Page 47 of Ruthless Vow

I shake my head. “Just the two of us.”

She smiles, a tight, close-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Danila is my right hand. You can speak freely in front of him. I trust him implicitly.”

Like Salvatore trusted me implicitly. Like Leo trusted me.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“In a locked holding cell,” I say.

Her eyes widen as if this information shocks her. “Did Leonardo Russo hold you prisoner?”

“He did.” I suspect she already knows this. She’s playing a game of cat and mouse with me, I just don’t know why.

“Did he hurt you?”

That’s a complicated question with an even more complicated answer. Did he hold me prisoner? Yes. Was it uncomfortable? Sometimes. Did he physically abuse me? No. Did he emotionally abuse me? Yes, but that likely wasn’t his intention.

My conflicted feelings toward Leo are my problem, not his.

Even now, I can feel his hands on me. As if he’s branded me. As if his marks are on me, inked into my skin. A reminder of what he’d done to me. Donewithme.

I hate him for getting this deeply into my head. Hate myself for letting him.

“He didn’t hurt me much,” I tell my aunt, because if I say he didn’t hurt me at all, it will arouse her suspicions. “I was drugged. When I came to, I was cuffed, my hands suspended from an overhead chain.”

She strides over and grabs my wrist, pushing the sleeve up. “No marks,” she says, her gaze boring into me.

“No. They faded,” I lie. There never were any marks thanks to the padded cuffs. “After the first day I was held in a windowless cell. I think they were trying to break me with silence, boredom, and threats.”

She nods and lets go of my wrist.

“And then I got away,” I say.

“How?”

“Leo let a young kid to watch me. Barely out of his teens. He forgot to lock the cell after he brought me a meal.” Bianca’s eyes narrow. I take a breath and continue. “I don’t know if it was a mistake or if they told him to pretend to forget. But Imade certain I wasn’t followed. And I am assuming Danila did the same.” Sticking as close as possible to the truth makes the lie believable.

Bianca relaxes and steps back.

“Did you tell him about me?” she asks.

“No. Nothing.” And that carries the ring of truth because it is the truth.

Bianca studies me for a moment longer, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts.

I play the weakling card. “I’m just so tired. I would kill for a shower and a few hours’ sleep. Can we talk after that?”

After an endless silence, she nods. “Go, get some rest. We’ll deal with all of this later.”

“Thank you. And…Aunt Bianca?”

“Yes?”

“When can I see Sofia?”

She stares at me for a long time, saying nothing. I know that stare so well. It’s meant to make me feel small, weak, worthless. But at some point in the past few days, it lost its power over me. I am not weak or worthless.

“You’ll see her tomorrow,” my aunt says.

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