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“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” I told him as I walked away, my heart beating so hard against my ribcage it hurt.
He released a sardonic breath. “You haven’t seen anything, Elena.”
Truthfully, that’s what I was worried about.
“That was the beginning of the end of our thing.”
—Anthony Casso
“COME IN!”
The door of the penthouse on the twenty-second floor swung open, and Gianna stood on the other side. I didn’t believe that even someone who knew Gianna would be able to guess what she would wear next.
Tonight, it was a small black dress with a hem cutting diagonally from one hip to the opposite knee. Tall red pumps. Fishnet stockings. Wavy hair that was half-up, tied in two knots on the top of her head, and no makeup. Really, she didn’t need it.
“You’re early!” she exclaimed. Her eyes shone a little too bright, her pupils too large. She was high. Cocaine, most likely.
“I’ve brought some bruschetta and seafood salad,” Mamma said, moving into the kitchen with a tiny bowl of tomatoes while Benito struggled with everything else.
Adriana and I stayed in the hallway, hesitating.
Why was Gianna answering Nicolas’s door?
A sliver of something unpleasant curled in my chest, and for a split second, I didn’t like Gianna. The feeling was so strong and sudden I had to inhale a breath to push it away.
It was an unreasonably jealous reaction I shouldn’t have had, especially after yesterday. The problem was, I could still feel his hands on me, like I’d been branded for life. The only other man who’d gotten as close as Nicolas had a warm, gentle touch which faded to memory only seconds later. What I would give to reverse the two.
Adriana stepped into the apartment, her eyes taking it all in. “So, this is going to be my prison cell.”
Mamma gasped and spun around to shoot her a look. “Adriana!”
My sister walked further into the room with me following behind.
Gianna laughed. “Thankfully, this prison comes with great amenities. I’ll give yo
u a tour!”
Apparently, Nicolas owned a few properties in New York and he’d chosen this one for Adriana. It wasn’t as quaint or as homey as his red-brick house, but it was upscale in every meaning of the word.
It was modernly decorated, with white and silver marble floors, lots of glass tables and chrome finishes. The lighting was dim and romantic, twinkling off the wall of glass that showcased the city. It was breathtaking, but I knew my sister would hate it.
“I hate it,” she said sourly, examining the view.
“Oh, come on,” Benito responded, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “It ain’t so bad. Look, it’s even got a pool.”
It did. The blue water lay still, the railing nothing but glass before a two-hundred-foot drop.
“If you like it so much, then you live here,” Adriana said.
“Don’t think Nico likes me like that.”
A hint of a smile tugged at my sister’s lips.
Gianna and Mamma took the tour by themselves, my mother’s “oohs” and “ahhs” drifting down the hallway.
Nobody else had arrived yet, not even the groom.
He was probably planning to leave Adriana here and to only show up when conjugal visits were necessary. My cousin Cici, who lived in Chicago, got the same fate. Though, she didn’t despise it so much because she hated her husband.