After Elio leaves, I stand silently in the room for a long time. I’m exhausted but too tired even to move or to sit down. I stare at all the music stuff, a shrine to violin, barely seeing it.
He really does want me to play for him.
I don’t understand it, but it seems to be true. He brought me here for my music. The only question now is why?
Something he said to me earlier in the night comes back to me. When we were alone in the darkness. There’s something inside of you I need to understand. I close my eyes, trying to remember what else he’s said, but this entire night is like a broken mirror in my head. Some bits and pieces are clear before cracking and leading into darkness. I can’t put it all back together right now.
I sway on my feet, then force myself into movement, heading for the bathroom. It’s just as gorgeous as the bedroom. It has the same natural grey stone I’ve seen elsewhere in the house for the floor, along with the biggest bathtub I’ve ever seen and a giant shower in the corner, enclosed by glass. There are a few switches on the wall, and I learn quickly that one of them is for a floor heater as warmth flows into the soles of my feet.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and gawk.
I look like a fucking mess. Mascara rings my eyes and is smudged along my freckled cheeks. My hair is a tangled disaster, and my outfit is even worse. The top half of my dress is basically destroyed, hanging down in front of my hips and legs like an apron. My upper body is swimming in Elio’s jacket, far too large for me.
For some reason, I don’t rip the jacket off my body. Not at first, anyway. I let my fingers drift over the beautiful black fabric, tracing the perfect stitching. Every time I move, the silk lining drags over my nipples creating a resounding twinge between my legs.
What the fuck am I doing?
I cry out with confusion and disgust at myself, tearing the jacket down over my shoulders and letting it fall to the warm stone floor. I kick it as far away from myself as I can.
But now my reflection looks even worse. My front is streaked with dark blood. Elio’s blood.
He bled for me.
Then trapped me here.
I go to the bathroom door and close it. Once again, there’s no lock, and I purse my lips, weighing my options. I can stay bloody and sweaty and try to tie my dress up like a halter around my neck.
Or I can risk Elio walking in on me in the shower.
I can’t get that image out of my mind. The huge man with the leather gloves striding in here like he owns the place because he does. His dark eyes tracking over my wet, naked body.
At least there are towels in here. If I have to, I can cover myself with something quickly. And it’s not just towels in here. A quick look in the cupboards under the marble countertop tells me the room is better-stocked than a spa. Bottle upon bottle of shampoo, conditioner, moisturizing lotion, perfume. Serums and sunscreens and exfoliating acids. There’s makeup, too. Face masks. Even a waxing kit.
One thing I don’t see, though, is a razor.
I guess they don’t want me to have anything sharp.
I survey the expansive, expensive array of bath products, noticing yet more bottles in the shower, and wonder if all of this was already here or if it was brought here just for me. I can’t imagine that all the violin stuff was just hanging around this room – who else but me would use it? It had to have been purchased for my arrival.
I hurry over to the bathroom door, opening it and peeking out to make sure Elio hasn’t returned to the room, then close it again. I put my phone on the counter, then I hurry out of my dress, leaving it in a wrinkled heap along with my panties and then hustle over to the shower.
At the last second, I change course for the bathtub. The adrenaline of the night is starting to dump out of my system, leaving my legs weak and wobbly. The last thing I need is to fall over in the shower, hit my head, and be naked and unconscious in this house.
I start running the bath, marvelling at just how huge it is. It has jets, too. I grab some body wash and shampoo and conditioner from the shower and get into the tub.
I breathe out slowly as the hot water fills the tub, running over my legs, soothing my shaking muscles. The body wash smells incredible, and I hate it. I try not to breathe in the tempting luxury of the scent as I use the suds to scrub every inch of my body until my skin is pink and sensitive. I do the same to my hair, scraping my scalp with soapy fingernails. As I work the shampoo violently against my scalp, flashes of the night go through my head. Gunfire ripping through my memories. My father running. That man with the gun getting shot in the head and stuffed into Curse’s trunk.
I realize I’m gripping my hair so hard it hurts, making fists around the sudsy strands. I let go, then plunge backwards until my head is submerged in the water. And I stay there. It’s a game I’ve played with myself ever since Mom died. Tipping back into the hot water and holding my breath for as long as I possibly can. Letting the ominous rush of the water block out everything else. Waiting, lungs burning, until the last possible moment before resurfacing. The euphoria that spikes through my body when I breathe again is like nothing else I’ve experienced. I feel that high everywhere – my chest, my head. Even between my legs.
The longest I ever lasted was a minute and forty-two seconds. Eyes scrunched shut, the tap still thundering fresh water into the bath, I start counting.
I only get to thirty-eight when a hand reaches into the bath, touching my shoulder.
The shock of the contact makes me inhale water. I sit up, coughing violently, eyes streaming.
“Holy hell, sorry! Sorry! Jesus, you looked fucking dead in there!”
I slap one hand across my chest and scrape soaking hair away from my face with the other. Right away, just from the voice, I know it’s not Elio. I would have known even before hearing the voice. He wouldn’t have grasped my shoulder that gently. He would have ripped me right out of the water.
A beautiful young woman is crouching beside the bathtub. She’s my age, or maybe a little younger, her loose, dark blonde curls with ombre highlights framing her heart-shaped face. Her eyes are narrowed as they take me in – warm, golden-brown irises framed by very long, spiky black eyelashes. Her shiny pink lips are puckered in a concerned sort of frown.
“Nope,” I say raggedly, my throat feeling water-logged. “Not dead.”
