Page 10 of The Don's Proposal

It doesn’t help that the only thing I’ve consumed in the last two hours is that disgusting alcohol. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to eat? I might as well take it before Santino makes everything worse.

“Go on, take these and clean up. You look like a mess.” She’s brutally honest, hardly holding back. Even if it’s the truth, it doesn’t feel good to hear it out loud. “I’ll be right here, make sure no one will bother you. Not even my son.”

Hesitantly, I grab the clothes and take in the small bottle of shampoo and bar of soap. I don’t know who these belong to, or why she’s going out of her way to make me feel a little more comfortable, but I don’t linger long enough to ask.

Rushing to the bathroom, I lock the door behind me without question. Turning on the shower, steam fills the room quickly. Before it completely covers the mirror, I take in my reflection once more. Wetting my fingers, I reach toward my eyes and pinch the contacts that are agitating them. The color brown moves with my fingers, leaving a pale blue behind.

Rocco has always hated my eyes. Said they made looking at me even more painful.

Throwing the contacts into the toilet, I flush them down so I don’t have a reason to hide something that makes me,me.

I’m also excited to peel the dress off my body. If I had a blade, I would shred it in strips so I would never have to wear it again. Everything about my appearance all feels wrong, and even if I’m in an awful situation, maybe if I can look a little more like myself, I’ll feel better.

I want to cling to that feeling for as long as I can, even if it gets taken away in no time at all.

I waste little time in the shower. Once my skin is pink and scrubbed raw, I change into the clothes waiting for me: a pair of sweatpants that need to be tied into a tight knot and the legs rolled up to my ankles, and a matching top with enough room to leave me feeling comfy. Even better, a pair of socks slide nicely against my sore soles.

Walking in heels is one thing, but wearing a pair that hasn’t been broken in inflicts nothing but excruciating pain and severe damage to my feet. They were left in his office, and I hope he tosses them. I never want to see them again.

When I leave the bathroom, I find the woman chatting with the man with the gun, calling him Tommy. No point in learning their names, not when there are so many of them.

“You never told me your name. I should thank you.” For showing me the first act of kindness sent my way in what feels like weeks.

She turns to look my way, her brows lifting up toward the wrinkles on her forehead.

“Well now, isn’t this an interesting change?” Distracted by my appearance, she holds her hand up to pause their conversation. Going as far as stepping toward me to get a closer look, her eyes squint as if she’s in disbelief. “Are you really the daughter of Elio?”

The mention of my father’s name makes a knot the size of a fist form in my throat. I try not to show the look of surprise on my face, but I can’t help but feel it.

Since the day I found my father on the day of his death, his body stiff from rigor mortis with scratches at his throat and foam on his lips, I haven’t heard his name spoken. Not once. Rocco never spoke of him, not really. Eliza tries to avoid bringing him up around me to save my feelings.

The muscles in my jaw tighten as I nod to her question.

If you ask others, they’ll disagree. For me, my father was my true caregiver. Despite my mother’s affair, resulting in my existence, he treated me like his own children, even though we’re not related by blood.

Her smile returns, and she nods. “How can such a worn man create such beautiful daughters? You must’ve gotten your looks from your mother.” Reaching out, she grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You can call me Bia, dear. Now, I believe I have had enough of this stuffy room. Are you hungry?”

I nod without thinking twice. The longer I go without food, the lower my guard becomes.

I should be wondering what my family is doing at this moment. Are they waiting around, expecting a call? Or could they be hunting down an alibi to help cover their tracks?

“Thank you for everything.” Squeezing her hand, I hate to have to let it go.

She nods with a soft sigh. Lowering her voice, she leans in toward me. “Four children, and yet, all I have is one daughter who never visits. Shame, isn’t it? Even now, all these men roam about without a single woman to talk about things that don’t include death or injury. You, my dear, are going to be the breath of fresh air this place needs. I see it, and I think my son may have as well. That’s the only explanation I have for why you’re still breathing.”

Her words are supposed to be a compliment, I’m sure of it. If only they didn’t leave a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach.

“Now then, let’s find something quickly. There’s nothing better than a late-night snack.” She leads me toward the door, and a chance of escaping appears before my eyes. As soon as I’m past the doorway, I’m sure I can prove Santino wrong, and run like my life depends on it.

Unfortunately for me, Tommy follows closely behind. I guess Santino didn’t order him to guard the door. He gave the order to stop me from escaping.

While I can’t slip away now, I’ll simply have to wait a little longer until the next moment arises.

5

Santino

A frown grows deeper on my lips as I watch the timer count down on my little bird’s cell phone screen. After repeatedly attempting different number combinations, I’m ready to return to her and demand the information to see what this frustrating device is hiding.

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