Page 14

I hate that I know that smell now.

An older woman waits in the entryway, her gray hair pulled back severely, her clothes plain but pristine. Her eyes sweep over my hotel robe with quiet judgment.

"Teresa," Luca says to the woman, "prepare her."

She reaches for my arm. I jerk back. "I can dress myself."

"You'll do as you're told." Luca's voice carries no room for argument as I'm whisked inside so quickly I barely have time to see anything.

I'm guided into a bathroom by the woman as Luca turns to a nearby sink, rolling up his sleeves so his inked forearms move under the water easily.

I can't help but watch him as the water runs pink as he scrubs his hands, like he's washing away nothing more significant than garden dirt.

Teresa guides me toward a chair, laying out fresh clothes. But I can't look away from Luca's hands, from the casual way he cleanses himself of tonight's fresh dose of violence.

He catches me watching in the mirror, and his lips curve.

"You'll sleep in my wing tonight."

Teresa's hands tighten on my shoulders, either in warning or sympathy. I'm not sure which is worse. She looks kind, but I'm not about to go trusting anyone just yet.

"Your…wing?" I repeat, my voice hollow as I take in the bathroom.

This single room is bigger than my entire flat. Gleaming marble stretches in every direction, veined with gold that catches the light from crystal sconces. A sunken tub dominates one corner, deep enough to drown in.

Hell, the fucking shower could fit an orgy of six people in it.

"The east wing," Luca says, drying his hands on a towel. "My private quarters take up the entire floor."

An entire floor. Jesus Christ.

I run my fingers along the counter. The mirror stretches floor to ceiling, making me look small and lost in my fucking robe.

"The whole floor," I whisper. "Right. How big is this place?"

Teresa's lips twitch, almost a smile. "Big enough to get lost in, dear. Best stay close to someone who knows the way."

Luca's reflection watches me from the mirror as I take in the gold fixtures, the heated towel racks, the fucking chandelier hanging over abathroom.

My old life feels like a dream – cramped spaces, shared walls, counting pennies for the electric bill.

"The clothes," Teresa prompts, gesturing to a pile of black silk on a velvet bench I hadn't even noticed.

I pick up what looks like a nightgown, the fabric liquid between my fingers. The price tag is still attached.

Four thousand pounds.

For sleepwear.

My knees go weak. "I can't—this is—"

"You can. You will." Luca's voice brooks no argument. "Everything you were ends tonight. Everything you'll become starts now."

I stare at my reflection, at the lost girl in the borrowed robe, at the man who holds my life in his blood-clean hands.

"Welcome home, little rabbit," he says, the words echoing off marble and gold, sealing me in this gilded cage.

Then he turns to Teresa without looking at me.