3. Amara
Amara
After talking to Poppy, who is swapping saliva with Hastings and refuses to leave until her father arrives at midnight, I make my way outside the house.
I take my cell from my bag, call for a cab and send a text to my mother.
Me: The date was a disaster.
Mother: Did you seduce him?
I stride up and down the driveway and shake my head.
Me: Seduce? He was getting a blow job from someone else.
I wasn’t going to tell her who it was from.
Mother: You need to do whatever it takes. His family has good connections.
Did she not read what I said?
Me: I need to talk to you.
Mother: We can talk on Monday. Steal him back.
My mother is pathetic. Ever since she became a de Luca, it’s as though she has lost her mind. I would never agree to her crazy plan if I wasn’t in such a dilemma...but I am.
I consider doing as she asks as I stand outside of the party house, but my eyes travel up to the bedroom where I left Con and Enzo, and one of them is staring at me from behind the curtains.
I need to get away from his house.
A horn beeps behind me and minutes later I am in the cab that came faster than I imagined, and is probably for someone else.
I think about Caleb, about going back to his house, but without Poppy it doesn’t seem right so I tell the cab driver my address.
At home, I pour a glass of champagne from the fridge.
My mother drank most of the bottle before she, and my stepfather left for their trip. The first glass is gone as I stand at Dom’s office door, pondering what information I could find that would pacify my blackmailer.
But after standing and staring at everywhere I have already searched, I stroll back to the kitchen and pour the remaining champagne in the glass. Then I grab a bar of white chocolate from my mother’s stash.
The house is too big, feels too empty. In fact, the more I think about it, it’s cold and sterile. White tiles on the floor, white walls with abstract artwork, apparently each piece costing more than a brand new car.
The furniture is expensive. But that’s because my stepfather is filthy rich. There’s a lot of old money floating around, but also an awful lot of mafia money, nicely cleaned and posing as his family’s multi millions—could be billions. I don’t know how rich he is.
But rich enough for my stepbrother, Xander, to be gifted a house and a fancy Range Rover for his seventeenth birthday.
I study with Xander at Bond University. Not that I wanted to study at Bond.
It’s too close to home. But my stepfather refused to pay for my acceptance anywhere else, but once I get my degree, or enough money, whichever comes first, I am getting as far away from here and I will never return.
I climb the winding staircase to my bedroom.
There’s a grin on my face because my stepfather insists nobody walks in heels.
But here I am. The thin heel of my shoes clattering against his pristine Italian marble steps.
One after the other. And if I was brave enough, I would score the floor, scratch into the surface.
It wouldn’t do much damage, just enough for me to know it was there.
But I’m not brave enough...at least not stupid.
Though, that’s something I need to consider.
Something shifts in the garden, sending gravel skittering across the pool tiles. The sound mirrors my heartbeat—or maybe my heartbeat mirrors the sound.
The security system hasn't been triggered. They never do. These sounds live only in my head, or so everyone tells me.
I reach my bedroom, glance down the hallway, and listen out for the sound but only silence beckons, and my heart settles, knowing I’m alone.
Inside my room, I twist the lock on the door. A precaution I always take before I go to sleep. But this house isn’t where the monster usually is... He watches me in other places.
I turn on the television before I sit on my bed and sip on my wine. Opening the bar of chocolate and taking a bite as I open my social media app and check up on Con.
I still can’t believe I watched him being sucked off by Lorenzo Bianchi. I can’t believe he and Enzo have a thing.
Tears slide down my cheeks.
What am I going to do?
I wipe my thumbs over my stinging face. I’m tired of being in fear. Tired of my life. I hate my mother for bringing us to this rich, but dark place.
After I finish the last of the wine, I wash my face, but the mascara is a bitch and smudges around my eyes.
I brush my teeth, and turn off the television. My stinging eyes need some relief. Hopefully, when I wake up, I won’t give a damn.
Yes, in the morning, everything will look different.
In reality, I know my life won’t change.
My eyes dart open. This time I am sure I hear footsteps in the house.
My body trembles as I lie and wait for the next sound.
I’m sure I can hear someone creeping around. I turn and glance at my door, checking I locked it.
Nobody knows I’m here.
Maybe it isn’t him.
Is it a burglar?
Would anyone dare to break into this house?
I’m sure it’s footsteps I can hear climbing the marble staircase. Yet, the security alarm didn’t make a sound.
I gasp, slamming my hand over my mouth and scramble out of the bed. I glance around my bedroom.
Am I safe inside this locked room?
