Chapter Twenty-Five

Adele

I pad into the bathroom, my bare feet silent on the cold marble tiles. When I came in here last night, I was drowning in so much grief and guilt, I took no notice of my surroundings. Now I gasp as I take in the space, all gleaming surfaces and golden fixtures. A massive jacuzzi tub dominates one corner, while a glass-enclosed shower big enough for a small party takes up another.

My eyes are drawn to the enormous gilded mirror spanning the entire bathroom wall, but I avert my gaze, not quite ready to look into my own eyes. It was easy enough to avoid the mirrors in the bedroom with the room being so large, but here, it might be a little tricky.

I focus on my purpose: wash the smoke and grit out of my hair. The scent clings to me, a constant reminder of the sure death I escaped. Drowning myself in Dante got me through last night, but waking up this morning without his big body wrapped around me left an odd ache in my chest and my mind free to replay last night's disaster.

Yet, as I pass the mirrors, something catches my eye. Before I can stop myself, I glance at my reflection then do a double-take. My breath hitches as I take in the sight before me.

My skin is a canvas of Dante's desire. Love bites pepper my collarbone, descending in a trail down to my breasts. Finger-shaped bruises mark my hips, a stark reminder of his grip as he pulled me against his thrusting hips. I turn, craning my neck to see my back. More marks adorn my ass and thighs.

Heat floods my cheeks as memories come rushing back. Dante's hungry gaze as he explored every inch of me. The way his hands and mouth roamed my body, pleasing me, claiming me.

I bite my lip, surprised by the thrill that runs through me at the sight of his marks. Am I sick for loving this? I've never been one for rough treatment or macho bullshit. Even the thought of men gawking at me makes my skin crawl. But Dante's lust . . . it sets me on fire.

Surprisingly, my face, neck, arms, and legs are unmarked, but from my collarbone down to my thighs, it's savage town. It screams deliberate. Controlled. That he likes to be rough, yet he knows where and how to draw the line. Fuck if that doesn't make me want him more. I finger each faint mark, responding to the sensory memory of Dante's touch.

I step into the shower, unable to shake the image of my marked body. Dante's hands, his mouth, his eyes—they're all I can think about.

As the hot water cascades over me, I find a bottle of shampoo, and lather it into my hair, scrubbing away the smoke and grit. I rinse thoroughly, letting the hot water wash away the suds and the memories of the previous night.

With my hair clean and the stress starting to melt away, other thoughts rise in my mind. What do the events of last night mean for my life and my future? What will Dad—Benjamin—do when he hears that I almost died?

I think about work. Doug Harrison will be expecting me to show up. And I'm already a week overdue on my blog.

And I need to talk to Kira.

After my shower, I head to the vanity table and rummage through my purse for my cellphone. When I come up empty, I recall Sal tossing it into the smoking ruins of the Corolla before we left the club last night.

Shit. No phone, only an intercom to a hundred-year-old butler.

I glance around the room, taking in the tall ceilings with no windows, the intricate patterns on the vintage furnishings, and the ventilation that easily distracts the mind from what this place really is: a fortress designed to keep people like me safe . . . or trapped.

Did Dante lock me in here?

I wrap the towel more tightly around my body and venture toward the door. I turn the brass lock, beyond surprised to find it unlocked.

But as I step forward, the towel slips, and I freeze. I can't go wandering around this place half-naked. I need clothes. My dress and panties lay in a heap on the floor, but there's no way I'm getting into my ruined panties and soot-stained clothes.

My gaze snags on the T-shirts draped over the chair. And now I know that Dante brought them for me.

It's either I put on Dante's T-shirt or call the old butler. It's an easy decision. I've always preferred loose-fitting clothes, but I particularly love wearing his clothes.

I reach for one of the shirts, the fabric soft and worn, and pull it over my head. It falls to my mid-thigh, the sleeves extending past my elbows. His smell instantly surrounds me, a heady mix of his musk and sandalwood. I grit my teeth, steeling myself against the wave of arousal.

