Loathe Me Page 3

  “Adelina.”

  I turn at the sound of my name. Nero stands in the doorway, a frown pulling at his handsome features. “Please come inside.”

  Releasing the railing, I follow him. The heat inside immediately prickles my cool skin until it burns. It takes me a moment to register the man lingering next to the fireplace, but once I do, he’s all I can focus on. Nero seems dangerous, but this man is almost inhuman as if he’s one with the shadows, soaking them up like his own personal camouflage. He leans against the narrow strip of wall, arms loose at his sides, but he’s poised. Perfectly still. I can’t even make out the rise and fall of his chest. The golden hair against pale skin makes him look so…other. Almost ethereal. Icy blue eyes track me like prey, and I drop my gaze in an effort to escape their hold. I focus on his chest, noticing the way his black T-shirt strains against solid muscle. A shiver of fear skates down my spine.

  “Adelina, this is Sasha. He’s going to protect you.”

  I swallow slowly, my eyes darting from Nero to the strange man and back again. “Where’s my sister?” I ask. I need to know why Gabi is doing this, why I can’t go home where Daddy’s men can protect me.

  “Gabriella has gone. She’s needed in Sicily.”

  A stab of pain lances through my chest and I’m unable to believe she left without so much as a goodbye. “Well, how long am I staying here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I need to talk to my father.”

  This can’t be right. Daddy wouldn’t send me away like this. He wouldn’t leave me with strangers indefinitely. But here I stand, having the conversation with Nero while a terrifying man stares me down from across the room.

  “Your family is on the verge of war with the Bianchi’s, Adelina. The best thing you can do for them is to stay safe. Sasha will show you to your room.”

  My chest suddenly feels tight, and my breaths stilted. “No. I’m leaving.” I take two steps toward the doorway before Sasha shifts his weight, stepping in front of me. His arms remain folded over his chest, his expression bored.

  “You need to stay.” Nero’s tone leaves little room for argument, but I refuse to go down that easily.

  I spin around to face him with clenched fists, anger bubbling under my skin. “I’m a prisoner now?”

  Those honey eyes meet mine, and any friendly pretense slips. The mob boss peeks through. Between these two, I’m not leaving here.

  “If you like,” Nero drawls.

  I bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from screaming or crying.

  “Sasha will show you to your room,” he repeats.

  Sasha pushes off the wall and moves past me. He walks towards the stairs without a word said, and I resign myself to the fact that my father wants me here. I have to trust that Daddy is doing what needs to be done for my protection, the same way he always has. I jog to catch up with Sasha’s long strides. The stairs lead to a loft of sorts that hangs over the living space below. Several doors line the hallway, and he stops outside one, opening it before stepping back. I stand awkwardly for a moment, reluctant to pass him. His cool gaze lands on me, and one brow cocks, the only sign of his impatience.

  “Thank you.” I hurry past him into the room, and he silently he walks away.

  I close the door and release a long breath. If that is my protector, I think I’d rather take my chances with the Bianchi family. The bedroom has the full glass wall that runs around the exterior of the penthouse. Bright light spills in, illuminating the clean, almost clinical lines of the interior. I could easily be in a high-end hotel instead of someone’s home. My one small bag sits on the bed.

  I take a seat on the edge of the bed, and everything finally catches up with me. Frustration bubbles over, and hot, angry tears trickle down my cheeks. I swipe at them, wishing I was stronger, that I was more like Gabi. My sister doesn’t need to be sent halfway across the world for her own protection. Gabi wasn’t promised to some guy like a business transaction; no, she’s too important to sell off like falling stock.

  I remember trying to hide my tears from my father when I was little. He’d always tell me not to cry. You are a Ricci. You are a lion.

  My father never had any sons. If I had a coin for every time someone told Daddy that he needed to re-marry so he could have one, well…I’d be very wealthy. My fathers “business associates,” the mob viewed two girls as a disappointment. Of course, he’s never re-married because he’s still in love with Mama. Even in death, he won’t betray her. But he raised us to be strong and taught us as well as he would any son, all while instilling what is expected of a woman in the mafia. An act is what he would say. A rose with steel petals, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This agreement, this marriage, it doesn’t make any sense. It goes against everything he ever taught me.

