Page 121 of Devil's Tulip

Michael’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, his voice cool and controlled. “You should have told me you had a man when I proposed marriage. Hell, you should have told me the moment I rescued you.”

He’s too calm. Unnervingly calm for how hot-tempered he can be, and if I weren’t so completely engulfed in my own horror, I might think perhaps this is all an act for someone. I shake myhead numbly. “No, I didn’t have a man. Idon’thave a man. I don’t even know who that is. I’m being set up, Michael. I swear!”

“Not only did you cheat, but you also went through my computer and shared classified files with this man. I trusted you, Gia.” His blue eyes rake over my crumbling expression, and something flickers in them—worry? Regret? Pain?—but it’s ruthlessly extinguished before I can identify it.

“No, please, listen to me, Michael!I’m being framed.” Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I lunge forward and grab his wrists. “This is all Aldo’s twisted plan. I’m innocent!”

“Aldo,” he says slowly. “You can’t pin this on him. He was the one who brought all this forward and exposed you.” A pause. “Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to save him from the gallows. Stall it, perhaps. But he’ll be dealt with. Eventually.”

“W–what?” My voice breaks, heart and head throbbing fiercely as I try to follow this new train of conversation. “What gallows?”

Michael studies me, then sighs. “Ah, that’s right. You still don’t know, do you?” He pries my hands off him and gently places them on my lap.

“Know what?” I sniff pathetically, trying to pull myself together enough to understand what the hell is happening.

“That it was Aldo who ordered your parents’ deaths. And yours,” he says, and my ears pop ominously. His lips keep moving, but I can only stare at him helplessly, unable to understand what he’s saying.

The room swims druggily around me, and I realize I might still be under the influence of whatever Aunt Marie has been pumping into my veins. “No, no way.” I shake my head in an attempt to dispel my wooziness. “It–it was an accident.”

And I’m alive, aren’t I? If he really killed my parents and wanted me dead too, why am I still breathing?

“No,” Michael replies, and I might be reading into things, but his jaw clenches like he’s not too happy about the facts. “It was made tolooklike an accident.” His lips press into a thin line, like he’s swallowing something bitter. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter to you. After all, you’re just like your uncle when it comes to loyalty. You’re only loyal to your self-interests and?—”

He cuts himself off when I let out a small, broken sound, and without another word to me, he spins around and walks away. No hesitation. Not even a glance back.

“Take her away,” he says to someone outside the door, and my heart shatters into a thousand jagged pieces.

He’s throwing me away. After everything we’ve been through, he’s choosing to believe a lie.

A shadow shifts in the doorway. Then Lorenzo steps in.

He gives me a sympathetic look, grimacing as he takes my arm with unexpected gentleness. “I’m sorry about this,” he murmurs as he guides me out of my room.

We descend the stairs and head towards the back, past the room where I received my tattoo, and a single locked door with sophisticated control panels—the kind that requires a keycard for entry.

My brain immediately stutters to attention through the haze of drugs and despair.A key card. Like the one hidden in Michael’s nightstand drawer.But I’m jolted out of my musings when Lorenzo types in a code for wherever it is we’re going. The same code Michael whispered in my ears that night so far away when we were trying to get into his bedroom.

Zero–eight–one–zero.

And suddenly the realization hits me with staggering force.My birthday. Eighth of October. Wild, desperate hope floods my veins. He cares about me, right? He has to. Why else would the codes to some places in his house be my birthday?

The door unlocks with a quiet beep, and Lorenzo pushes it open, leading me into some sort of hallway. As we walk down the length, we pass two rooms with see-through glass doors before finally stopping at the third one. The last one. Only then do I realize these aren’t rooms at all—they’re cells. Mini prisons.

Each room contains a single thin mattress tossed on the floor, a washing basin off to one side, a toilet without privacy, and a single flickering light. Lorenzo places his palm against a scanner, and the glass door slides open.

We walk inside together, and my fragile hope sinks like the Titanic.

If Michael cared about me before, he doesn’t seem to anymore. Uncle Aldo won. He actually got to him. Tears prick the corner of my eyes as Lorenzo lets go of my arm.

He gestures halfheartedly around the small space, studiously avoiding my gaze. “It’s warm. You have a bed and light. Amenities. Nobody who’s broken theomertàhas gotten treatments this good. He cares about you, but he also has his image to protect. If he kept you in the main house, it would make him look weak,” Lorenzo explains slowly, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling me this, but he can’t stop himself.

“B–but I didn’t break theomertà,” I tell him. I didn’t betray Michael at all. Not once. Not ever.

Lorenzo just backs out of the room wordlessly, the glass door sliding shut with a final-sounding click. He tosses me one last pitying glance, then walks away, leaving me alone.

36

MICHAEL

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