few scattered buildings but then they multiply and so does the beating of my heart.
Gas stations, strip malls, clusters of houses with those ugly terracotta roofs…
excitement blooms inside me and my heart starts to hammer faster.
People. Actual fricking people on sidewalks, driving cars, living their lives like nothing is wrong.
My palms press to the glass and I can’t get enough of it.
After weeks locked up behind the estate walls, even the sight of a McDonald’s is enough to make my chest squeeze with something like hope.
“Is this Phoenix?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Tattooed man glances back.
“Outskirts.”
This asshole. One word. That’s all I get from him.
I try again.
“That mountain’s insane. Do people hike there?”
“Sometimes,” the driver says, eyes glued to the road.
“What about that building?” I point at a large oddly shaped building shining in the distance. “The one that looks like a spaceship?”
The tattooed man sighs, like I’m already exhausting him and I kind of like that I’m getting under his skin.
“Museum.”
I bite down on my lip, refusing to be shut up.
“What kind of museum?”
He hesitates for a second.
“Science.”
I savor it. A small detail but it’s something real. Maybe I’ll see it someday, if I ever get out of whatever cage they’re dragging me to. Unlikely.
The city thickens around us before thinning a bit and then we start to climb. We drive onto a road that literally blends into the mountain and the houses get bigger and farther apart. There’s money everywhere, but not like Italy. Here it’s different. I don’t know how, I just know it is.
The car slows as we reach a massive iron gate and the driver rolls down his window to punch in a code.
The gates swing open and we glide up a winding drive that curls further around the mountain.
We must be close to the top because from where we are I can see the city spread out in the distance.
My stomach drops as realization sets in.
This is it. This is my new prison.
The house…or mansion, whatever you want to call it, is a monster.
It has dozens of glass windows…beautiful in a way that makes my stomach twist. I hate how much I want to see the inside of it.
Sunlight bounces off of each and every window, so bright it's almost blinding, like it's trying to both welcome and warn me away at the same time.
A fortress pretending to be art, or maybe art pretending to be a fortress. I can't decide which is worse.
“Welcome home,” the tattooed man says, and there’s something in his voice I can’t read. Maybe it’s better that way.
The car stops and I sit there staring in silence at the wide stone steps leading up to double doors that look like they could withstand a battering ram.
The driver gets out first, then opens my door with a stiff little nod.
I step onto the drive, legs shaky and look around just as the tattooed man rounds the car, motioning for me to follow.
The driver follows with my single suitcase, his face a blank mask.
"This way," the tattooed man says, wrapping his fingers around my arm and guiding me up the steps. His firm touch burns through my sleeve. It almost feels possessive and even though I’m scared, that thought sends a small thrill through me.
The massive doors swing open before we reach them, and a woman stands in the entrance with a wide smile.
She's older, maybe in her fifties, with warm brown skin and a cloud of salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a loose bun.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she sees me, like she's genuinely happy I'm here.
It throws me off-balance, making me miss home even more.
"Ah! You must be Liana," she says with a sharp accent. "Welcome, welcome. I am Lupita, but please, call me Pita."
I manage a tight smile as the tattooed man finally releases my arm. "Hi. It’s nice to meet you, Pita."
Behind me, I hear footsteps retreating and I turn just in time to see the driver already heading back to the car, my suitcase abandoned on the marble floor. He doesn't even look back, not even to grunt a goodbye. He just slides into the driver's seat and pulls away, his tires crunching on gravel.
"Seriously?" I mutter. "Not even a 'have a nice life'?"
I turn red when I realize I spoke out loud but Pita just laughs before speaking.
"That's just Ricky. He’s like a ghost, that one. One minute he’s here and the next, he’s gone before you know it. Been that way since he was a small child."
Ricky. So that's the driver's name. Not "the help" or "the chauffeur" or whatever I'd been expecting. Weird.
"Ricky," I repeat, testing the name. It sounds too friendly for the quiet man who'd driven me here, even if I did catch a smirk or two. "Is he…I mean, if he's not one of the guards watching me, then who is he?"
Pita's eyebrows shoot up.
"Ricky? A guard? No, no. He's Rio's cousin."