Page 2

Chapter 2

Nova

My father's voice hisses a string of words in my head.

Idiot.

Gullible.

Fool.

Weak.

STUPID.

The words may be in his voice, but he isn't the reason those deprecating words are playing on a loop in my head right now.

No, that's me.

Because I am an idiot. I am gullible. A fool. Weak and stupid.

Because I've been fooled by a monster—something I should've learned to avoid by now, having spent my whole life with the worst one.

But I was a na?ve, stupid fool. I convinced myself that being halfway across the world, far from my father's territory and reign of terror, would make me an anonymous nobody, and the monsters from the mafia world wouldn't find me.

I was just a young woman privileged enough to vacation in Italy's breathtaking Lake Como area. Having shed my identity as Nova Mancini, I was going by my middle name and mother's maiden name—I was Elena Naldi.

Although, my passport still bore the name Nova Mancini, and the hotel room was reserved under the Magna Titano Group, one of my father's shell companies. So, if someone really wanted to figure out who I was, they wouldn't need to be Einstein. However, my father made sure I was protected while abroad. Not because he cares about me—Silvestro Mancini only cares about himself and his power—but because I'm a valuable asset to him.

I also suspect he's planning something for when I return home. Even though he hadn't said a word before I left, I can read him like a book. I've spent my whole life learning to read my monstrous father; so I may not know the details of his plan, but I know my life will change forever when I return home. For the better of Silvestro Mancini, but not for Nova Mancini. No, for the Mancini Princess—AKA me—it most certainly won't be for the better.

But I guess that doesn't matter now because my father's plans have been derailed.

Because I've jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire and got myself kidnapped.

When my father allowed me to go to Italy, he, of course, sent me with guards. Their job was to protect me, but the kidnapping situation I currently find myself in… Well, that's entirely on me since I had deceived my guards and had been sneaking out.

I've had years of perfecting and presenting myself to the monsters in my world, hiding my thoughts and molding my behavior to be what they expected. To my guards, I was meek and obedient; I haven't given them any trouble in a decade—my father ensured I had learned that lesson well.

But in my father’s absence, I got brave and bold—and slipping past my guards was basically child’s play.

And without the guards, Elena Naldi explored and enjoyed being someone who wasn't Nova Mancini, the Mancini Princess.

I left my ridiculously expensive, haute couture clothes back in my room. Gone was the perfect hair and make-up, and in its place was a young woman with a messy bun, no make-up, and vintage clothes from a little shop in the area.

And that's when I met her .

Gemma Ricci. Beautiful and full of fun .

She was vacationing before she settled down to start her PhD in International Studies, or so I stupidly believed, like a gullible idiot.

Over the past week, whenever I slipped away from my guards, I spent time with Gemma. I had the best time—never had I been so carefree and unrestricted. And unguarded, in every sense. Not just without my guards physically, but I could finally drop the walls I've lived my entire life hiding behind. I could finally be the real me, without constantly hiding my thoughts or making sure my words and actions were those of the meek and mild princess. And let me tell you, I loved that version of me.

She laughed and smiled.

She spoke freely and didn't hide the fire and fight that smoldered deep within her.

She wasn't scared and jumpy. She wasn't constantly lowering her lashes and bowing her head.

And she certainly wasn't scared of her shadow or the monster that lurked around the corner.

She was out from under her vile father's thumb, his cunning eyes, and his constant scheming and plotting.

And what an idiot she was.

That girl and that reality didn't exist. It was nice to play pretend for a bit, though.

Now, I have to face my reality—a reality that will likely be as hellish as my past twenty years, if not worse.

Last night, Gemma convinced me to go to a club, and we had the best time dancing and laughing. But the last thing my fuzzy brain could recall was when I told Gemma I didn't feel well.

She had put her arm around me. Then there were some black spots, and the next memory was of Gemma helping me into an SUV. Then I woke up feeling an airplane's distinct humming and vibrations.

I'd been duped and kidnapped, being flown to god knows where.

