Page 55 of Devil's Tulip

I gape at Aunt Marie, and this time, she meets my gaze with a smirk. “You can never get away from us, Gigi. Shouldn’t you know that by now?”

Anger rises like bile in my throat. “If you had a daughter, would you let your husband marry her off to a man like Carlo?”

She chuckles. “Well, I don’t have one, so the comparison you’re trying to make is pointless.”

“You hate me,” I realize. I always thought it was just irritation, annoyance, or maybe even jealousy, but no—it’s hate. “Why?”

She just shrugs, turning away. “Go to your room and wait there for your punishment, Gianna.”

Fuck that.

I watch her go, and when the door shuts behind her, I spin around, making my way to Uncle Aldo’s office. I need to hear what he and Carlo are discussing. If it’s really about me and my doomed wedding.

I press myself against the door just in time to hear my uncle say, “I’ve got our girl back, Carlo.”

“She’ll need to be suitably punished, so she knows running away is never an option… and so she won’t ever try it again.” An unexpectedly nasally voice replies—so that’s what Carlo sounds like? I swallow hard at his words, even though his cruelty isn’t really surprising. I mean, the man killed his own wives.

“Of course, my friend. I’ll see to it. And I’ve already informed the priest to arrive tomorrow afternoon. To avoid further delays and mishaps in your matrimony, I think it’s best to get it done immediately.”

What?

Blood roars in my ears. Without thinking it through, I burst through the door. Three pairs of eyes snap to me. Dario—who I didn’t even realize was also in here—gets to his feet.

Oh, shit.

But I’m already in too deep to back down. So chin high, I forge ahead. “No, Uncle. I’m not marrying anybody. I’m my own person—you can’t just decide to throw me at some man old enough to be my grandfather.”

Carlo’s face darkens to an ugly, blotchy red. He shoves back his chair, ready to lunge. “You little?—”

“We’ll take care of this, Carlo. Rest assured,” Uncle Adlo interrupts, nodding at Dario, who starts approaching me, his face a thunderstorm.

My stomach clenches.

Shit, shit. Me and my big fucking mouth.I never learn, do I? I should have just quietly gone to my room or tried another escape, no matter how hopeless it was.

I turn to run, but where the hell would I even go? There’s nowhere in this house he won’t find me. I barely make it three steps before Dario’s fingers clamp around my upper arm. His grip is bruising, his nails biting into my skin as he yanks me out of the office. He moves fast, dragging me down the hall with long punishing strides, forcing me to stumble-jog just to keep up.

We reach my old bedroom, and before I can even brace myself, he wrenches the door open and hurls me inside so violently I go flying onto the floor, my palms slapping painfully against the cold, hard tiles.

“You think because you ran away you can say whatever the fuck you want and act out in a way that shames us? I won’t stand for it.” His foot swings out, kicking me hard in the ribs.

A sharp, searing pain explodes through my side, knocking the breath from my lungs. I choke on a gasp, instinctively curling in on myself, arms wrapping around my chest in a feeble attempt at protection.

“That’s for wrecking my car,” he pronounces arrogantly.

Fabric rustles, faint over the pounding in my ears. I force myself to blink past the throbbing ache in time to see him shrug off his jacket and toss it aside before hunching down in front of me.

His hand fists in my hair and yanks so hard, my head snaps back. I bite back a cry of pain, my eyes smarting with the sting of tears as he twists the strands tighter. “That’s for causing embarrassment to a family that took you in when you had noone,” he spits, pulling harder. “That fed you, clothed you, and gave you a home.”

I want to laugh. What a fucking joke. But the way he’s holding my hair, forcing me to look him dead in the eyes, drains the fight right out of me. There’s something sick in how he’s looking at me as tears drip down my face. Then, he smiles, the coldness in his eyes thawing just the slightest bit.

He’s enjoying this, like I knew he would.

He tugs my head back even further, and then, with no warning, lashes out with his hand, slapping me so hard that my face snaps to the side, despite his tight grip on my hair. My scalp burns as the flesh stretches, a couple of hair strands violently ripping out in the process.

I can’t hold it in. A pained scream bursts out of me, and he slaps me again.

“Shut the fuck up.”

---