Page 47

“You have plenty of dresses,” he mutters.

“I need a new one,” I clarify.

Roman cracks his jaw, glaring at me. His dark eyes, leached of all kindness, drill into my face. I don’t wilt.

It sometimes hurts to look at him. He reminds me of Papa, and his cruel eyes when he relayed what happened to Mama.

He died last year—killed in prison. Roman mourned him—but I didn’t. Not him, truly. I mourn what he could have been to me, if he had accepted me.

“Why?”

I stop myself from signing. “I have a date.”

“A date?” he scoffs. “You don’t date, bimba.”

I flinch at the nickname. Little girl. That’s all I am to him—to Papa, to Freddie, to all the guards here. I’m just a little girl.

But I’m not anymore.

“Freddie is taking me out. I want to look nice.”

It took some convincing and a ridiculous amount of ignoring the nausea in my gut, but I manipulated Freddie into a date. Some flattery, a few flutters of my eyelashes, and he was sold. It’s the first step in my plan to end this marriage contract.

Roman won’t let me leave the compound alone. If I can get Freddie into the habit of taking me off grounds, it won’t look so suspicious when I ask for something more… devious.

It’ll be slow. But worth it.

“You have nice dresses in your closet,” he huffs. “I don’t see why you need more.”

I wring my hands. “I thought it would set a good example in the city.” At his curious look, I cross to the windows, peering out. “When I’m out there, I represent the Bruno family. If I look a certain way, people will see the Bruno family the same.”

He turns in his chair, studying my profile, but I don’t show him my calculating thoughts. My gaze roams the compound, taking in the soft green grass and the delicate white roses that have overtaken the walls. White roses were always my mother’s favorite.

“Fine. But only one.” He holds up a finger. “I have a business to run and can’t waste resources on your closet.”

“Luckily, when I’m married off, you won’t have to worry about padding my closet,” I say, turning up my nose.

Roman glowers at me, frowning. “I wouldn’t get too excited about your wedding just yet, bimba. There are requirements Marco needs to provide before Freddie can have his wife.” He spins back to his desk. “And I will not let him have you until those conditions are met.”

Looking over his shoulder, I spy the piles of paperwork he scrapes together.

“What conditions?”

He flicks his fingers. “Not something for a woman to worry herself with. Now go. Before I change my mind.”

Crossing to the door, he calls out, “Take Ello with you. You’re not to be alone.”

Elation rises in my chest, but I stomp down the smile that wants to split my lips.

“Understood.”

Walking the streets, Ello at my back, I peer into the clear windows of various shops. The energy of downtown pummels my senses. Both implants are turned on, but low, and the hum of various voices, the buzz of electricity, and the honks of cars wrap around me. There’s a certain pulse that exists in Boston, one not everyone can feel. It’s chaotic, but familiar, an old friend welcoming me home.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my white sundress.

Stalker: Out for the day?

I’m shopping.