“Morning,” I grunt.
“You slept on my floor again,” she says.
“Did I? It’s a comfortable floor.” I smile at her.
“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “I’m going to make you breakfast.” Jazzy jumps up and runs out of the room.
“Don’t touch the stove!” I yell out after her, then quickly add, “Or the knives.”
Fuck, she probably shouldn’t be in the kitchen.
I push myself up and follow Jazzy, stretching and cracking my neck along the way. It’s not the first time I’ve slept on the floor, but I definitely prefer my bed.
Chapter Two
Opulent captivity. Those two words define the entire twenty-one years of my life. I wouldn’t say I’ve had it tough. I’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted handed to me. Everything except freedom.
Everywhere I go, I’m followed. Every decision I make is analyzed and finalized by my father. So, really, they’rehisdecisions. Not mine. Right down to my major at school.
Shocker! It’s business law.Boring as hell, but when it’s that or not go to school at all, I choose to comply with orders. Just like I always do, because that’s what good daughters of mafia bosses do. Follow orders, don’t ask questions, and smile.
It’s the key to survival in this world, especially if you’re a woman. We don’t get to have a voice; we don’t have autonomy over our lives. No, we’re nothing more than a possession. A bargaining chip.
Do I hate my father?Not really.
He’s the only parent I’ve ever known. My mother died during childbirth, or so I’ve been told. Who really knows if that’s true or not? But he hasn’t been overly horrible. Like I said, I might be living in captivity, but it’s opulent. Others have it so much worse than I do, which is why I don’t complain.
Would I choose a different life if it were an option? Yes, but it’s not. And I’m not one to dwell on things that can never be. So I don’t waste my time daydreaming about alternative realities. If I did, though, I’d be on a beach somewhere. Far away from here. I’d have a love so great that it’d make the pages of romance novels jealous. My husband would be kind, understanding, and he’d listen when I spoke. I would experience true love.
I thought I had that once. A couple of years ago. It wasn’t real, though. It was also completely one-sided. I was an idiot to think it was anything more than a casual hookup, and it’s a mistake I’ll never make again.
A knock on my door has me turning around. “Your father wants to see you in his office,” Brian tells me with a pensive look on his face.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask him.
“Not for me to say, ma’am,” he replies. Brian might bemybodyguard, but he’s loyal to my father. He’s a made man first and last. And no matter how fond of me he might be, it does nothing to change the oath he took.
“Fine. I’ll be there in a sec,” I tell him before rushing into my bathroom. I slam the door shut and stare at my reflection. I try to run over scenarios, conjure up what my father could possibly want to see me about. My grades are great, best they’ve ever been. My credit cards haven’t been overused. I haven’t done or said anything to anyone I shouldn’t have.
My fingers comb through my hair, straightening out the long dark locks. Then I grab my lip gloss and glide it across my lips.Always look presentable. It’s one of my father’s rules, and I don’t plan on starting whatever chat he wants to have with a lecture on my appearance.
Straightening my shoulders and putting up an invisible shield around my feelings, I walk out of the sanctuary of my bedroom. When you live with constant criticism, you develop coping mechanisms. One of mine is pretending I have an invisible force shield around me, that whatever my father says to me will just bounce right off it. Sometimes I’ll go as far as visualizing the written word literally bouncing off a wall before it can penetrate my skin.
I don’t need to knock when I reach my father’s office. Brian is already outside the door, waiting for me. He gives me a small smile before opening the door and stepping aside.
“Thanks,” I say as I pass him. “Papa, you wanted to see me?” I smile, and try to sound happy to be here. Truth is, I hate this office. Nothing good ever happens inside it.
“Antonia, sit down. I have some good news.” My father gestures to the chair in front of his desk.
“Okay.” I take a seat and brace myself forthe good news. Pretty sure he’s not talking about the Bible here.
“I’ve arranged your marriage. Engagement party is happening on Wednesday. Black-tie event,” he tells me.
My stomach drops.Did he really just say marriage? I can’t have heard that right.“Excuse me?”
“You will be married. I’ve selected the groom. And your engagement party is set for Wednesday. Don’t make me repeat myself again,” he says.
“Marriage,” I stutter out. “I’m not ready.”
