Page 73 of The Bonventi Secret
I curl up in the chair, making myself as small as possible, wishing I could disappear.
I don't know how long I sit there, lost in my thoughts, crying, and replaying every moment that led to this, but when I look outside, the sun is setting.
I continue to stay huddled in the chair, my eyes swollen and sore from crying, when a sharp knock at the door startles me. I lift my head, wipe my tears, and try to compose myself, but I know I must look a mess.
"Come in," I call out, my voice hoarse.
The door opens, and an armed guard steps inside. His face is stone, but his eyes flick over me, taking in my disheveled appearance. I can only imagine what he's thinking.
"Miss Falcone," he says, his voice deep. "I'm here to escort you to your room."
I blink at him, confused. "My room?" I repeat, then shake my head. "That's not necessary. I know the way."
The guard's expression doesn't change. "Mr. Bonventi's orders, ma'am."
Enzo doesn't even trust me to walk to our room now. I feel a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over, but I force them back. I won't cry in front of this stranger.
"Fine," I say, pushing myself up from the chair. My legs feel weak, and I stumble slightly. The guard takes a step forward, as if to catch me, but I wave him off. "I'm fine."
As we leave the library, I can't help but glance back at the shattered remains of the vase Enzo broke. It feels like a metaphor for our relationship—beautiful and valuable, now lying in pieces on the floor.
When we reach the East Wing, I pause outside the door, which is guarded by two others as usual. The guard who brought me here clears his throat behind me.
"Is there anything else you need, Miss Falcone?" he asks.
I turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time. He's young, probably not much older than me.
"No," I say softly. "Thank you."
I step inside the room, and they close the door behind me.
I make my way to our bed and collapse onto it. Enzo's scent still lingers on the pillows, and I bury my face in them, inhaling deeply. The tears come again, hot and relentless.
Thirty minutes later, there's a knock at the door. I lift my head from the pillow, my face sticky with dried tears. For a brief, hopeful moment, I think it might be Enzo, coming to talk things through. But a few seconds later, Marcella enters, carrying a covered tray.
"Your dinner, Miss Falcone," she says, her voice stern and professional. She sets the tray down on the small table near the window, her movements precise and efficient.
Back to calling me that and not what I asked.
I don't care enough to correct her or mention it.
I push myself up, wincing at the dull ache in my head from hours of crying. "Thank you, Marcella," I mumble, my voice dry.
She nods curtly and turns to leave. I don't want to speak, but I can't help myself. "Wait," I call out. She pauses, looking at me expectantly. "Have you seen Enzo?"
Marcella's face remains impassive, not a flicker of emotion crossing her features. "Mr. Bonventi is occupied with business matters," she replies, her tone giving nothing away. "You're to have dinner in your room for the foreseeable future."
I swallow hard, fighting back tears. "Did he say anything about me?"
For a moment, I think I see a flash of pity in Marcella's eyes, but it's gone so quickly I can't be sure. "I'm not privy to Mr. Bonventi's personal matters, Miss Falcone," she says. "Is there anything else you need?"
I shake my head, defeated. "No, thank you."
Marcella nods again and leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.
I stare at the covered tray, my stomach churning. The thought of food makes me feel ill, but I force myself to stand and walk over to it. I lift the silver cover, revealing a perfectly arranged plate of grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a small salad. Under normal circumstances, it would make my mouth water. Now, it just makes me feel nauseous.
I slump into the chair by the table, pushing the food around with my fork. My mind races, replaying the scene in the library over and over. The fury in Enzo's eyes, the sound of the vase shattering, his cold words as he left me there, sobbing and alone.