What if someone saw me? What if someone is here to take me? Kidnap me? Hold me ransom and kill me, anyway.
I stare at my closet, but apparently after looking under the bed, it is the next obvious place for someone to hide, according to the murder mysteries I insist on watching.
So I tip-toe to the door, press my ear against the wood and listen again.
And listen...
There’s no sound.
I slam my hand over my pounding heart, silently chastising myself for being spooked. I probably dreamed it, woke up and thought it was real. I press my back against the door as I wait for a sound.
I also wait because I’m not ready to close my eyes just yet.
Just in case I’m wrong.
You dreamed it.
I’m still uncertain, but I creep back to my bed and curl into a ball on the mattress. My eyes darting around the darkened room, listening for the sounds again.
Nothing...
I say a silent prayer, hoping God hears me–but he never has before.
It must be five minutes that I wait, and only when I hear nothing more am I happy to stop fighting my tiredness. I relax into my pillow and let fatigue and darkness find me again.
“Hello, Amara, you were naughty tonight,” he whispers in my ear. My eyes open as a shiver shudders right through my core. My stomach clenches and panic floods my brain.
SweetJustice is here.
Am I dreaming?
My breaths come in shallow pants as my eyes stare ahead.
I’m awake.
I try to scramble from the bed, but his large arm wraps around my body, holding my back against his chest.
“Sorry,” I whimper. “I didn’t find anything.”
“What were you looking for, Amara?”
But…
The voice…
“Dom, is that you?” I whisper.
“Who the fuck did you think it was?” His voice is hard, dangerous. “Now tell me what you were looking for in my office.”
Fuck!
I want to scream, but there is no point. There is nobody here and the mansion we live in only has neighbors that will stick up for him. Dominic has the police in his pocket, paying whatever it takes to make things go away.
And I know I can go away in an instance.
“I thought you were away for the weekend?” I say slowly, trying to think of an excuse for why I was searching there. “And I wanted to find my passport. I don’t want to be here anymore.” It is partly the truth.
“Your passport?” He sighs. “Why?”
I shake my head.
“I need your words, Amara. I need to know what is so fucking bad about living here that you want to run away.” He squeezes me against him when I shake my head again.
“I can’t be with someone like Mateo Conti. Please don’t make me…” I cry out. “I’ve heard the rumors about him. He’ll probably kill me.”
Dom laughs behind me. The warmth of his breath on my neck sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But my mother wants…” I hesitate. “Where is she? Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in Victoria.”
“First, your mother is currently wooing her next husband. And I flew back the moment I saw my notification, which shows you snooping around my office.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I was just scared and didn’t know what to do.” I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, hoping he believes me. “So you and Helena are definitely getting divorced.”
He laughs behind me. “We’re not officially married. She should take my offer and run with it.”
“I was there. At the wedding, I mean.”
“At the blessing,” he corrects me. “And that is why I’ve set her up with someone I think she’ll be perfect for and he is for her.”
“Someone richer than you,” I say. I’m not stupid. I know Mom divorced my dad the moment Dom let her know just how rich he was.
Dom laughs. “Someone she can wrap around her little finger.”
“Can you release me now?”
“Should I?”
“I’m sorry for snooping inside your office?” My voice shakes and tears lace my eyes as I say it. Dom would kill someone for less.
Would he kill me?
I know Dom has killed plenty of people without a second thought, and for probably doing much less than prying into his business.
He releases me and turns me so I’m on my back. Tears sting at the back of my eyes, blurring my vision. I quickly blink, letting them scatter down my face in burning lines.
“I’d never hurt you.” He wipes away the tears with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I promise I won’t do it again.” My voice is shaky.
He pulls me against him, stroking my hair, whispering, “Go to sleep.”
Dominic is a big man, years and years of working out at the gym.
A gigantic dragon covers Dom's chest. Teeth and claws as sharp as his owner. I’m too scared to sleep in case those claws latch around my throat.
He pulls the sheet over our bodies and I whisper, “If you are going to kill me tonight, will you let my sisters know I love them, and I’m sorry for doing something so stupid?”
“Ah fuck, Amara. I am not going to fucking kill you. Just go to sleep and tomorrow we are going to have a talk.”
Tomorrow.
We’re talking tomorrow.
There’s a tomorrow for me.
“Okay.”
“Your skin is so soft,” he whispers as he strokes his fingers over my shoulder.
My eyes open, and I glance at his face.
Our eyes lock.
But I’m dumbstruck for a moment, surprised at the intensity in his gaze, and I’m thinking Dom likes me as much as I like him.