  Falling back on the bed, I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to drift home. Until thoughts turn to dreams…

  When I wake, the room is almost dark. A glow seems to emanate from outside the windows, and when I get up, I see it’s drifting from the buzzing city below. My stomach growls and cramps, reminding me that I haven’t eaten. Hesitantly, I open the bedroom door and peer down the long hall. The lights are on in the penthouse, but I can’t see anyone. My bare feet pad over the hardwood floors as I descend the stairs. This place is too big, too exposed. I feel like a maid creeping through the master’s quarters.

  “Hello?”

  There’s no answer, but I can’t imagine that they left me alone. I round the wall that divides the living room from the dark kitchen. I can see well enough to make my way to the refrigerator. Opening the door, I peer inside to find a lot of empty space. There’s a carton of coffee creamer, a lot of wine, some baby food, and that’s pretty much it.

  “Here.”

  I jump out of my skin at the sound of someone behind me. Sucking in a sharp breath, I whirl around, pressing my back to the refrigerator until I almost climb inside it. Light spills around me, reaching across the room to highlight the shadowy form of Sasha who sits at the breakfast bar like a statue.

  I press my hand to my chest. “You scared me.”

  “Then you should be more aware.” His voice has the edge of an accent, harsh and guttural. Russian, I think.

  He slides something across the breakfast bar, and I peer at what looks like a take-out menu. I close the refrigerator door, plunging us into darkness once more. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and my heart thuds erratically. My body knows I’m in the presence of danger, but my mind can’t rationalize that he isn’t a danger to me. A tiger might seem friendly, Lina. Doesn’t mean he won’t bite you.

  Stepping away, I fumble around for the light switch on the wall. I scoop up the take-out menus he hands me and skim over the top one. He gives me his phone, and I place my order without ever taking my eyes off him. And when I’m done, I hand him his phone, and he gets up and strolls away. I take a seat at the breakfast bar and wait, alone.

  There’s a steady clicking on the floors before a dog rounds the corner of the breakfast bar, his claws tapping on the marble. The Doberman stills, and his hackles rise. Slowly, I drop my hand, and he steps forward, sniffing it before creeping closer. I tentatively stroke over his shiny coat. Bit by bit, he moves closer until he finally places his head on my thigh and closes his eyes. My heart squeezes. Despite the people occupying the penthouse, I’ve never been more alone. But this animal…his silent companionship, his trust makes me feel a little less isolated for a moment.

  We sit like that until a beeping sound cuts through our moment of peace. I look up, trying to locate the source of the noise. The phone on the wall next to the elevator has a flashing green light on it. That must be the pizza. My stomach rumbles at the thought. Getting up, I walk through the lobby with the soft click of the dog’s claws tapping after me.

  Removing the receiver, I place it to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Good evening, ma’am. There is a delivery here for the penthouse.”

  “Thank you.�
�� I hang up and press the button for the elevator.

  After a few seconds, it dings, and the doors glide open, allowing me inside. The dog whines before turning around and wandering back into the kitchen. My gaze drifts to the floor where my pink painted toenails catch my attention. It is hard to believe it was only yesterday that I sat on my bed in my dorm, chatting to my roommate about boys. It feels like a lifetime ago. The doors whir shut and then jolt to a halt a fraction of a second before I’m yanked forward. My back hits a wall and warm air breezes over my face.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Sasha hisses. His muscular frame towers over me, and his fingers dig into the tops of my arms so hard I’ll be bruised.

  “I’m, getting pizza.” I stumble, instantly feeling like an idiot.

  “You’re just going to walk into the downstairs lobby, on your own, knowing someone is trying to take you?”

