"I'm not sleeping on your bed!" How dare he presume I would? As if I would ever share a bed with a criminal. He looks at me as if I'm insane. It makes me feel self-conscious against my will. "On my bed? What makes you think that?" "You just pointed at it," I explain. "You said I'll have to sleep in here.""In here, yes. But I didn't mean my bed," he says and stands to his full height. I feel so small next to him. It's one of the most infuriating feelings ever. "I meant what's underneath it." He lowers to the floor and sticks his hand beneath his bed. He pulls out a thin mattress. I stare at it in shock. He expects me to sleep on this old, thin, dirty mattress? This is what he meant? I scoff. "You must be joking." This is preposterous. There's no reason why I should sleep in this. He said there's no use in escaping, he knows everyone around here. So why this? It's not like I'll run away in the middle of the night. I'm not stupid. I know I'll get caught. "No," he shakes his head, em

She places a hand on her hip and glares at me. “Answer me, bitch.""Stop this now, Flavia. This is Enzo's business and you shouldn't get involved. Back off." Marco tries to take her arm, but she slaps him. So this is Flavia, Enzo's girlfriend. I remember Fabrizio telling me about her and I don't usually forget names. She's beautiful. Long black hair, light brown eyes. Her brows are perfectly arched and her skin is perfectly sun-kissed. Her lips are coated in gloss. She's looking at me as if she wants to kill me. I don't doubt that for a second. She's intimately involved with a criminal, so that very well makes her one. Criminals are capable of anything. "Get your hands off me, mongrel," she growls. Marco backs off and returns to my side. He makes a terrified face. It's like he's scared of her or something. Ginevra raises her arms. Adelina scurries away. "I don't want any trouble!" "If you had kept your old trap shut, there wouldn't be," Marco retorts. "Who is this woman?" Flavia

Enzo is waiting downstairs for me like he's my prom date. The scene is so ludicrous I could laugh. He's smoking a cigarette and fixes his eyes on me. He's eyeing me critically, looking for any flaws in my appearance. I've lost some weight, but the dress fits me well enough. There were heels at the bottom of the bag. He thought of everything, well, almost everything. A clutch would do wonders for this outfit. All I had to do was tie my hair in a low bun and pinch my cheeks. I don't have any makeup, so there's not much I can do. The dress is flowy and long. It's made of silk and chiffon, with sheer puffed long sleeves. My back is exposed. I've never owned a dress like this. I look like a different person in it. It must have cost a fortune. I fake bow. "Does my appearance please you?" He blows out smoke in my face. "We'll see."Once we're outside, there's a car waiting for us. It isn't like the usual cars, this car is fancy. Black and sleek. A limousine. I've never seen one up close

"I know you're listening," he says again. "There's no point in trying to hide."Dammit. I try to creep back into the room. I take one step and the entire house creaks. I'm so close to the door. If I could only get in there and act as if I've never heard this conversation, it would be much better. If he asked the cleaning lady to send me upstairs, then I should've never heard this. For a good reason, because a lot of it involved me. "Don't make me go up there and get you." There's an unmistakable finality in his tone. He's very well capable of dragging me downstairs and I want to avoid that at all costs. I promised myself that he would never again have the pleasure of manhandling me. I sigh. I've been caught. There's no denying it. He knows I was listening and there are only so many places I can hide. I straighten up and start descending the stairs. He's standing in the middle of the living room with a tumbler in hand. The top buttons of his shirt are undone and his hair is dishevele

The door opens and a tall man comes into the chamber. The light in the room illuminates his face. He's dressed in black from head to toe and he's wearing a black hat. There's a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. He tips his hat in greeting. I know this man. This is the man who talked to me at Giotto's party. He sat beside me at the bar and offered me a drink, but I didn't see him again after I left with Enzo. His eyes dart to me, standing awkwardly in a pale blue sweater that's moth eaten and dirty sneakers. He doesn't seem surprised that I'm here. So he knew who I was all along, even that day. I don't know how to feel about that, especially since he kept asking who I was with. It's confusing for me. It doesn't make the sense that it should in my head. And I, perhaps, too slow? "Gustavo Puglia? Giotto Puglia's son?" Aurelio makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. "You're mad. You're all mad."His son? He's Giotto's son? I look at the man. His expression is