The Devil's CrownPart Two - Monica James Page 0,43
he owns this room. Even the Sicilians seem impressed by him. Vincenzo slaps Alek on the back as he says something I can’t hear even though Alek’s attention doesn’t waver from me.
He continues to stare at me with a look I can’t quite place. It appears he’s attempting to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.
Frank angrily walks from the room, his fingers still digging into my arm. “Ouch,” I cry, trying to break free from his punishing grip, but he doesn’t let me go.
“This dress makes you look like a slut,” he cruelly spits, shaking me. “Go upstairs and change.”
“Hardly,” I bite back, eyes narrowed as I pry his fingers off me. “And no, I will not go change. If you don’t like my dress, don’t look at me. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
Before he has a chance to reply, I march ahead and enter the ballroom alone. One of the maids escorts me to my seat, and I begrudgingly sit, as I don’t want to break bread and pretend I’m not dying inside. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this dinner without stabbing Frank or Santo with my fork.
Everyone else enters.
I keep my eyes peeled to my silverware, nervously arranging the perfectly aligned forks and knives, but I need to do something with my trembling fingers. The chair next to me scrapes along the floor, and Frank’s suffocating cologne hits my nostrils.
He grips the back of my neck and yanks me toward him to snarl into my ear, “You’re going to regret your words, puttana.”
Angrily peeling his fingers off me, I sarcastically reply, “Nice. Calling your fiancée a whore. Good to see your mother taught you manners.”
“Don’t you dare speak about my mother that way,” he whispers, squeezing my leg under the table.
“Or what?” I challenge, turning slowly to face him.
The gloves are off. I can no longer pretend I want anything to do with him. I wish I could have lasted longer, but I can’t. Not after what Santo did today. I refuse to be a victim, so it’s time I fought back.
“Thought so,” I mock. “Now, get your fucking hands off me.” I jar my leg away from him, daring him to scold me in front of our “guests.”
He clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t make a scene.
Alek enters last, so he missed the altercation, but when he peers over, he senses something is amiss. He is ushered to his chair—left of Santo, who sits at the head of the table proudly. When Willow and Saint remain standing behind Alek, I purse my lips, confused.
Santo says something to Alek as though it’s normal protocol for two people to stand while we dine on this four-course meal. I risk a glance at Willow, but she keeps her eyes peeled to the floor—like a good submissive.
Saint is on high alert, watching everyone’s movements, ready to spring into action if need be. I need to get one of them alone so I can tell them what Santo has planned. But I’m beginning to think that’s going to be impossible with Frank breathing down my neck.
The maids scurry into the ballroom, hands filled with traditional Italian foods. The table is decorated beautifully, and if I wasn’t here against my will, I would appreciate the effort put into tonight’s dinner. But when an antipasto is placed in front of me, all I want to do is vomit.
Pushing the plate away, I instead reach for the bottle of vino. However, a small whimper escapes me when Frank pinches my waist so hard, tears sting my eyes. No one sees as he’s discreet and does it under the table, but Alek hears my small cry.
Santo continues talking to him, but Alek pays no attention as he’s too busy looking at me. I want to jump up and tell him everything, but if I do that, they’re all dead. So I bypass the vino and reach for the sparkling water instead.
My hand trembles as I pour myself a glass. Frank seems overjoyed he’s instilled the fear of God into me.
Conversation is spoken in mostly Sicilian. It’s all small talk, but soon, that’ll change. Santo made clear tonight is a strategic move. He wants to milk what he can from Alek, hoping it’ll be enough for him and his family to turn rogue.
They don’t want to prolong this transaction as they can’t trust Alek, but I know what that really means—they’re afraid of him.