  My cheeks heat, and I avert my eyes. When he puts it like that… “I just—”

  “Just nothing. Use your brain. I can’t protect you from your own stupidity.” His voice is like the crack of a whip. Shoving away from me, he slams his hand over the button for the elevator. Crippling tension lingers between us as we both wait for that ding that will free us from the confined space. As soon as it sounds, I release a breath. The doors glide open, and he steps inside. When the doors close, my body slumps, and the dog trots over, whining before he nudges my hand.

  On a sigh, I make my way back to the breakfast bar and take a seat. Seconds later, the elevator pings again, and Sasha walks towards me with the pizza box in hand. He dumps it on the bar without so much as a word and walks away. I tell myself not to, but I can’t help but fear him. He seems more animal than human. The way he moves, the shift of his eyes around a room, like he’s waiting for a threat to pounce at any second…just being around him puts me on edge.

  The moment he leaves, I relax and open the box. The smell of cheese and greasy meat greets me, making my mouth water. The dog sits patiently at my side as I wolf down scolding hot food. When I’m full, I take pity on him and give him a slice.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper.

  At least I have one friend here, even if he does just want my pizza.

  The next few days are a blur of mundane routine and the four walls of my temporary bedroom. The hostility in the penthouse creeps around me, threatening to strangle me when I’m not looking like a virtual nest of vipers. Nothing is familiar, and there’s not a trace of warmth or friendliness here. The isolation is worse than any loneliness I’ve ever felt, in fact, I’d rather be alone than forced to remain here with these people. So, I stay in my room.

  The maid stops by with food, but I’ve lost my appetite. It’s a freefall into a kind of depression I’ve never experienced. Not having heard from Gabriella or Daddy hurts and adds to the darkness. I know I’m here because they’re trying to protect me, but I can’t help but feel betrayed, abandoned. And then, of course, I feel like a sulky child. I imagine my father’s disappointment; I can almost see him shaking his head and hear him telling me he expects better.

  I roll onto my back on the bed and release a long sigh. The sun is just starting to set, painting the room in a range of orange and pink tones.

  There’s a knock on the door before it opens. Margo pops her head through the gap, offering me a bright smile. “Good morning.” She steps inside with a child propped on her hip and a bowl in her free hand. She places the steaming dish onto the bedside table, and I sit up, feeling awkward.

  “Margo, you don’t have to bring me food.”

  She waves her hand through the air. “You’re too skinny. You need to eat.” With that, the child leans away from her, reaching for the bowl. “Not for you, monster.” She smiles indulgently at him, and he giggles.

  He focuses on me with the most beautiful, deep-indigo eyes I’ve ever seen. If he were an adult, I would think they were contacts. Margo places him on the bed for a moment, and he crawls away faster than I would have thought possible. She scrambles after him, making me laugh.

  “What’s his name?” I ask.

  “Dante. He’s a terror.” She says the words while staring at him like an indulgent mother. “Just like his father.”

  “Nero?”

  She nods and rolls her eyes. “The boy’s bound to be a little devil.”

  I try not to laugh. Margo introduced herself as the housekeeper the day I arrived. She brings me food and dotes on me the best she’s able, but she talks about Nero as though he were her son and Dante a grandson.

  “Anyway, eat that porridge!” Her expression is stern as she dares me to defy her orders and scoops Dante off the bed. She sweeps him out of the room as he kicks and squeals in protest.

  I peer over at the steaming bowl of food. The smell is almost more than I can handle and makes my stomach roll, but I feel bad turning down her food. Picking up the spoon, I scoop up a mouthful and then another until I’ve eaten enough to hopefully not offend her.

  Dragging myself from the bed, I go to the bathroom and look at my reflection. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me, and I can feel the judgment from the girl in the mirror. Sort yourself out. You shame the Ricci name.

  I turn on the shower and strip out of the tank top and pajama pants I’ve been wearing all day. The scalding water washes over me and soothes tense muscles. I try to let my scrambled thoughts wash away with the dirt. And when I’m done, I admit I feel better.

