Page 10 of Brutal Crown

It’s my first time seeing him in two years. Sincethatnight.

His voice from earlier still echoes in my ears. It’s so insane how I knew he was the one the moment he stepped into the library, even before I turned to look at him.

His presence filled the room like smoke, impossible to ignore. Despite how hard I tried not to acknowledge him, hoping that after the scene with Zia Clara, I would disappear into theshadows like I’ve been living for the past two years, he still singled me out.

It’s what he does. He singles me out, makes me painfully aware of his existence, painfully aware of the tension between us. Even now, after Zia Clara’s slap has left my cheek stinging with pain, it’s the memory of his eyes on me, his fleeting touch on my body, that lingers, sinking under my skin.

I trudge toward the small bed propped against the wall and carefully lower my body to sit on the edge. The thin mattress creaks under my weight. The room smells faintly of old wood and soap, a smell I’ve become accustomed to. Unwillingly so.

I run a frustrated hand over my face, trying to distract myself from the man who is back to resume from where he left off ruining my life.

I glance around the almost-empty room, and my eyes fall on the window high above me. It is barred and too small to squeeze through, even if I were desperate enough to try escaping again. A camera blinks from the corner of the ceiling, the small red light a reminder that I’m always being watched.

My heart squeezes painfully, and I look away. I reach for the ring hidden under my blouse, secured with a chain around my neck. My father’s ring, heavy and warm from being pressed against my skin all day. I still do not know what the symbol on it means. I curl my fingers around it tightly. It’s the only thing I have left of him.

It’s hard not to think back to that night. It’s impossible not to let the memories swamp me, no matter how tightly I try to bottle them up.

The night everything changed, I had woken up in a strange, grand room. I didn’t know how long it had been—hours? Days?—since they’d knocked me unconscious and taken me from my father’s house.

I’d glanced around me in confusion. Thick, velvet curtains covered the windows, and flickering candlelight illuminated the beautiful, large room. That was when I realized I was in the Romano estate. In Chestnut Hill, a place I never thought I would be in, and certainly not in the circumstances the younger me who dreamed of living in a house like that wanted.

I’d noticed my clothes had been changed. My graduation dress was replaced with an old, pale green one a size too big for my frame. There was a buzzing ache in my skull from where I’d been hit and faint bruises around my wrist from being dragged.

I was a prisoner.

At first, no one spoke to me. For days, I was just watched. I spent half of my days sobbing for the loss of my father and the other half dissociating from my body.

No one answered the questions I asked. What did they want with me? Why didn’t they just kill me? No one acknowledged my presence, but every night, it felt like someone was watching me. It didn’t feel real. It felt like I was in a long, unending nightmare.

But when Dante Romano came to see me one night, the little hope I had of ever waking up from that cruel nightmare, no matter how long it could have been, vanished. His words were clipped and cruel as he explained with terrifying calm that I was repayment for a debt. He warned that if I stepped out of line, I would end up like my father.

Dead.

I had many questions that needed answering, but I didn’t expect him to explain anything to me. I was smart enough to piece the fragments together.

Something unforgivable my father had done had cost him his life and left me trapped at the mercy of the Romanos. I didn’t know what he did, and Dante terrified me so much that I didn’t dare to ask.

The first few nights were unbearable. I could feel the weight of someone watching me every time I tried to sleep. I never saw who it was, but the prickling sensation crawling across my skin wasn’t just my paranoia. I would bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, only to find the room empty.

So one night, I pretended to be asleep. A few minutes after midnight, I caught the culprit.

Francesco.

He stood in the doorway, half-shrouded in shadow. His dark hair was messy, his shirt was wrinkled, and I could smell the whiskey on his breath even from across the room. He didn’t even move when he realized I was awake. He didn’t apologize for practically kidnapping me or even pretend to feel guilty.

He walked slowly toward me, his steps steady and deliberate, and crouched beside my bed, close enough that I could see the sharp lines of his face up close for the first time. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and I felt a shiver I couldn’t describe as they trailed over my body heatedly.

I should have been afraid. Maybe I was, a little. But there was something about him that made me want to defy him. I didn’t feel the disgusting fear I felt for his father, even though I knew he was much scarier.

It was his idea to bring me to their mansion and make me suffer. Challenging him felt like I was facing my worst monster.

So I snapped. I sat up in the bed and asked him what he wanted from me, confronting him to his face.

“What do you want from me?” I spat, my voice brittle. “Youbastardi.”

A slow smirk curved his mouth, like he’d heard it all before. “Attenta, piccola,” he murmured. “Careful, little girl. You don’t know the half of it.”

“You think you can do anything because you have money? Because you kill whoever you want?” I hissed, pushing up on my elbows. “You’re filth. All of you!”