Page 80 of No Promises, No Lies

“A wife’s duty is to her husband. To make him happy. Serve him. But you—” a maniacal look enters his eye, and he resumes his pacing. I move in tandem to keep the distance between us. Matteo’s words and movements grow increasingly angrier as he carries on. “—You,” he shakes a finger at me, “embarrassed me in front ofmyCapo.”

I’m shaking my head at him, unsure what to say to avoid what I think is coming.

I see the moment his dark mania settles into cold absolution. “As a result, you will be punished.” He states the words simply, taking a calm and measured step toward me. “Consider this a learning experience, Aurora.”

Dread fills me and instinctively I look for an exit, a means of escape, but there is none. Matteo’s standing between me and the only door. The fact he is calm only makes him that much scarier. He isn’t threatening me from a place of rage like my father always did—unable to control his own temper.

Matteo is making a choice.

He comes for me and I can’t help but back away. He smiles, delight and satisfaction in his eyes at the fear he’s caused.

I slap him when he gets too close.

It’s the wrong thing to do, but I don’t care. He can’t make me regret it, not even when he slaps me back. Twice as hard. And not even when he let loose a sharp punch to my ribs, taking my breath from me. A second punch takes me down to my knees.

He’s strategic with his hits. Clinical even. Hitting… kicking… where no one will ever see. My stomach, back and legs are all fair game.But he avoids my face… my arms.

It’s over quickly and I don’t cry, despite the searing pain in my ribs. I don’t.

He’s sadistic enough to offer me his hand to help me off the floor. I consider refusing it, but he’d probably punish me for that, too. Reluctantly, I take it and he pulls me up.

He mistakes my shaking hands for fear and strokes my hair almost lovingly, like I’m a naughty puppy who’s misbehaved. But I’m not afraid; I’m angry. Angry at him for what he just did.Angry at myself for letting him.

“Now off to bed. We have a long week ahead. As discussed, the rehearsal dinner is on Friday.” It’s a little glimpse into what life will be like as his wife.

“I shouldn’t be here. We aren’t married yet—It isn’t right.” Suddenly I’m nervous for a whole new reason.

“The contracts have been signed. I already own you,” Matteo urges impatiently, leading me out of the study and toward the grand stairwell at the front of the house.“The wedding ismerely a formality. Not to mention, given your father’s abysmal situation and lack of his own security, you’re far safer here.”

Somehow I doubt that.

I don’t have a response. Too busy taking in Matteo’s “security.” And it is extensive. Armed soldiers stand guard throughout the house, and even more are outside. I can see them patrolling through the windows. He has all the exits covered. My hope of escape dims.

“That being said,” Matteo continues, “I have assured your father everything will be above board.” He straightens his tie. “I will not touch you until the bedding ceremony on our wedding night.” I wince, briefly recalling the Italian tradition of displaying bloody sheets for all to see as proof of the bride’s purity and consummation of the marriage.Bloody sheets we won’t have…

His phone rings, and he answers it. His eyes widen before darkening as he listens to the deep rumble of someone on the other end.He replies sharply in rapid Italian.

“Your room is upstairs, the last door on the left. Sal can show you if needed. I have business to attend to.” He points out a nearby guard, who I’m assuming is Sal, before stalking back to his study, screaming into the phone before disappearing with a door slam.

I stand lost on the marble tiles of the grand foyer, too aware of the guard’s interest on my over exposed legs.

Seven days.I look around the dark house.

I have seven days to escape this fate.

47

STICK TO MY HEART, BLADE TO MY THROAT

RORY

Matteo only allows me to leave his house for private sessions with Karina and for Belles practice. He forced me to tender my resignation at the Chill Zone. And he thwarts my attempts to return to the Kostalova mansion at every turn.

He’s also monitoring my phone. He replaced my cell the very next day with one of his own that I know he’s bugged.

Dark circles ring my eyes. I haven’t been sleeping well. The purple and blue bruises on my ribs make it hard to get comfortable. At least they are fading from my skin. Hopefully, the pain fades soon too.

Without the cash I have saved, I don’t know what to do. I’m pissed off at myself for not seeing the ambush coming. I should have kept it on me, or in a locker at the rink. Along with the go-bag I have hidden, currently tucked deep in my closet at the mansion. I didn’t have much saved, but I was sure I could stretch it if I was frugal.Really frugal.

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