The guest room is pristine, decorated in muted grays and whites—sterile and cold, just like everything else in this damnpenthouse. I pace the length of the room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. This is my life now. Dante watching my every move, reporting back to Vito like I'm some unruly child who can't be trusted.
I need to wash the night off my skin, to scrub away the feeling of hands grabbing me, of being carried out of that club like a sack of grain. The bathroom is just as sterile as the bedroom, all marble and chrome. I splash cold water on my face, washing away the remnants of my carefully applied makeup. In the mirror, my eyes are red and puffy, but at least the smeared eyeliner is gone.
When I swing the bathroom door open, I nearly jump out of my skin. Dante is standing there, leaning against the wall like he owns the place. My mouth turns into a grimace and my eyes narrow into what I'm sure is another scowl.
"What do you want?"
"I'm just doing my job. Get used to me princess, I'm your shadow now."
The way he says 'princess' makes my skin crawl. Not because it's cruel, but because there's something almost...fond about it. Like he's not entirely unhappy about this arrangement. Which makes one of us.
CHAPTER 6
Dante
Dayone of babysitting Sofia Gallo at the Greenhouse, and I'm already questioning every life choice that led me to this moment.
The place is nice enough—sprawling estate on the Hudson River, plenty of space to roam, and Olga Gallo makes a mean cup of coffee. But watching Sofia pace around like a caged tiger is making me wonder if Vito's punishment fits the crime here. Then again, maybe this is punishment for both of us.
I've stationed myself in the kitchen where I can see both the front door and the back door, plus I've got a clear view of the main staircase. Sofia's been upstairs for exactly forty-three minutes, which is either her getting ready for the day or plotting her first escape attempt.
My money's on escape attempt.
"She's been quiet," Olga mentions, bustling around the kitchen and shooting worried glances toward the ceiling.
"Too quiet," I agree, taking another sip of coffee. "In my experience, quiet women are usually up to something."
As if on cue, I hear the unmistakable sound of a window sliding open upstairs. I set down my coffee and check my watch.Forty-five minutes. Not bad, princess. I give her points for patience.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Gallo," I say, already heading for the back door. "I think your daughter might need some fresh air."
I slip outside and position myself under Sofia's bedroom window, leaning against the side of the house with my arms crossed. The morning sun feels good on my face as I wait. And wait. And wait some more.
What the hell is taking her so long? Is she packing a suitcase up there?
Finally, a bare foot appears at the window, followed by a leg in dark jeans. Sofia's moving carefully, testing each handhold as she climbs down the side of the house. I've got to admit, the girl's got skills. Most people would break their neck attempting this climb, but she's moving like she's done it a hundred times before.
Which, knowing Sofia, she probably has.
She drops the last few feet to the ground, landing in a crouch. When she straightens up and turns around, her face goes through about four different emotions in the span of two seconds: surprise, anger, resignation, and then something that looks suspiciously like calculation.
"Going somewhere, princess?"
"Don't call me princess," she snaps automatically, but there's no real heat behind it. More like she's testing the waters.
"What should I call you then? Houdini?" I push off from the wall and take a step closer. "Because that was some impressive window work up there. Very graceful. Though you might want to work on your timing."
Her eyes narrow. "My timing was fine."
"Eh, not really. See, the thing about escape attempts is you want to make sure your audience isn't already waiting for you." I gesture to myself with a smirk. "Kind of defeats the purposewhen your security detail is standing right here enjoying the show."
Sofia crosses her arms, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. "How did you know?"
"Professional instinct. Plus, you've been way too quiet up there. In my line of work, quiet usually means trouble." I tilt my head toward the house. "Also, your mom makes fantastic coffee, and I had a perfect view of your window from the kitchen."
"So you were just... waiting?"
"Like a spider in a web, princess. Like a spider in a very comfortable, well-caffeinated web."