And I know better. I know that everyone uses everyone else to gain what they want. How many times did I need to be taught that lesson? Nice girls don't finish first. Hell, in my world, nice girls often don't survive .

So why did I think, even for a second, that Gemma Ricci was friend and was genuinely interested in Elena Naldi, a nobody? Of course, she'd have an angle, a goal, when it came to me.

Only stupid, gullible idiots would think otherwise. Only weak fools would dare to hope otherwise.

I've been staring out the window since I opened my eyes and saw Gemma sitting across from me. The weight of her unasked questions press on me as we sit there in silence, but she'll break her silence first.

Now that I'm back amongst the monsters of my world, all the brutal lessons I've learned rush back to me. My silence isn't out of stubborn principle—this is one of the lessons I learned a long time ago.

You remain silent unless spoken to.

It's like my father is beside me, hissing in my ear, and I suppress a shudder.

I learned that lesson quickly, just like all the others. Because life as what my father wanted me to be—a demure, passive princess who is pretty to look at, easy to control, and bends to the will of her master—was easier and much less painful.

The pain he inflicted was rarely physical because causing physical pain usually left a mark of some kind. Unblemished beauty is highly prized in my father's eyes. He told me more than once that I'm his golden ticket to get what he wants—the perfect Mancini Princess and her precious virginity would serve him well in making an alliance fit for a king .

I shudder.

"Are you cold?"

I don't answer Gemma and blink back tears. Why does she care?

And in answer to her question, no, I'm not cold. I've experienced cold—being forced to stay in the cell in our basement, wearing only a light shirt and shorts, sometimes being locked down there for days—that's a cold that seeps into the bones.

"Nova…" When I don't answer or turn to her, she huffs. "Okay, dammit, look at me."

I've had years of conditioning—when I'm told to do something, I do it without hesitation. I need to obey or face the consequences. Being at the mercy of my father, those consequences were things like being locked in that cold cell. Or going without food and not daring to sneak even a cracker until I was told I could eat. Or having to be under the watchful eye of Mauro Torrisi, my father's consigliere.

Another shudder runs through me.

I turn from the window and look at Gemma. But I don't look at her like Elena Naldi had, with my chin lifted and meeting her eyes. I look at her like who I've been trained to be—the Mancini Princess—with a lowered chin and downcast gaze.

Gemma has morphed from me stupidly believing I had found my first true friend to another monster in my world.

I need to keep my guard up and not anger her. At least with my father, Mauro, my brothers, and the guards, I knew how to act to not anger or give them reason to punish me. But I'm in unchartered territory now, and I need to quickly learn how to act to protect myself.

Gemma frowns at me. She's beautiful—tall and willowy, with dark hair and Mediterranean skin coloring.

She's also deceitful and conniving. And a superb actress, because I didn't even consider that she was playing me.

She leans toward me, studying me like I'm a freak bug she's just discovered under a rock. "Why aren't you fighting, Nova?"

I blink. And blink again.

To force back my sudden tears, but more importantly, to try to silence my mother's screams in my head.

Then my father is there, hissing in my ear as he forced me to watch his guards beat my mother and then drag her out by her hair. " Don't fight the monsters, princess. Because the monsters always win."

That was my father's warning when I was ten years old.

That was the last time I saw my mother because, after that, I was forced to listen as the guards continued to beat her in the next room. Her beating was her punishment for daring to try to run away with me. My lesson was to listen to her beating until my father was satisfied I had learned it.

The next day, I was told my mother had died in a car accident caused by the Czech mafia targeting her to strike at my father. Lies . My mother didn't make it out of that hellish house breathing .

"Nova?"

I blink again.

"Shit, you're as pale as a goddamn ghost." Gemma unbuckles her belt.

"Why do you care?" I blurt in a hoarse voice.

Her hands still, and I close my eyes.

Watch yourself.

"Don't fight the monsters, princess. Because the monsters always win."

I open my eyes, staring down at my clasped hands in my lap, shutting down the ridiculous hurt I'm feeling from Gemma's betrayal. I'm nothing but a pawn for others to use to get what they want. And I shut down the insane urge to lash out at her and fight back.

