4

Raella's POV

I ate lunch—an incredible pork taco that I would have given my left nipple to have the recipe for—and then experimented with a stroll around the yard.

I paced back and forth, slowly making my way further and further from the house as a kind of test.

If I moved twenty paces out, would a guard appear to escort me back?

What about thirty paces? Maybe a drone would buzz overhead, a tiny gun aimed and ready to fire.

But nothing happened. The sky remained clear except for the sun, which turned my shoulders pink. I kicked off my sandals and dragged my toes through the lush grass.

More and more, I thought Lorenzo was probably right. Life there in Vincenzo’s mansion wouldn’t be so bad…

Which would make things even worse when I was ruthlessly kicked back to the dirty curb of my normal life.

I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. My life was good. It was better than living in abject poverty and it was certainly better than the bedazzled cell my stepfather had planned for me.

Still, it was nice to have a hot meal delivered to my table. It was nice to freely spend an afternoon without counting down the hours until my next shift at the diner.

I had a feeling, when all was said and done, it would be hard to walk away from this.

I made it all the way to the back fence and turned around to face the mansion. It was breathtaking that people lived like this. That I was going to live like this, no matter how briefly.

The house was a stunning three levels with balconies draped from some of the windows. A mezzanine level wound halfway around the top floor. Endless windows and doors and rooms and secrets tucked away in what could only be described as a castle.

Except the man inside was no Prince Charming.

And I sure as hell was no princess.

My mind made its fifth pass over my long list of worries when I finally pulled the phone Lorenzo had given me out of my pocket and tapped in Carmella’s number.

She answered immediately. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.”

There was a pause before she shrieked. “Raella! I’ve been blowing up your phone all day. Where have you been? What happened? The windows blew out. Someone said a gas explosion, but I don’t know. I thought I heard gunfire. Are you okay?”

She talked so fast that she was panting by the time she paused.

“I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” she asked. “Was it an explosion? Or a shooting? That hot guy who took me outside wouldn’t say anything.”

I frowned. Vincenzo hadn’t taken her outside. Then I realized who she was talking about. “Lorenzo?”

“Right. Lorenzo. He told me not to worry about it. But guess what? I’m worried! Where have you been?”

“I’ve been…” I imagined Vincenzo sitting in some dark room somewhere, headphones on and a monitor with my face splashed across it in front of him. “I’ve been with Vincenzo.”

There was a long pause before Sandra spoke again. “Vincenzo…Marinelli? From the party last night?”

“Yeah. He came into the restaurant this morning.”

There was another long pause. Then Sandra screamed.

“What?” I gasped. “What is going—”

“You fucked Vincenzo Marinelli at the party last night and then he showed up to see you the morning after?!” Sandra squealed. “Holy shit! I can’t believe it! But…wait. Was the explosion this morning because of Vincenzo?”

“No. It was…” I tried to quickly sort through what I could and couldn’t tell Sandra, but in the end, it was easier to lie. “It was all a case of mistaken identity. A drive-by shooting, I think?”

“Shit. Really?” She blew out a long breath. “That’s a relief. I mean, it’s absolutely batshit, bananas, bonkers, totally off the rocker. But still a relief, I guess.”

“Yeah, it is. But I’m still kind of shaken up. I’ll probably take a few days off of work.”

“Usually, I’d be pissed because I cannot be covering all of your shifts, but the restaurant is closed for repairs, anyway. Come over. Or I can come to you?”

I winced. “I’d love to, but…I’m not at my apartment right now. I probably won’t be for a while.”

“Oh. Where are you?”

Lorenzo had told me not to give away my exact location, but I assumed it was safe to say… “I’m with Vincenzo.”

This time, when there was a long pause, I knew to pull the phone away from my ear. Through the speaker, I heard a tinny shriek.

“No way!” Sandra squealed. “He invited you back to his house?”

Invited, abducted. To-may-to, to-mah-to.

“Yeah. That’s why he came to the restaurant this morning. He was there because I ran off last night without giving him my number.”

Sandra was making all kinds of giddy noises from the other end of the phone. I wouldn’t put it past her to be literally jumping for joy right now. Then she stopped. “Wait! That whole party last night was for Vincenzo to find a wife, right?”

I chewed on my lip. I hated lying to her. “Uh, yeah. Right.”

“And now, he wants your number?”

“Correct.”

A third silence stretched. I winced in preparation for what I knew was coming in three, two, one…

“HOLY SHIT! IVAN PUSHKIN WANTS TO MARRY YOU?!”

I let Sandra calm down to a decibel safe for human ears before I put the phone back to my ear. “That seems to be correct.”

“Oh my God! I thought this kind of thing could only happen in fairy tales, but you’ve got yourself a real-life prince.”

Sure. Prince of darkness, maybe.

“How did this happen?” Sandra badgered me. “I mean, obviously, he met you and was enamored with your beauty and wit and cleavage and other incredible qualities. But what happened last night?”

Now, this part I could tell without any lies.

I ran through the drunk man ripping my dress to shreds and Vincenzo walking in on me naked in his office. “I had no clue who he was at first,” I admitted. “When I found out, I tried to leave—but I guess I didn’t quite get that far.”

“Insane,” she breathed. “This whole thing is insane. If you need me to get out there with my voodoo shit and lay a curse on his ass and bust you out Ocean’s Eleven-style, you just say the word. But if not, I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, that is.”