Ice trickled into my veins when someone appeared at the top of the basement stairs. Gabriella. She looked between us, back and forth, then smiled awkwardly and hurried from the kitchen.
I wasn’t in a position to analyze why she had been down there with three of the men in my family, and even if I were, I didn’t care to dwell on it. The relief was palpable that she hadn’t entered a moment sooner.
“Go upstairs and change, Elena.” Nico’s voice was hard and uncompromising.
Did he honestly believe I would do what he said? God, he was so full of himself.
My eyes narrowed. “No.”
He ran his tongue across his teeth, and before I understood his intention, he had an arm around the backs of my thighs and my feet left the floor. A breath whooshed out of me as he tossed me over his shoulder.
“Guess I’ll have to do it for you then,” he bit out as he carried me to the door.
“Okay! Okay, I’ll do it.”
When he didn’t put me down, I struggled and tried to wiggle out of his grip. His arm tightened around my thighs like a vise and I couldn’t move an inch. He pushed open the swinging door and panic flooded me.
“Stop!” I hissed, hanging upside down. “I said, I’ll do it.”
“Ask me nicely.”
My teeth clenched. “Please, put me down.”
He dropped me to my feet in the foyer. His eyes flicked to the staircase, in that commanding way of telling me to get there.
“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” I told him as I walked away, my heart beating so hard against my ribcage it hurt.
He released a sardonic breath. “You haven’t seen anything, Elena.”
Truthfully, that’s what I was worried about.
“That was the beginning of the end of our thing.”
—Anthony Casso
“COME IN!”
The door of the penthouse on the twenty-second floor swung open, and Gianna stood on the other side. I didn’t believe that even someone who knew Gianna would be able to guess what she would wear next.
Tonight, it was a small black dress with a hem cutting diagonally from one hip to the opposite knee. Tall red pumps. Fishnet stockings. Wavy hair that was half-up, tied in two knots on the top of her head, and no makeup. Really, she didn’t need it.
“You’re early!” she exclaimed. Her eyes shone a little too bright, her pupils too large. She was high. Cocaine, most likely.
“I’ve brought some bruschetta and seafood salad,” Mamma said, moving into the kitchen with a tiny bowl of tomatoes while Benito struggled with everything else.
Adriana and I stayed in the hallway, hesitating.
Why was Gianna answering Nicolas’s door?
A sliver of something unpleasant curled in my chest, and for a split second, I didn’t like Gianna. The feeling was so strong and sudden I had to inhale a breath to push it away.
It was an unreasonably jealous reaction I shouldn’t have had, especially after yesterday. The problem was, I could still feel his hands on me, like I’d been branded for life. The only other man who’d gotten as close as Nicolas had a warm, gentle touch which faded to memory only seconds later. What I would give to reverse the two.
Adriana stepped into the apartment, her eyes taking it all in. “So, this is going to be my prison cell.”
Mamma gasped and spun around to shoot her a look. “Adriana!”
My sister walked further into the room with me following behind.
Gianna laughed. “Thankfully, this prison comes with great amenities. I’ll give you a tour!”
Apparently, Nicolas owned a few properties in New York and he’d chosen this one for Adriana. It wasn’t as quaint or as homey as his red-brick house, but it was upscale in every meaning of the word.
It was modernly decorated, with white and silver marble floors, lots of glass tables and chrome finishes. The lighting was dim and romantic, twinkling off the wall of glass that showcased the city. It was breathtaking, but I knew my sister would hate it.
“I hate it,” she said sourly, examining the view.
“Oh, come on,” Benito responded, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “It ain’t so bad. Look, it’s even got a pool.”
It did. The blue water lay still, the railing nothing but glass before a two-hundred-foot drop.
“If you like it so much, then you live here,” Adriana said.
“Don’t think Nico likes me like that.”
A hint of a smile tugged at my sister’s lips.
Gianna and Mamma took the tour by themselves, my mother’s “oohs” and “ahhs” drifting down the hallway.