Page 3 of His Playground (Owning Vegas #2)

Chapter Two

O pulent captivity. Those two words define the entire twenty-one years of my life. I wouldn’t say I’ve had it tough. I’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted handed to me. Everything except freedom.

Everywhere I go, I’m followed. Every decision I make is analyzed and finalized by my father. So, really, they’re his decisions. Not mine. Right down to my major at school.

Shocker! It’s business law. Boring as hell, but when it’s that or not go to school at all, I choose to comply with orders. Just like I always do, because that’s what good daughters of mafia bosses do. Follow orders, don’t ask questions, and smile.

It’s the key to survival in this world, especially if you’re a woman. We don’t get to have a voice; we don’t have autonomy over our lives. No, we’re nothing more than a possession. A bargaining chip.

Do I hate my father? Not really.

He’s the only parent I’ve ever known. My mother died during childbirth, or so I’ve been told.

Who really knows if that’s true or not? But he hasn’t been overly horrible.

Like I said, I might be living in captivity, but it’s opulent.

Others have it so much worse than I do, which is why I don’t complain.

Would I choose a different life if it were an option?

Yes, but it’s not. And I’m not one to dwell on things that can never be.

So I don’t waste my time daydreaming about alternative realities.

If I did, though, I’d be on a beach somewhere.

Far away from here. I’d have a love so great that it’d make the pages of romance novels jealous.

My husband would be kind, understanding, and he’d listen when I spoke. I would experience true love.

I thought I had that once. A couple of years ago. It wasn’t real, though. It was also completely one-sided. I was an idiot to think it was anything more than a casual hookup, and it’s a mistake I’ll never make again.

A knock on my door has me turning around. “Your father wants to see you in his office,” Brian tells me with a pensive look on his face.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask him.

“Not for me to say, ma’am,” he replies. Brian might be my bodyguard, but he’s loyal to my father. He’s a made man first and last. And no matter how fond of me he might be, it does nothing to change the oath he took.

“Fine. I’ll be there in a sec,” I tell him before rushing into my bathroom.

I slam the door shut and stare at my reflection.

I try to run over scenarios, conjure up what my father could possibly want to see me about.

My grades are great, best they’ve ever been.

My credit cards haven’t been overused. I haven’t done or said anything to anyone I shouldn’t have.

My fingers comb through my hair, straightening out the long dark locks. Then I grab my lip gloss and glide it across my lips. Always look presentable . It’s one of my father’s rules, and I don’t plan on starting whatever chat he wants to have with a lecture on my appearance.

Straightening my shoulders and putting up an invisible shield around my feelings, I walk out of the sanctuary of my bedroom.

When you live with constant criticism, you develop coping mechanisms. One of mine is pretending I have an invisible force shield around me, that whatever my father says to me will just bounce right off it.

Sometimes I’ll go as far as visualizing the written word literally bouncing off a wall before it can penetrate my skin.

I don’t need to knock when I reach my father’s office. Brian is already outside the door, waiting for me. He gives me a small smile before opening the door and stepping aside.

“Thanks,” I say as I pass him. “Papa, you wanted to see me?” I smile, and try to sound happy to be here. Truth is, I hate this office. Nothing good ever happens inside it.

“Antonia, sit down. I have some good news.” My father gestures to the chair in front of his desk.

“Okay.” I take a seat and brace myself for the good news . Pretty sure he’s not talking about the Bible here.

“I’ve arranged your marriage. Engagement party is happening on Wednesday. Black-tie event,” he tells me.

My stomach drops. Did he really just say marriage? I can’t have heard that right. “Excuse me?”

“You will be married. I’ve selected the groom. And your engagement party is set for Wednesday. Don’t make me repeat myself again,” he says.

“Marriage,” I stutter out. “I’m not ready.”

“You’re twenty-one. I’ve waited long enough. This deal has to happen, Antonia. And you are not going to cause me any grief.” He aims a finger at me to make his point.

“Who?” I ask him.

“Who what ?”

“Who have you sold me off to, Papa?” I push to my feet.

“Don’t be dramatic. I haven’t sold you to anyone. It’s a merger of families. You will meet your fiancé at the engagement party. I expect you to be on your best behavior, Antonia.”

“What if I say no?” I counter.

“You will give me no choice but to hand you over to someone else. Someone less… civilized. Need I remind you of what happens to daughters who don’t do as they’re expected?” He raises a brow at me.

