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A dance? I don’t have time for a dance. I need to get the fuck out of here—and dancing with the woman who just screwed me isn’t the best use of my time. But how do I say no, and run away after complimenting him?

I can’t.

Tugging her away, my hand crushes her hip, and the softness of her skin breaks through the cloud of irritation. Her subtle scent of gardenia, lily, and grass steals the logic from my brain, and my heart jumps into my throat. My thoughts stop, my shoulders lower, and with her in my arms, the rest of the room fades away.

This is some kind of magic. It must be. I’ve never been so distracted, so enamored with another person, before. Certainly not one who fucked with my plans for revenge.

I should make her pay for it. But I’d be no better than Ferguson to harm a woman.

Twirling her once, I rack my brain to ask her something—anything—maybe why the fuck she sabotaged me, or how I get that bottle back. Maybe who she is. Something to pass the time before I can leave.

Jerking me, she puts a finger to where my lips are behind the mask, eyes narrowed. As I turn, the candles blow out with a harsh, cold draft.

3

VALENTINA

Fixing the strap on my thigh, my red nails drag along my sun-kissed skin. Lines appear, ragged white marks, and I tilt my head, studying the zigzags. Tiny bars, so like my current predicament, turn my stomach and stabs directly at my heart.

Turning both of my cochlear implants up on my phone with the designated app, I wait for the signals to attack my ears. The room buzzes slightly, jarring my sensitive nerves, before it settles down into white noise. I’ve dealt with it for years, trained for months to understand it, but the spike never gets easier.

Rosa walks into my room, tapping my shoulder to alert me. Glancing up into her brown eyes, I smile softly, though I don’t feel it. What’s there to smile about?

I’m being paraded around, in a mask, before my brother’s clients. Men who use women to satisfy their depravity, then discard them like old tissues. I’m forced to smile and flaunt, or risk my brother’s temper.

Another reminder of how stuck I am.

“Here,” she says, over-enunciating her words. It’s insulting, but I’ve long since stopped caring. My family hasn’t learned American Sign Language to communicate with me and has forced me to endure the rigors of getting the implants.

It was always for their convenience. The pain. The healing. The changes. It was never for my benefit, but always for theirs.

Only one person used ASL with me—my mother. She spent hours teaching me in order to establish communication. Our hands would move excitedly, and she always had a smile on her face as I responded or answered correctly . I refuse to give signing—and those memories of her tirelessly working to make me feel included—up.

With her gone, I can only use ASL with my guard, Ello Monitaro, in private. At least with Rosa, she speaks to me.

Like a child.

“Thank you,” I sign. I could say it after all those grueling speech therapy lessons, but I’d rather not.

Signing is easier; it’s fluid and beautiful. It’s natural.

Rosa smiles, though she doesn’t understand, and hands me my mask for the night.

I had it designed specially to match my dress. The beads glisten and shine like tiny balls of gold. Twirling, my hips roll, and together, the dress and mask reflect the table side lights. Beautiful rays caress the dark paneled walls of my bedroom. I sink into the cheer and hold it close.

“Your brother is going to kill you,” Rosa chastises. I run a hand over the gold fabric, frowning. “He wanted everyone to wear black.”

Clearing my throat, I place the mask on my face, careful of my hair and implants. I style my long locks to hide them. I hate how they look—and what was taken from me.

“What will he do that he doesn’t already?”

Rosa’s eyes soften, but I ignore the sympathy.

We’re both prisoners, locked under constant control. As Roman’s favorite, Rosa has a longer leash than me. She can go shopping with only one guard and can visit friends without my brother bearing down on her. I’m jealous of her freedom.

I, on the other hand, am limited. Roman doesn’t allow me to leave the house unless it’s with him or my fiancé. When I was younger, things were different; I went to ballet classes and could socialize with all the girls there.

That stopped when I turned twenty-one, and I became a pawn for my brother.