"Nova… Please look at me."

I lift my eyes. Her light crystal-blue eyes brim with what looks like regret and concern.

Oh, she's good. An award-winning actress.

But those thoughts don't show on my face. I remain like how my father has brutally molded me—demure, passive, and perfectly poised.

The Mancini Princess.

Gemma crosses her legs, and a long, tanned one peeks out from the split in her bright yellow, flowing maxi dress.

"You changed."

She glances down at her dress. "Yeah, the black, short club dress didn't really seem to be the right choice for a long flight, you know?"

She looks at me like she's waiting for me to laugh or agree.

I'm still wearing what I had on at the club—a brown, soft suede, one-piece romper with a halter-style top. It's a Jiya Miko design, my favorite, and I found it in a vintage store in Lake Como, even though it's not actually vintage.

"Here," Gemma says, and a bottle of water pushes into my view. "The sedative causes dry mouth; this will help."

I accept the bottle, open it, and take a long drink. Half-hoping it might be poisoned.

She fiddles with her water bottle while staring at me. "Don't you have questions?" I stay quiet. "Like, why you're here? Where you're going?"

She's coaching me to be a captive ?

Likely because Gemma would fight like a wildcat against her captor and demand answers.

"Are you really doing your PhD in International Studies?"

" That 's what you want to ask?"

"Yes."

Along with, was anything you told me the truth ? Am I a complete idiot to think we had some kind of connection ?

She glances away, and I have my answer.

Lies. It was all lies.

"Would you answer the other questions if I asked them?"

She turns back to me and shrugs. "Maybe not. But the point is that you ask them, Nova."

I turn back to the window.

"Aren't you going to yell at me?" she asks, and I feel the weight of her stare. "Aren't you going to demand to know why we kidnapped you and where we're going?"

"One hell to another. One trapped cage to another. One monster to another. What's the difference, Gemma?"

"For fuck's sakes," she grits. "Why are you just lying down and taking this?"

Is she for real? Like for fucking real?

Why would I fight back? To give the monster—or monsters, because she had said we— a reason to punish me? No. Thank. You.

"Is your real name Gemma Ricci?"

She drums her long, elegant fingers on her thigh. "Gemma is."

"Well, at least not everything was a lie."

She has the audacity to jerk like I slapped her. Anger flares in her eyes, and her face flushes.

Warning bells sound, and I lower my head and soften my shoulders. Showing any fire and fight had never got me far.

"Stop being a helpless victim," she seethes. She's angry, but she doesn't move to strike me.

For some reason, I want to push her. Fight back .

"Did you kidnap me to teach me how to be a badass, Gemma?" I snark, looking up. Her eyes widen but then she smiles, and I shake my head. "Because if that's the plan, then you got the wrong girl."

Because my father has already broken me of that bad habit.

She frowns. "Your father made a deal with the French mafia. Arranged for you to marry Julien Moreau when you returned from your trip. Did you know that?"

I didn't know that, but it confirmed my suspicions that my father had something planned.

She leans toward me. "Do you know who Julien Moreau is?"

"No."

"He's the heir. A sick motherfucker who has an online shopping addiction—and I'm not talking about clothes or household items. He buys people, Nova…from auctions."

I swallow against a dry throat. Should I be surprised that my father made a deal with a man and family like that? "I guess I should thank you, then."

Gemma snorts and leans back.

I close my eyes, exhausted.

Maybe it's the sedative, maybe it's me reaching the end of my tether. Maybe it's me worrying about what and who waits for me at the end of this flight.

I close my eyes.

"Don't fight the monsters, princess. Because the monsters always win."

I know. Do I ever know.

I stiffen my resolve. I must not fight back. I can't be anything but the demure, passive, and obedient princess.

The rest of the flight is spent with the memories and reminders of all the psychological torment I lived through in order to learn that lesson.

It does the trick because, by the time our wheels touch down, I have no fight left in me.