  I dress in a tank top and a pair of jeans before leaving the bedroom. Every step I take is laced with hesitation as I peer around sheepishly, unsure if anyone is even here. Silence reigns throughout the penthouse. Yet, when I reach the kitchen, I hear the low thrum of music blaring somewhere. Following the sound, I meander down a corridor that I haven’t explored before now. The cool marble chills my bare feet as I go in search of the source coming from a doorway at the end. I knock once with no response, so I test the handle. It gives way, and the door inches open, revealing an elaborate home gym. Sasha is in the centre, driving his fists into a punching bag. He wears nothing more than a pair of shorts and tape around his knuckles. Every strike he lands is full of raw power; each blow deliberate and measured. I can’t help but stare. His body is a weapon, every muscle honed to a purpose. Sweat clings to his chiseled form, and the droplets find their way into all the channels and divots of his muscles. He’s savagely graceful…beautiful even. It’s a shame he lacks any personality.

  It takes me a moment to realize he’s stopped and now grips the stilled bag between his hands. He touches his watch, and the music cuts off, leaving only the sound of his laboured breaths. “Can I help you?”

  I blink, lifting my gaze to find him staring. My cheeks heat at having been caught staring. I expect some kind of amusement or cockiness, but he gives me nothing. Nada. He simply stares at me with icy disinterest, nothing more than an irritant.

  “Can I use a phone?”

  His brows pull together. “Why?”

  “I want to speak to my father.”

  “Your family haven’t contacted us. If he does, you’ll be informed.” Sasha’s only relaying information, but it hurts. The matter-of-fact way he delivers the message leaves me no choice other than to accept it for what it is.

  Daddy has made no contact, and neither has Gabi. They don’t want to talk to me.

  “Right,” I whisper, nodding once. “I’d still like to talk to him.”

  His brows pinch together in confusion as he considers me. “Why?”

  “Why? What kind of question is that? He’s my father.”

  Sasha stares at me blankly, robotically. Before I can stop it, all my frustration from the last few days not only spills over in a flood. “I love him. But I’m guessing you don’t understand emotions. You’re just hired muscle.”

  He simply stares at me without responding.

  “Thought not.” I turn and walk out, storming back through the apartment. I refuse to go back into that jail cell they call a room. I need out. Out of this
penthouse. But I know the Russian will never allow me to leave; so instead, I go to the balcony where I allow myself to feel the roaring wind and to taste the polluted city air. I don’t care. I just want freedom for a moment. I want to pretend I could jump off this balcony and fly somewhere far away.

  At the point I start to shiver, and the cold has burrowed deep into my bones, I step back inside. The penthouse is empty, and my footsteps echo from the high ceilings as I move across the living room. Climbing the stairs, I retreat to my isolation chamber, freezing when I find Sasha there. He stands with his back to the door and his arms clasped behind him as he stares out the window. He looks…lost or maybe just alone in his existence.

  For a moment, I linger in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Obviously, Sasha wants something, or he wouldn’t be here. He turns, crosses the room, and slips his hand in his pocket. When he removes it, I stare down at the little black flip phone clasped between his long fingers. Tentatively I reach out to take it, but he doesn’t let go. I lift my eyes to his icy gaze. The second I do, my heart gallops in my chest and every muscle in my body coils tightly. Being this close to him is like being in the proximity of a predator, waiting for it to tear out my throat. My instincts scream for me to get away, but I force myself to stay, even as fear skates the length of my spine.

  “You only call your sister. Do not stay on the phone long. Do not mention where you are. When you’re done, bring the phone to me. Do you understand?” He lifts a brow, impatience tinging his expression.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  With that, he releases the phone. Sasha’s posture remains rigid as he walks out.

  Maybe he’s not so cold after all.

  The phone rings, and I listen, anxiously awaiting my sister’s voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Gabi.”

  “Adelina.” There’s a brief pause. “What’s wrong?” Panic takes over the line, and I can almost feel her concern.

  “Nothing. I just…wanted to talk to you and Daddy. I miss you both,” I confess.

  There’s a long beat of silence. “I miss you, too.”