"Sure." He rolls his eyes. "You got a moment to talk?"
"Yes, just..." I flush deeply. "Let me get dressed and I'll meet you in the salon."
His eyes widen and then he grins, obviously amused by my disheveled state. "I'll be waiting." He exits the room, closing the door behind him.
I rush to get dressed, throwing on the first clothes I can find. I walk into the salon feeling self-conscious about my mismatched outfit and sit on the loveseat.
Julian Bernardi is sitting opposite of me on the loveseat, his critical eyes examining me.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" I finally manage.
"My father wants to speak to you today."
Instantly, the color drains from my face and I feel a chill going down my spine. "I have nothing to talk to him about. He killed my parents in front of me. He's a monster."
"Unfortunately for you, Father doesn't give a damn," Julian goes on. "Listen, I don't have to tell you he doesn't like you very much. So you better be on your best behavior in front of him and don't give him a reason to hurt you. And don't show him you're jealous."
"Jealous?"
"About the Carlucci girl." He waves his hand dismissively. "Nicoletta or whatever her name is."
"Nicoletta?" My eyes narrow as I stare him down. "Never heard of her."
"Oh." He grimaces. "Well. Forget it then."
"No, I can't forget it now," I mutter. "Who is she?"
"Adrian's supposed to marry her, but you didn't hear it from me."
My insides turn upside down and I feel like I'm going to be sick. He must've gotten in wrong somehow. "I thought Adrian wanted to marry me."
"That's not up to him. It's up to our father. But if you want to change his mind, you're more than welcome to try."
"That man hates me," I say exasperatedly. "He's tried to kill me twice. What's stopping him from trying again, today?"
"He made a promise to Adrian. He won't break it."
"I don't know that, do I? I don't trust the man."
"I guess you'll just have to learn how to trust him." Julian shrugs just as there's another knock on the door.
I don't even have time to come to terms with the news he's just delivered, because Bruno Bernardi shows up in my room the next second.
Julian stands and gives me one last warning look before leaving.
Now—I'm alone with Bruno, the patriarch of the family who wants nothing more than to spill my blood. "What do you want?" I demand.
"Already so damn snappy," he responds, shaking his head with disapproval. "I would've thought your parents taught you some manners, old-fashioned as they were."
"Don't speak about my parents, stronzo."
"What? Are you going to stop me?" He chuckles before a coughing fit takes over and he doubles over in pain.
I eye the man warily, not trusting him for a second. I wish I had a weapon to defend myself with. I feel so unprepared for Bruno's visit. If he attacks me now, I don't stand a chance.
"I came here to talk to you, Marzia, not argue."
"Why?"
"You're so suspicious!" He laughs. "Relax, rilassare. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to ask you a few questions."
"Like what?"
"Like your past. Before your engagement was announced, did your parents let you have boyfriends?"
Wordlessly, I shake my head.
He nods with approval. "It's good that they were so traditional. Girls these days are so promiscuous. They saved you from that."
It's confusing to hear him praise my parents—he's the one who killed them in cold blood, after all. "What does that matter?"
"I'm just curious what kind of daughter the Da Costas raised."
"A daughter that will never answer to the man who killed her family."
He chuckles, pulling out a cigar and snipping the tip. He doesn't ask whether he can smoke in my salon. I guess he doesn't have to, since it's his house.
I narrow my eyes as smoke fills the room.
Another coughing fit makes him bend over.
"Why are you still smoking?" I demand.
"What?"
"You're sick, aren't you?"
His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. "I'm fine."
"You shouldn't be smoking at all. You're going to kill yourself that way. That cough is bad."
"Why do you care, Marzia Da Costa?"
"I don't," I mutter. "But I'm sure Adrian does. Does he know you're sick?"
"I'm not sick," he claims vehemently.
I decide to let it go. He obviously won't admit it to me, even though it's apparent the man is suffering from something. I stare at