Page 31 of Marriage of Revenge

Sleeping on the chair in my room.

Holding my hand.

He shakes his head and it's no longer disappointment in his face—it's disgust. It's in the frown of his mouth and the cold in his eyes, the same look he wore when the doctors said I might never dance again. "I thought I raised you better than this. You've always had a role to play. Don't forget it. You're still a Moretti."

"Well, not for long apparently." And I should have bitten my tongue because his laughter is dry enough to crack skin.

"Those bodyguards don't have to come at your first scream, you know." His fingers trail down my cheek, and I fight theurge to flinch. "Don't mess this up. I told you what hangs in the balance. I thought you had learned to listen."

My heart doesn't flutter. It doesn't hammer. It's going up and down like that one time I was on that one-day cruise, right before they diagnosed me.

Because what did he mean about Naomi? If I messed it up for her, I'll never forgive myself. She can't pay for my weakness.

My father stands up and gestures for Georgio to show me to a small room in the back. Great, I'm going to spend five minutes with men I want nothing to do with, and one thinks I'm going to call him husband soon. At least in the hospital, I had some say in who touched me.

Plus, let’s face it: Georgio might not come to my help if I need it.

A rusty barbwire tightens around my throat. But I follow Georgio, and before closing the door behind me, he steps forward. "You have no idea how much your father is still protecting you."

I can’t help the nervous laughter that bubbles through my throat. “Hmm-hmm. Yep. I can tell.”

Georgio snarls, “You think it’s bad. Imagine if they didn’t have any use for you. Imagine what they’d do.” He pauses. “What I’d do. You’d have no reason to laugh, to smile, to fucking hope.”

“Hope?”

“I’ve watched you, Bellarina. I’ve watched you withhim.” He spits out the word like it’s toxic. “Trust me, if your father wasn’t here organizing all of this, if he wasn’t following on your grandmother’s contract and on everything he needs to do to make sure your family comes out on top, you’d be begging for mercy right here, right now. And everyone you ever loved would be dead.”

And he shuts the door.

Maybe, he’s right.

After all, if my father fell from his throne, who knows what would happen to all of us? He might be a monster, but he's our monster. The one who kept me alive through treatments that cost more than most people make in a lifetime. The one who made sure I had the best doctors, even if he couldn't bear to look at what they did to me.

But what am I supposed to do? I didn't survive my autologous stem cell transplant and heart complications just to let myself be handcuffed to a man I didn't even choose. I didn't fight through years of my body trying to kill itself just to become someone else's property.

Last night, it wasn't just about escape. I also wanted to breathe for a minute alone, without monitors beeping or men calculating my worth. I wanted to prove to myself that I could still be strong. That cancer didn't take everything. I wanted—

"Isabella."

The Russian mobster enters, and he's older than he looked in that picture I'd seen of him. His gaze is icy, assessing me like doctors used to assess my chances. He doesn't sit next to me, and I don't know whether to stand or stay where I am. My legs make that decision for me, trembling slightly from this morning's failed escape attempt.

"Pretty. A bit... heavy, no? Especially for a ballerina." His words are detached, like he's looking at a thing and not a person. Like those specialists who discussed my "case" while I lay there, trying not to cry. And I don't know whether to cuss him out or simply stare away. Both options feel like surrender.

"I see the defiance in your eyes." He invades my personal space, his presence oppressive, the scent of the sea mingling with heavy cologne that makes my stomach turn like chemo used to. He tilts my chin up, his fingers digging into my skin, compelling me to hold my breath. "Once you're mine? That defiance will be gone. Do you hear me?" His hands tightenaround my neck, and my entire body trembles. "You'll join my women. You'll be a queen, but not my queen. Do you understand?"

I understand he probably rotates through women and I'll be his wife in name only. Which is fine, actually—better than fine. The thought of his hands anywhere near me makes my skin want to crawl right off my body.

He pauses. A long pause. And I hope he stops talking for four minutes. I glance up at the counter on top of the door. My dad must have had that added before this morning. Maybe he planned this all along.

Four minutes left.

I could talk. I should say something.

"I understand," I say slowly. "Maybe you can tell me something."

His eyebrow raises like he's surprised I actually have a voice. You and me both, Rodomir. You and me both.

But I continue, trying very hard not to glance up at the clock again. "Is it true what they say about you? About what happened to your last wife when she tried to sing?"

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