Cesare's home was a mansion west of Brookhaven surrounded by acres of parklands and gardens. All brick, classic Georgian Revival, with a tiered entrance court above the rear lawn.
It had eight bedrooms, a private courtyard with a fountain, stone patios and porches, a wood-paneled library, a sunroom with plants and patio furniture, a gym, and a massive garage.
Martina had gushed about Cesare's home. She'd told me all about the gorgeous crown moldings and intricate wooden detail.
Focusing on the property was better than dwelling on the fact I was zip-tied.
If I could reach my phone.
Dad would move hell and earth to save me, but he didn't stand a chance against Cesare. I couldn't call him.
Snitching on Cesare wasn't an option, either. And I wasn't winning any fights.
What could I do?
Escape.
All I had to do was keep quiet until things settled down.
He had no idea about the Toyota with Oregon plates, and the extra ten thousand I'd wired into a separate savings account. If I framed my flight as a knee-jerk reaction, he'd forgive me. I'd apologize, play along with his bullshit games, and act like the perfect fiancée.
It'd take time, but he would lower his guard. Then I'd escape.
A wicked tension headache slammed me as I considered what would be involved. Planning the wedding? Lavishing him with attention? Warming his bed?
When I couldn't tolerate the suspense any longer, wheels crunched the driveway, which looped to a home whose outdoor lights illuminated gorgeous landscaping.
Shadows played on the brick. We parked, and the engine cut off.
Cesare left the car. After he exchanged words with the driver, he helped me out.
"Come."
At Cesare's gentle urging, I moved forward.
He opened the wrought-iron gate, ushering me toward the red door.
A blast of warmth engulfed my body as I stepped into a vibrant foyer. The blinding whiteness of the walls surprised me, as did the six large black-and-white photos right above his console table.
In one, a vivacious woman hugged a much younger Cesare. His sister? More framed pictures crowded the mahogany. Small details jumped out, hinting that they were all members of his family.
My fear staggered as he pulled me away from the portraits and guided me upstairs.
I wound up like a spring as we reached the first landing.
He palmed the French doors. They swung into a carpeted bedroom with a king- sized bed.
The sight of it set me on high alert.
He removed his jacket with aching slowness and tossed it onto a chair, his shirt still sprinkled with damp spots.
Without the blazer, his bare arms took center stage. So big, compared to David's.
Everything about Cesare was harsh. His skin rougher. His features more angular.
Men like him just wanted their ego stroked. If I gushed about his strength and dwelled on how insignificant and stupid I was by comparison, he'd tone down the aggression.
Before I opened my mouth, I glimpsed something that chilled my blood.
A knife in Cesare's grip.
He started forward. My heart seized when he clutched my forearms. A sharp edge pressed into my palm. I swallowed a scream as a firm pressure scraped against plastic.
The bonds snapped, and the tension holding my wrists disappeared.
I stared at my freed hands.
Cesare stowed the blade in his nightstand, bleeding indifference as he pushed me onto the mattress.
I jumped when he threw my bag at my feet.
"Open it," he barked.
"W-what for?"
"Do what I say."
I wasn't thrilled with exposing my neck to Cesare, but I bent to grab the bag. I unzipped the backpack as Cesare hovered.
"Take out everything."
Nausea swirled in my gut as I laid it all out on the bed. He swiped the brick of cash from me and flipped through the bills.
"Five grand. Who gave you this?"
Cesare's voice turned sour when I didn't answer. "Tell me, or I'll visit David."
"It's mine. Saved up from holidays and—and whatever my dad gave me."
That was a lie. I'd skimmed from my father's many businesses for years to prepare for my escape, but Cesare probably thought I was a high- maintenance brat.
"Why not deposit it?"
"Dad—Dad always said that there's nothing better than cash on hand."
"For criminals, not law-abiding citizens. What's this?"
He grabbed photos of the redwood forest in Northern St. Edmunds. I could see his bewilderment growing as he shuffled through pieces I'd stuck on my vision board.
"Running away to the forest?"