Her face relaxes a little, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Well, good. Who’s gonna use all this shit I bought if you don’t?” She gestures at the shampoo and body wash at the side of the tub.
“You bought all this stuff?” As I ask the question, I scoot over to the other side of the bath, turning off the water. Then I swivel back to look at the girl who’s appeared in this bathroom like some kind of fairy.
“Yup. Elio asked me to get the room ready for you. He paid for it all, of course. What do you think of this one?” She raised up the body wash that had smelled so heavenly. “It’s one of my favourites.”
There’s something disarming about her. I have no idea who she is, and I’m naked, but she’s chatting to me like we’ve known each other forever.
But I can’t afford to be disarmed. Not here. Not now.
“Elio paid for all this? What, is it all getting added onto my debt?” I ask, voice flinty. I cross both my arms over my chest and hunch down into the water.
“Oof. Yeah. Heard about that. What is it, five mil?”
“Make that six,” I grind out.
She sighs and puts her elbows on the edge of the tub, placing her delicate chin onto her interlocked fingers.
“We’ve all got debts,” she says softly. “Prices we have to pay just to occupy our rightful place. Some of us are saddled with that shit the second we are born.” Her gaze drifts down to a ring on her left hand – an engagement ring. She grimaces as she inspects it closer before flipping her hand to show me. “Ugly, isn’t it?”
It’s… something. I’m not sure anything with that many diamonds could be called ugly, but it’s certainly not something I would call tasteful.
“You’re engaged?”
“Yup,” she says flippantly, rolling her eyes. “To the human equivalent of a skid mark.”
Once again, I find myself totally disarmed by her. Beneath the perfectly applied makeup is a very young face. She looks like she could be in high school and she’s engaged.
Despite the walls I’ve tried to put up, I can’t help but feel a sense of kinship towards her. We’re both caught in situations we clearly don’t want to be in. For a split second, I honestly wonder if hers is worse. I may be subject to Elio’s whims, but at least I’m not engaged to the guy.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth, deciding if I should shut down, shut her out, or if I should give into the instinct that she may be a kind of ally for me here. She clearly has free reign of this house, which means she’s got at least some sort of power. Plus, as much as I don’t want to admit it, I like her. Her forthright, almost blasé nature reminds me a little bit of Willow. Maybe it’s stupid to trust her, but I could really use a friend in here.
“I’m Deirdre. Deirdre O’Malley,” I say, giving her a tentative smile. I want to offer her my hand to shake, but its soaking wet, and I’m naked, and it just seems weird.
She clearly doesn’t feel the weirdness, though. She grins at me and holds out her own hand to shake. With a wobbly laugh, I take it.
“Oh, trust me, you don’t need to tell me your name. I know it. I’ve been working my ass off the past month getting the room perfect for you under Elio’s supervision. What do you think of the bedspread? Beautiful, right?”
“Yes, it is,” I say weakly. I am getting whiplash. First, I’m abducted out of my own house and told I’m massively in debt to the mafia, and now I’m finding out the luxury of that room was completely prepared just for me?
“Did you choose all the violin stuff, too?” I ask.
She shakes her head as she lets go of my hand.
“Nope. That was all Elio. He’s fucking obsessed. Never seen him spend so much time researching mundane shit like what kind of cloths are best to clean a violin. God, he spent like a week on that! And don’t get me started on those little boxes of waxy shit for the bow strings. Picking the brand was like choosing a name for his firstborn child.”
I literally can’t picture a single thing she’s telling me. Whether she’s telling the truth or not, she clearly knows Elio well. She spends a lot of time with him and doesn’t seem afraid of him. And she obviously just walked through his bedroom unaccompanied.
I wonder what her relationship to him is. A funny, ugly sort of knot forms low in my belly.
“Is he… is he your fiancé?”
Her glossy mouth falls open, and then she gives a hoot of laughter.
“Hell, no! Miss me with that incest shit!” She gives a dramatic, exaggerated sort of shiver. “Got the fucking heebie jeebies now.”
“Sorry,” I stammer. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”
“No, no. It’s OK. I probably should have introduced myself first before droning on and on about Elio’s newfound horniness for all things violin.” She tosses her long curls behind her shoulder. “I’m Valentina Titone. Elio’s cousin.”
Elio’s cousin…
Vincenzo Titone’s daughter.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting this. That the Don’s only child would be crouching beside my bathtub and talking to me so casually.
So, it looks like I’m gal pals with a mafia princess now.
But despite the shock of it, I’m glad she came in here.
“Hi Valentina. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but…”
“But circumstances prevent it?” she raises a flawlessly groomed brow and smirks.
Yeah, I really do like her. Can’t help it. She’s cute and clever and in a way is even more trapped than I am. She makes me feel a little less alone.
She rises and turns to look out the bathroom door she left open.
“Mamma and Papà are going to be looking for me. I’d better head back down.” Her brows take on a pinched look. “Are you going to be OK in here?”
I can’t hold back the bitter snort at that question.
“Tell your cousin to let me go and I might be OK.”
The pinched look deepens.
“Hon, if what I hear is true and both Sev and Darragh are looking for you and your father, then there’s nowhere safer in this city for you than here.”
I seriously doubt that, but I don’t get a chance to respond. A sound outside, beyond the bedrooms in the hallway, has distracted her.
“Could you close the door?” I cry after her as she turns and hurries away, high heels clacking on the stone.
I draw my knees up to my chest and wonder if I maybe shouldn’t trust Valentina too much after all. I’m sure she hears me as she goes.
But she leaves the door open anyway.