This is so not the time, Addy, I chide myself. I must stay focused and figure out what the hell is going on. I head to the door, throwing it open with more force than necessary.

And then, it's absolute chaos.

A blur of brown and green feathers darts between my legs, the unexpected contact causing me to screech and leap back into the room, jumping on the bed and burying my head in the pillows.

A woman's distant laugh makes me raise my head. But I don't see a woman. All I see is a huge mallard duck, wearing what appears to be a diaper, standing in the middle of the room with its head cocked to one side, observing me with a kind of detached curiosity that only a bird can muster.

I didn't know ducks could be this fat, or wear diapers for that matter, but here we are. An obese, diaper-wearing duck.

What in the world?

Before I can fully wrap my head around the absurdity of the situation, a woman who looks like an older version of Kira rushes into the room. She's dressed in a smart black shirt dress with a white collar and cuffs and a white apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair is pulled back into a severe bun, but her eyes hold a familiar warmth. I already know who she is.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry about that," she gestures to the bird, who has lost interest in the clueless human and waddled to the wall of mirrors, moving this way and that in what I can only call a preen. "That's just George. He's a little . . . eccentric."

I stand there, gaping, as she scoops up the duck and cradles it in her arms like a baby. George quacks contentedly, as if this is the most normal thing in the world, to be held to a human's chest.

The woman gives me a reassuring smile. "I'm Aydin, Kira's mother. You must be Addy. Kira's told me so much about you."

Even though I already guessed who she was, it's still a little jarring to see. I stretch my lips into a toothed plastic smile, a testament to my nerves.

Kira's mother is really the Vitellis' housekeeper. I'm really in the Godfather's mansion.

She sets the duck down, dips her hand into her pocket, and tosses a few treats on the floor for him. And suddenly, I get why George would be obese.

Aydin turns her attention back to me, her eyes softening with concern. "Are you alright, dear?"

I snap my mouth shut when I realize the smile is still frozen on my face. "I'm good, thanks."

"You look a bit shaky. Understandably, after last night's trauma," she says, holding out her hand to help me off the bed. I can stand on my own, but I don't want to appear rude, so I let her guide me. "Maybe some breakfast?" She asks.

I nod, still trying to process everything. "Um . . . that would be nice, thank you," I manage in a steady voice, still watching the duck busily peck the treats off the floor.

Aydin chuckles when she sees me staring at George. "This place can be a bit . . . much at first. But you'll get used to it. So, about breakfast. Would you like to join the rest?"

"The rest?"

"Oh, just the two Signora Vitellis. Don Vito and Don Nico's wives. They can't wait to meet you."

"Where's Dante?"

"He's in a meeting."

"I—ah. I don't know." I shake my head. Something in her expression makes me ask, "Am I allowed to say no, though?"

Aydin laughs. "Of course you are. Although I wouldn't say no."

As I put my face in my hand and softly groan. George emits a loud quack, and I startle again at the unexpected sound. The duck looks at me as if waiting for an answer.

"I thought . . ." I trail off. I don't know what I expected today. I didn't think beyond reveling in Dante's arms.

"Did you expect that he'll keep you locked in here?"

Actually, I did. I certainly did not think he'd be siccing his family on me. "I'm hardly dressed for a family meeting, Aydin." I gesture at my bare feet and oversized T-shirt.

"You're perfect. It's just breakfast. Come on." She spins on her heels, her hand gently nudging my elbow, and I have no choice but to follow her out.

The twists and turns of the stairs and corridors seem to go on forever, each one identical to the last. A sense of unease begins to settle in the pit of my stomach as it dawns on me that I could wander these halls for hours and never find my way back to where we started. This place is really a prison.

I glance at Aydin. "Is there any cell service here?"

She shakes her head, a sympathetic smile playing at the corners of her lips. "No, dear. No mobile signal can penetrate these walls. It's part of what makes this place so secure."

