Chapter four

After waiting in awkward silence another SUV picks us up, but the driver gets into the other truck instead, Arturo helps me into the passenger seat before getting into the driver side, peeling into traffic carelessly, cars honk behind us, but Arturo remains catatonic.

“We will stay at hotel for the night, flight early tomorrow. Understand?” I can only nod. I would rather shower before traveling across the states any ways. The car is silent for a moment before he speaks again. “What did Rico say to you, Fiore?” His flame like eyes burn me for a moment before sliding back to the road, I subconsciously pull at my crucifix around my neck. Swallowing passed the ball in my throat I muster enough courage to shoot a question back.

“Who did you call on the phone?” My hands tremble when he looks at me again, the same dangerous look from earlier passes before he talks with ice.

“None of your business.” bravely, I scoff.

“I could tell you the same.” I wait for another predatory look to pass over his features but instead the corner of his lip twitches into a smirk.

“You keep forgetting Avery, I own you, you and everything about you is my business.” and just like that all my confidence is crushed. I deflate physically into my seat. “Now what did he say?” My eyes practically roll to the back of my head.

“Nothing worth repeating.” I am not sure if he believes me, but he lets it rest and we ride the rest of the way in silence.

Sleep comes unexpectedly, the nightmares however, are un-welcomed but expected. By the time I am jolted awake by my own subconscious terrors we are just pulling up the hotel. A building that seems to stick out directly from the middle of the beach. Sand covered the entrance and the parking lot, woman pranced in their bikini’s while other women’s husbands watched.

“Change of plans. We will be staying here until the house is done.”

“Why?” I could not help myself, after Rico’s words, a stranger seeming to know more about myself than I really did, questioning everything was becoming my only way of defense. But Arturo’s burning gaze was becoming too much and I was not sure how much more of it I could take.

His jaw clenched painfully looking before he answered me, even though his words came calm, they sent waves of fear down my back.

“None of your business Avery. You are not to question me or my decisions, you will follow where I lead, or you will find yourself in a much worse predicament.” His hand wraps around mine and I am yanked from the car, sand kicks into my sandals from my stumble.

No one even bats an eye at an enormous man dragging a blood-soaked girl into the hotel, Arturo does not even look in the direction of check in and instead pulls us to an elevator.

Everything in the hotel is covered in gold or diamonds, I feel even more filthy standing in the mirror elevator. My curly mane of dark hair was caked in sweat and flecks of blood, the only spot on my face that was not dirty or covered in blood was my cheeks with clear, salty tear streaks. My dark brown eyes seemed red; I was a mess. Arturo however was looking as crisp and clean as the devil can get, his all-black suit did not have a wrinkle, a hair was not even out of place. “Do you see something you like?” He does not look up from him phone, but I can tell he is smirking.

Any smart remark dies in my throat when his words from earlier slide into my head. Finally, the elevator stops on floor, 77, the doors open to a beautiful penthouse with a view of the beach stretching across the window view.

The kitchen seemed fully stocked as Arturo strides passed me and pulls a beer from the full fridge. “Follow.” he flexes a single finger, and my once glued position unseals, and I am following him down a short hallway with three doors. “This is your room. Mine is across the hall, but I’m usually in the office next door.” Nodding I eye the comfy looking bed, barely hearing him. “You have your own bathroom if you want to shower. The other door is your closet.” his eyes flick to my feet and back to the top of my head before he speaks again. “About time you start dressing as an Italian Dona.” then he casually walks away while his words strike like lightening.

A Dona was the wife to a Don, usually an immensely powerful Don. Most women do not get this title, I did not want it.