When I was thirteen, my father sat me down and made me watch video after video of women in cages. Being raped. He told me they were the daughters of other bosses. Daughters who didn’t do as they were told. I believed that would be my fate if I stepped out of line. For a really long time.

Then, as I got older, I realized it was nothing more than a scare tactic. I’ve been friends with other bosses’ daughters. Sure, we all might end up in arranged marriages, but never have I heard of anyone being sold off into sexual slavery.

I get it. Those videos were real. Those women were someone’s daughters. But they were stolen; they were not given to the traffickers. Would my father follow through on his threat? I have no idea. Am I going to push the boundaries to find out? Absolutely not.

I mean, who knows? I could end up with a decent husband. This marriage could be the thing that gets me out of this house and earns me some semblance of freedom. Once I’m married, my father won’t be able to tell me what I can and can’t do anymore.

“Okay, I’ll find a dress,” I agree and walk out of my father’s office, my heart racing in my chest.

Please let it be someone kind. I don’t care what he looks like. I don’t care how much money he has. I just want someone kind. I’ve experienced enough cruelty already.

Then again, whomever my father has married me off to is someone in the life. Chances are he’s not much better than the kind of men surrounding me.

I don’t go back to my room. Nope, I need to get out of this house. Brian follows me as I stroll out the front door. “Get the car. I’m meeting the girls for lunch,” I tell him while I pull out my phone and text my two best friends.

Me:

SOS! Lunch, now!!

Georgia:

What happened? I can be there in five. Usual spot?

Me:

Tell you when I get there. Leaving now. And, yes, usual spot.

Luna:

On my way. Don’t start without me.

I smile. These girls are my ride or die. Always there when I need them. Without question. If I ever needed to hide a body, I’d call them. I mean, technically, Brian would probably handle the body for me. But still, it’d be these two women I trusted with that kind of secret.

Georgia is already waiting at our usual table when I get to the café. We’ve been coming to Rachel’s Diner for lunch since we discovered the place back in high school.

“Hey.” I fall into the bench seat opposite her.

“Shit, it’s bad,” she says, looking at my face.

I nod, my teeth biting into my bottom lip. “I’m going to wait for Luna to get here. I cannot have this conversation twice,” I tell her.

“Okay, well, let’s order a drink first.”

The best thing about Rachel’s Diner? They serve wine and have been serving us for a lot longer than they should have been. “Thank you.”

Fifteen minutes and three glasses of wine later, Luna finally makes an appearance. “Thank god you’re here. I’m engaged. Party is on Wednesday—and, oh yeah, I have no idea who my groom-to-be is,” I announce before Luna gets the chance to sit down.

“What now?” Georgia asks.

“Give me a name and I’ll find out everything about him,” Luna says.

“That’s the thing. Papa wouldn’t even tell me that. He just said I’ll meet him on Wednesday, at the engagement party.”

“Okay, well, I guess we’re going to need a dress. Something that will knock the socks off this mysterious groom.” Georgia smirks.

“Or a potato sack so he never wants to touch me at all,” I suggest.

“I wonder if he’ll do anything,” Luna murmurs.

“Who?” I ask.

She raises a brow at me. “When he finds out you’re engaged, he’s going to do something.”

“ He doesn’t matter, and he doesn’t exist,” I say. As in, the one guy I loved. Carlo Bianchi. Forever known as “he” because we don’t ever utter his name. I thought he loved me once, until he showed me that I meant absolutely nothing to him.

“You know my theories on him.” Luna shrugs. “Now, what are we thinking? White? Light pink?”

“Black, like something you’d wear to a funeral. Because this party might as well second as my wake,” I groan.

“It might not be that bad,” Georgia, ever the optimist, says.

“Or it could be worse,” I tell her.

“Or he could swoop in and finally claim you,” Luna adds.

“Not gonna happen, and I wouldn’t want him to,” I grumble.

“You say that, but I know deep down you still love that man. Despite what he did.” She sighs.

Carlo did something unforgivable, unless you ask Luna. She’s always been Team Carlo and has theories that what I saw wasn’t real, claiming that he pushed me away on purpose. She also lives with her head in fantasy books, so her perception of the world isn’t really reliable.

“Okay, to your future wedding and to finally moving out of your father’s house.” Georgia raises her glass.

“To new beginnings.” I smile even if I’m dying on the inside.

“Or the second chapter of an old love.” Luna clinks her glass with mine.

I roll my eyes before swallowing what’s left of my wine.