Secure. The word echoes in my mind, taking on a sinister edge. I'm trapped here, cut off from the outside world, and at the mercy of a man whose very existence threatens to consume me. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

As we continue, the narrow stone corridors and antique sconces give way to a modern space. Marble and glass replace the dark, heavy decor. Huge windows offer stunning views of rolling vegetation and distant hills, making it feel as if we're outside.

I'm surprised at the transformation. The mansion now feels open and alive, shedding its oppressive atmosphere. Sunlight streams through the glass walls, casting patterns on the floors.

Aydin leads me through the main living areas. We pass a spacious living room with modern furniture arranged around a grand piano. The walls feature contemporary art pieces that contrast sharply with the vintage paintings in the basement.

Finally, we enter the kitchen, a space so large it feels like a dining hall. One entire wall is made of glass and light pours in through the wall, making the room feel alive. There is a large round dining table off to the side.

Two women stand by the huge double oven, chatting like old friends catching up on gossip. The first, presumably Dante's mother, has a plate of something delicious-smelling in her hand. Her shoulder-length dark hair is threaded with silver, but her eyes sparkle with a youthful energy.

The other woman munches on a pastry and like me, is wearing a man's shirt. Hers is a white button-down folded up at the sleeves. The material looks like cross between cotton and silk and screams God-awful expensive. Her hair is in a thick braid flowing over her shoulder and past her very pregnant belly.

They spot Aydin and me and straighten up. The pregnant one, whom I assume is Nico's wife, moves with a grace that seems impossible for someone about to give birth to a small planet, and strides toward me.

"Addy!" she exclaims, smiling radiantly. She pulls me into a hug before I can even register what's happening. When she draws back, her amber eyes twinkling, she says, "Oh, my God, you are fucking gorgeous. I'm Sophie, Dante's sister-in-law."

I smile back in greeting.

Sophie glances back at Dante's mom, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Mama V, I told you Dante is screwed!"

Dante's mom just chuckles, shaking her head as she approaches. " Cara, thank you for joining us. I'm Antonella—"

"She loves to be called Mama V," Sophie chirps.

"I hope you don't mind us getting you out here? Left to my son, he was going to keep you hidden in that basement for days. We didn't want you staying there all by yourself after what happened last night."

"Uh, no. It's fine," I say, fighting the urge to run back to the safety of that luxurious windowless room.

Antonella heaves a relieved sigh while Sophie just chuckles. "Of course she minds, Mama V. She hardly knows us and probably still needs to process everything." Sophie gently nudges Antonella toward the oven, then she turns back to me and pulls me to the windows. "Come on."

The view from the glass wall takes my breath away. Rolling lawns extend outward, meticulously manicured and dotted with clusters of vibrant flowers in perfectly designed gardens.

Beyond the manicured gardens, a serene lake shimmers under the soft light of the early sun. The water is so clear that I can see the reflection of the surrounding trees and the sky, a perfect mirror of the world above.

"Oh my God," I breathe.

Sophie smiles at my reaction. "I know, Addy. Hard to believe a place like this exists, right here in Chicago. It was a crime to make you stare at mirrors and wall murals when you could look at this!"

I nod, still absorbing the view. The contrast between the dark, hidden basement of the mansion and this bright, open expanse is striking. It's like stepping into a different world altogether.

Sophie drops her voice to a whisper, "In case you were wondering how we found you, it was Falzone, the butler who told Aydin that Sal brought you here. You see, nothing in this house ever gets past the staff. Anyway, I figured if you're going to be stuck here for a while, it might be better if you didn't feel like you were in a prison."

"Oh, I'm not staying," I say. "Sal just brought me here to crash after . . . last night."

Sophie doesn't respond, but her expressive eyes say it all. I might as well be dreaming.

"What?" I ask.

"I don't know if you've noticed the labyrinth in the belly of this place and the glaring lack of cellphone signal. This isn't really a place to crash, Addy. It's a place to disappear."