Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
"With money from where?" I pressed gently. "Have you ever asked yourself where it all comes from?"
She stood abruptly, pacing the length of the suite. "He says keeping me in the tower is for my protection. That there are people who want to hurt him through me." Her voice wavered slightly. "But being locked up in that tower... I mean, sure, it's a nice prison, but it's still a prison."
"And you believe that's all this is? Protection?"
She settled on the edge of her bed, legs tucked under her. The TV played quietly in the background as she studied me over her drink. "I don't know what to believe anymore. Everything's changed so fast." She gestured around the suite. "At least at home I had my books, my routine. Here..." She trailed off, then added quietly, "Well, the ocean view is pretty, but it's not like I can actually go down to the beach."
"Some things have changed," I chose my words carefully. "Your father had principles about what we dealt in, who we worked with." I met her eyes. "Some things happening now... they wouldn't have flown under his watch."
Something flickered across her face - not surprise exactly, more like confirmation. She took another sip of her drink, and I found myself tracking the movement of her throat. "It's funny," she said finally. "Being here, talking about him... it's making me remember things I thought I'd forgotten."
"Like what?"
"Like how nothing was ever just black and white with him. Vittorio... he always says everything is for my own good. The security details, the restricted phone access, that tower he keeps me in." She gestured vaguely. "He says it's all to keep me safe, and maybe part of me wants to believe that. He's been the only father I've known for so long..." She trailed off, running a finger along the rim of her glass. "But sometimes I wonder if he's really protecting me, or just keeping me under his control."
"No," I agreed softly. "Guess it's not that simple."
"I should probably be more upset about all this," she said softly, more to herself than to me. "Being locked up here. Everything that's happened." She took a slow sip of her drink, those blue eyes finding mine again. "But it feels... different somehow. Like maybe I needed to see things from another angle, even if I didn't choose this one."
"Different how?" I shouldn't have asked. Shouldn't have cared about the way she was looking at me, like she was trying to figure something out.
She just shook her head, that ghost of a smile returning.
"You wouldn't happen to know any good pizza places that deliver out here, would you?" She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking almost sheepish.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I like eating healthy and everything, but... sometimes I just really miss pizza, you know?" She shrugged. "My dad used to take me to this little place near the park on Sundays. Just the two of us, splitting a pepperoni pizza."
Something flickered across her face—a mix of memory and loss. "Now Vittorio's always so intense about this diet stuff—like my whole life needs to revolve around staying in shape."
I couldn't help but grin. "As a matter of fact, I do. Pepperoni?"
"Please." She stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "And Nico? Thanks."
"For what? The pizza hasn't even gotten here yet."
"For not treating me like I'm going to fall apart. Or try to run. Or whatever it is you guys were expecting. For... telling me the truth, even if I'm not sure I want to hear it."
I pulled out my phone, trying not to watch the way she'd relaxed into the mattress. "What makes you think we were expecting anything?"
"Everyone always does." Her voice was soft but clear. "It's kind of nice to just... be."
She rolled to face the wall, but not before I caught that hint of a smile again. I watched her for a moment longer than necessary, trying to ignore the way her touch still burned on my skin. I was too old, too jaded, and too deep in this life for those kinds of thoughts.
But as I heard her soft sigh, I wondered if maybe some things were worth the risk after all.
6
GIULIANO
The box of books shifted in my passenger seat as I guided the Lincoln through the compound gates. What had started as a simple power play—keeping our captive docile with entertainment—had twisted into something far more dangerous.
I found myself picking titles I thought she'd genuinely enjoy—Atwood's Alias Grace, Austen's Persuasion, and Tartt's The Secret History—imagining her face lighting up as she discovered each one. Fuck, I was getting soft.
"Get it together, Barbieri," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel. My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, a text from my father: Status update needed. Don't disappoint me.