28. Pearl
28
PEARL
T ime was a noose tightening around my neck, each heartbeat bringing me closer to the inevitable.
Through the fortieth-floor windows, Providence sprawled below, deceptively peaceful.
"May I use the library today?" I asked over breakfast, keeping my voice quiet, demure, the way he liked. "I'd like to study more about the Italian masters. Since you've taught me so much about art appreciation..."
Vittorio looked up from his newspaper, studying me with that calculating gaze I'd learned to hate. "I have a board meeting downstairs in an hour." He took a slow sip of his coffee. "But yes, you may use the library while I'm gone."
The library was the only permission I dared ask for. My eyes drifted to his study door, remembering how different things had been before Mom died. Back then, I'd spent afternoons in there doing homework while he worked, playing the part of the doting stepfather. The Picasso had hung in the same spot, and I'd watched him open that safe countless times, always the same sequence, his wedding date with my mother. 0714. A date he'd chosen to mock everything he'd destroyed.
"Thank you, Daddy." I gathered my notebooks, the weight of Nico's modified compact mirror hidden among them suddenly heavy.
I forced myself to breathe normally as he stood, straightening his tie. "Stay on this floor," he warned, then headed toward the elevator.
My heart stuttered as he walked away. One hour. One chance.
I counted his footsteps, waiting until they faded completely. Then another minute, just to be sure. The library and his study shared this floor of the tower—another way for him to keep me close, to maintain his perfect illusion of family. I slipped out his spare keycard from where he always left it after our reading sessions. Predictable, like everything else about his carefully controlled world.
My hands trembled as I eased his study door open. But I'd learned from Vincenzo how to move silently, how to become part of the shadows.
The Picasso loomed larger than I remembered. My fingers shook as I turned the dial—0714. The numbers felt like acid in my mind. The mechanism clicked softly, and the safe door swung open.
There, right where I knew they'd be—the manifests, the financial records, the patient transfers. My eyes darted across each page, taking in columns of numbers, signatures I recognized, dates circled in red. Something cold settled in my chest as I flipped through file after file, each one worse than the last.
My fingers shook as I carefully photographed each page with the compact's hidden camera. Nico had shown me how to capture the clearest images, how to make sure every detail was legible.
Just three more pages. Two. One.
"I thought you might try something like this."
His voice froze my blood. The world narrowed to the small click of the study door closing behind him. The compact mirror was still in my hands, its screen glowing, damning evidence of what I'd been doing.
"Though I must admit," Vittorio's footsteps were measured, unhurried. "I expected more patience from you."
The compact slipped from my fingers. I could feel his presence behind me, the weight of his disappointment pressing against my spine like a blade.
"Your mother was impatient too." His voice turned thoughtful, almost gentle. That gentleness terrified me more than any rage. "Always rushing into things she didn't understand."
When his hand settled on my shoulder, I couldn't stop the small sound that escaped my throat. His fingers traced up to my jaw with terrible softness, the way he used to check my appearance before galas and dinner parties.
"The clinic will help with that." His thumb brushed my cheek, an echo of fatherly affection that made my skin crawl. "Alessandro has such wonderful methods for teaching patience."
Ice slid down my spine. The clinic. Where girls went in screaming and came out silent.
"They'll come for me." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, memories of their gentle hands, their fierce protection flashing through my mind.
"Oh, I hope they try." His smile turned cruel as he crushed the compact under his heel. "It would be entertaining to watch them fail."
His grip tightened just enough to remind me how easily he could crush. "Everything will be perfect again. You'll see."
When the guards appeared, I barely registered their hands guiding me from the room. My world had shrunk to the cold threat in Vittorio's smile, the knowing look in his eyes as they'd fallen to my stomach.
The city lights blurred through my windows that night, each one a star I couldn't reach. Somewhere out there, a group of men who'd shown me what love really meant were searching. Seven hearts beating with mine. But in the suffocating darkness of my gilded cage, I pressed my hand to my stomach and faced the truth I'd been avoiding:
I wasn't just fighting for my freedom anymore.
And this time, no one was coming to save us.