Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(25)

Shrugging, I take a deep breath and a long sip of my tea. The peppermint really does seem to be helping.

“Where did you go?”

“Don't you know?” I say before I think it through. Instantly I want to suck those words back in, but there they are, hanging in the air between us.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, sucking loudly. “I don't need your attitude this morning, Marie. I asked you a question.”

“I just went out,” I say, my courage crumbling into powder. “I just needed some time to think.”

His sigh fills the room. His disappointment is like a sort of air, settling into everything. Automatically, I want to please him. I don't want him to be upset with me. But I'm so upset, I don't know what else to do. I also just want to scream and stomp my feet like a little kid until he gives me what I want. But what do I want, exactly? I don't know. It's like I never ever get the chance to figure that out for myself.

“Dinner tonight, 8:30.”

My breath stalls in my lungs. Tonight, already?

“Did you hear me?”

He's rocking back and forth on his feet, his arms crossed over his chest. I can see this red flush creeping up over his neck as he gets more frustrated with my attitude.

“Answer me, Marie!”

Though I know what I'm going to say, I make him wait. Even waiting a few seconds is fairly outrageous in his book. But at this point, what else am I going to do?

At least I know I did something on my own last night. And he didn't find me or anything. And he doesn't seem to know right now. At least I’ve got that, which isn't everything, but it's definitely something. I just hope it's enough to last me the rest of my life.

I stand up, nodding. I don't even look at him as I leave the room, but I say loud enough so he can hear me, “I'll see you at 8:30.”

Gianna is standing at the top of the stairs when I come into the front hallway. I glare at her meaningfully and she backs up, walking silently on her heels back to my room. She clutches the finance textbook to her chest as I come in the room, barely daring to breathe.

“What was that?” she says in a frightened whisper. It's like we have to whisper to each other like prisoners of war or something.

“Can you stay?”

She doesn't look convinced, but she nods her head. “Of course I can stay, honey. What you need?”

“An outfit.”

She tips her head to one side slightly. Her eyes flicker over to my open closet, which holds maybe five hundred outfits in every color and style. Most of those I didn't even pick out by myself, they just sort of appeared there or Daddy gave them to me. I haven't even worn most of them.

“Okay…” she says slowly. She drops the book on my dressing table and pushes a line of hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “An outfit for what?”

I take a deep breath, trying the words out a few times in my mind before I'm able to actually say them out loud. “For tonight. So I can go meet my new husband.”

***

Jimmy Two-Fist opens the door for me and his eyebrows go up, way up. I step into Daddy's huge marble foyer, smoothing the dress over my hips. Jimmy is one of Daddy's oldest associates. He's about twice the size that he used to be, and he pats up his giant belly as he nods and smile-frowns at my outfit.

“You sure clean up nice, kid,” he says, smacking his lips over some piece of candy he's got in his mouth.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” I say automatically.

He steps back as he closes the front door and the sound of it latching behind me is like one of those important sounds in a movie. The click, it echoes through the marble hallway.

I can feel the air over my bare shoulders. For about the thousandth time, I'm regretting this dress. It's strapless with a low, plunging back. The fabric is a deep, blood red with a cinched waist and ruched hips. It's too much.

But Gianna said it was perfect. I don't know. I know she never would have worn something like this; it's way too revealing. She likes to keep it on the conservative side, which is why I think she likes dressing me up like such a slut. A little vicarious action, you might say.

But tonight, I didn't want to look like this at all. I wanted to look like I was going for first communion     or something. Instead, I look like the sort of person Daddy has tried to make sure I never was.

Balancing my weight forward on my toes, I walk as quietly as I can to the dining room door. The huge, carved panels are almost shut, with just a few inches opening in the middle. I can hear voices coming from inside. There's Daddy, and another man. Maybe a third man too.

Willing my heart to quiet down, I press my palms to the door and wait, listening. I just want a moment to catch my breath, to try to get my head around what's about to happen.