"They're vacation spots." Asshole. "My plan was to take a bus across the states."
That wasn't a complete falsehood. I'd planned a big road trip with a used car I'd secretly bought.
"Where did you want to go?"
"The Great Plains, Grand Canyon."
I wanted to lounge on beaches, ride cable cars, and then disappear, which was as far from the Brookhaven as I could get.
Well out of Cesare's reach.
When I escaped, I would change my name, enroll in college, and date men whose last names didn't end in a vowel.
I'd work at a business that wasn't owned by my father. Volunteer at more at-risk youth organizations to help kids before they became Davids.
I would be free.
"A vacation, huh? Life as a boss' daughter must be tough." His cavalier tone twisted a knife in my rib cage.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
The fatigue was getting to me, wearing me down. My skull throbbed as though a spike hammered my brain.
He wouldn't understand. He didn't care.
I met his glare, determined to suck it up and lie, but I couldn't wade above the sadness for another second.
The way he'd tossed my photos aside, as though they were meaningless, clenched the fist holding my heart.
"I didn't just want a break. I had to escape."
His brows rose. "Go on."
"My sister went missing. Mom and Dad are a mess. I was beside myself with grief. It was horrible, but I couldn't leave them after she died. So I put my plans on the back burner."
"Until me."
"The last straw."
"Why leave?"
His voice was softer than velvet, and that somehow made it worse.
I shook my head. I barely held in the despair.
"You don't give a shit."
"Get it out. I'll listen." Cesare sat next to me, his thigh pressing mine. He touched my cheek, the silky caress knocking David's heavy petting out of the stratosphere.
"You'll mock me."
"I won't."
What the hell was he doing? Trying to gain my trust?
When I didn't speak, his arm slid across my back. It tightened around my body and anchored at my hip. Then he dragged me like I weighed nothing. My legs glided over his lap, and suddenly, I was pinned to his blissfully warm chest.
"What are you doing?"
"Just relax." His voice boomed through me. "Relax."
Years of constant vigilance had wired me to expect anything, but everything about him felt good.
The hand stroking my hair. His protective arms. The swells of his breathing. His hot skin. I wanted to close my eyes and sink into the bottomless pleasure. Even weirder was the impulse screaming to hold him.
"Tell me."
And then it burst from my lips.
"I hate it here. I can't stand the violence, and I'm sick of funerals. It's one tragedy after another. My sister was murdered, and my dad will probably be killed.
That's all my life has ever been, and I deserve something better. I wanted to be like everyone else. Free. So you can threaten me all you want. I don't care anymore because I've lost the only thing that matters."
"You haven't."
I sank into the crook of his shoulder as I shook with silent sobs. It was as though a puppeteer had cut the strings controlling my limbs. I sagged into him, returning the embrace.
God, I'd needed this.
I dug into his muscled back, and tried not to make his shirt a wet mess.
Falling apart in a stranger's arms was so embarrassing. Especially when said stranger abducted me from the street and was rumored to be among Brookhaven's most ruthless mobsters.
Cesare held me like it was the first of many times. His touch whispered across my collar and kneaded my shoulders.
"You're exhausted. You need to sleep."
He yanked the comforter and tucked me in.
When he pulled away, I clung to his shirt. "Don't go."
I didn't know how I got here—from fighting to begging—in minutes.
Cesare hesitated.
I couldn't see much of him in the dark, but the little of him I made out was pensive.
Brow furrowed, he removed his shoes and dove into the sheets. The mattress groaned, and his body touched mine. He rolled me onto his chest.
"Sleep."
He wiped a strand of hair from my eyes and hooked it behind my ear. When his hand glided to my jaw, I turned my head to feel more of him. Cesare obliged, cupping my cheek. The tension headache lifted, filling me with drowsy ecstasy.
I sighed.
His mouth twitched into a smile, and it was a real one, nothing like the jaded smirks he usually threw at me.
"Sleep."
His velvet-soft voice was like a spell as I sprawled on him, sinking further into oblivion.