myself to have as an heir. I’m perfectly content to leave everything in Jovan’s hands once I’m gone.
The average lifespan of a Pérez boss has never gone beyond fifty, which means by the time I die, I could have sons and daughters old enough to suffer my loss. Maybe, someone could even put a pistol in their hands and command them to shoot me in the head. They would have to live with the mortal sin of patricide for the rest of their lives.
6
Elena
As my first day in captivity goes on, I’ve become more restless. The brain-fog cleared after eating, sleeping, and generally doing nothing productive. Now, I can only think about how and when I will try to escape.
The door to my room has been opening with no warning all day, with various people appearing on the threshold. First came two maids—Mariana and Antonella. Mariana is considered the ‘head maid’ and also the cook; Antonella takes orders from her. I was told these two women would be responsible for my care, while various men on Diego’s security detail will ensure I never leave the room. Mariana is an older woman—probably in her sixties—wearing a floral dress, support hose, and a pair of orthopedic shoes. Antonella is young and pretty, looking enough like Mariana that I assume they’re related. She wears a pair of scrubs and comfortable sneakers, and keeps a head full of cinnamon brown hair pulled into a high ponytail.
Antonella sets my breakfast tray on the nightstand, while Mariana presented me with a few changes of clothes and a wide array of hygiene products—including a new toothbrush still in the package.
“Señor Pérez has asked Antonella to select more clothes for you,” Mariana informs me. Her accent is thick, her voice low and husky. “For now, the things we brought belong to her … the two of you are similar in size.”
Except for the fact that Antonella has a smaller chest than I do. Gazing at the two tank tops and T-shirt in the pile, I wondered if they’ll fit. But I won’t complain; anything is better than continuing to lay around in this bikini.
“Thank you,” I murmur, before looking at my breakfast tray. It’s enough food to feed four grown men.
Seeing the direction of my gaze, Antonella laughs. “We don’t know what you like yet, so we put a little of everything on your tray,” she says, her accent lighter than Mariana’s but still distinct. “Once you’ve been here for a while, we’ll get to know what you like.”
Vomit wells up in the back of my throat at the idea of being here long enough for these women to learn my preferences. The lavish meal served to me on pretty white and blue china looks like death to me … an attempt to fatten me up for the slaughter.
“Please let us know if you have any allergies,” Mariana adds, peeking at me from beneath her lowered lashes.
Odd how she avoids looking at me, while Antonella stares with open curiosity.
“Nothing that I know of,” I tell her, as if it really matters.
“Good,” Mariana replies with a little nod. “We will return at lunch time.”
Once left alone, I tackle the breakfast tray. I’m not stupid enough to waste good food, and my stomach started growling an hour ago. I manage to kill off the scrambled eggs, a few slices of bacon, a croissant, and half a small bowl of fruit before I can’t stomach another bite.
After that, I take my clothes and toiletries into the bathroom. Mariana thought of everything—shampoo and conditioner, body washes in three different scents, lotions, a loofah sponge, hair ties, toothbrush and toothpaste, a small manicure kit, and even a box of tampons.
“So thoughtful,” I mutter with a sarcastic snort.
I take my time in the shower—washing and conditioning my hair and scrubbing away the odor of chlorine. I look a little more like my usual self when I step out and look over Antonella’s clothes for something to wear. The fact there aren’t any underwear makes sense, but the idea of going commando in this strange place gives me the creeps. I choose a pair of soft, worn-in yoga pants and a tank top, rolling my eyes at how snug everything fits. Antonella is about my height and slender, so the leggings are a nice fit, but I’m spilling out of the tank top.
Whatever. It isn’t like I’m going to be entertaining any guests from my cushy little cell.