The implication was clear—that Fausto Ravazzani was no stranger to cruelty. That he would gladly use a person’s weakness against them. Jesus, what a prize.
Before I could comment, we entered the castle. A small room led into a kitchen, which was surprisingly modern for a place with an actual dungeon.
“I’ll have Zia bring up hot tea,” Giulio said as he continued into the house. “That’s my aunt. She lives with us and does most of the cooking.”
Calming down, I began to look around—curious about this different type of prison. The contrast with the dungeon was startling. What I could see was light and airy with gleaming wood accents and light plaster walls. Huge oval windows were framed with tasteful draperies and tile covered the floor. It was even nicer than our home in Toronto.
Surprisingly, I didn’t see any security cameras. That was information I stored away for future use.
“This is my wing of the house,” Giulio said. “My father stays on the other side.”
Thank God. I had no desire to see Fausto Ravazzani ever again.
Giulio carried me past several rooms, including a study with shelves of books and a music room. He paused in the middle of the corridor. “That is my room, the large door at the end. This one here is your room.”
The room was bigger than I expected, with a king-sized bed that had an ornate metal headboard. An antique chaise longue and vintage dressing table made up the other side. It was both feminine yet classic and I couldn’t help but admire it.
As much as one can admire a prison.
Giulio continued through the room to a small bathroom. The size of the room quickened my heartbeat again, so I took a deep breath as he set me on the tile countertop. I was out of the dungeon and never, ever going back.
Giulio stepped away and thrust his hands into his pockets. Messy dark brown hair fell across his forehead effortlessly, a look that actors and rock stars probably paid a stylist a shit ton of money for. He had his dad’s jaw and eyes, but his face was longer. More elegant. Whereas Ravazzani was brutally handsome, Giulio was refined and gorgeous. And his body was rangy and thin, not yet filled out with the strength of his father. Various tattoos ran along his forearms. Gia was right—Giulio was a total snack.
“Are you a model?” I blurted, only half-joking.
The side of his mouth hitched. “I could ask you the same, Francesca Mancini. After all, modeling is in your blood and I am told you look like your mother.”
“I tried once,” I said with a shrug. “I sent photos to a modeling agency in Toronto but they told me my boobs were too big.”
Giulio smiled and kept his eyes on my face instead of checking out my chest like most guys. “It is their loss.” He shifted on his feet, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “I should let you shower. You must be exhausted.” He turned for the door.
This couldn’t be it. Wasn’t there more to discuss, like how I didn’t want to marry him? “Giulio, wait!” When he paused, I said, “Are you okay with this? Us, getting married, I mean. Wouldn’t you rather choose your own bride instead of marrying some random?”
His eyes were flat and resigned, hardly the excitement of a man about to be married. “It doesn’t matter what I wish. It only matters what he wishes.”
“That can’t be true. You’re his only son. We could help each other, tell him we don’t suit. You could say that you don’t find me attractive or I’m too bitchy. Anything.”
“He won’t believe me, and furthermore he wouldn’t care. He never changes his mind once he decides something.”
The walls felt like they were closing in on me and my palms began to sweat. Still, I had to try again. “Giulio, I don’t want this. I want to go home, back to Toronto. I’m supposed to go to school in a few weeks.”
“I’m sorry, Francesca.”
I wanted to scream in frustration but my throat was too raw. “Frankie,” I whispered, needing someone to call me by the name I’d heard all my life. I needed a reminder of home, of people who actually cared about me.
“Cosa?”
“Everyone calls me Frankie.”
“Frankie,” he said quietly, his gaze full of pity. “Cheer up. At least we’ll be miserable together.”
After that cryptic statement, he left me alone in the bathroom.
* * *
Fausto
I waitedat the bottom of the stairs as my son came down the steps. “My office. Now.”