Page 8 of Mason

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Carlo’s military-style boot holds the front door open when I get home, the man who serves as Papa’s top guard and my godfather resting a hand on his holstered gun, making my heart thunder in my chest as I step over the threshold.

Carlo’s a guy you don’t want to piss off. He’s big, bald, and bitter to the world. I swear he has a limit of smiling twice a month or something. Papa claims it’s because of his old lady, but I know he’s just a grouch. His wife, and my godmother, Sarah, isn’t nearly as grumpy. Lumpy, sure, but not grumpy. And she always brings donuts when she visits, much to Mama’s horror, who seems to think even sniffing sugar makes you gain an extra chin.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I mutter, clutching my purse strap tightly.

There are many things I’ve gone numb to as the daughter of Anthony Giambelli, but I’ll never get used to the sinking feeling of danger. It isn’t often that it strikes, but when it does, all of Papa’s money and bravado can’t save me from its claws. Carlo never greets me. This screams danger.

My mind immediately goes to Papa and the unspeakable.

Eyes drill holes in my cheeks once both of my feet touch down on the foyer floor—Papa’s eyes—who leans against the railing at the base of the sweeping split staircase with his handsome face drawn in anguish. His olive skin flushes to the tips of his ears; his Tom Ford suit disheveled and tie undone. “Emily Rose, do you not answer your phone anymore? Christ!”

Thank God. If something happened to him, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know what would happen to us all, either. Mama. The house. His men.

Eyeing the deadly serious duo, I loop my car keys on the hook beside the door. “I was driving Rachel home. What’s up?”

I might’ve raised the radio’s volume and pretended I didn’t hear his ringer on the way. Possibly even taken the long route home, directly into traffic. Anything to avoid the Steven date that he’s tried setting up for weeks.

Papa crosses the porcelain tile in three strides and pulls me to his chest, his wool suit jacket hot against my cheek. “You scared me.”

“You gave me money to go shopping!” I choke out, the sharp bite of his citrus cologne stealing my breath. “I looked, but nothing spoke to me enough to buy.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t know how you’re your mother’s daughter.”

I didn’t know either, sometimes. Mama and Anna seem like they’re from another galaxy. “Have you been looking for me?”

If he plans to spring Steven on me, I already have a list of excuses lined up. My period. Diarrhea. A migraine. I’ll keep rotating them every time and hope he doesn’t notice. By the time he does, I should have Dorian ready to go.

He gestures for Carlo to shut the door before his espresso eyes meet mine. “We need to lie low for a few days.”

I frown. “Lie low? Like bodyguards to classes again?”

Everyone stares when they accompany me. Not that anyone asks questions. Not even the college. They know better. I hate the extra attention, regardless. School is the one place I can be a number. A nameless face in a crowd. A college kid without the Giambelli last name. Until roll call, at least. Then everyone knows, and calls me miss and apologizes for every little thing, fearing what I may tell Papa. Like I’d ruin a life over a minor inconvenience.

He shakes his head. “No school for a while. We’ll reassess in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” I echo. I push against his chest, gaining freedom from his hold. “No! I’ll fail!”

I’ve worked too damn hard. I won’t let him take this away from me. He promised to let me prove myself.

“It’s not safe,” he says stiffly. “You need to stay inside. Mama and Anna are staying in, too. No shopping. No school.”

As if the two are comparable.

“Send me with a guard. Let me borrow a bazooka. I don’t care what you do. I’m going.”

“I can cancel your enrollment entirely,” he warns, leveling a dangerous look my way. “This isn’t a game. You need to stay in. This is the only place that’s safe right now.”

Remembering my plans with Rachel, my heart sinks more. The party at Down Under is my only chance to see Dorian for ages if Papa’s threat rings true. He might find someone else in the meantime. Someone who isn’t locked away like the Mafia’s own Rapunzel. “Why? What did you do now?”

Papa stiffens before looking to Carlo, who nods curtly and walks off, leaving us alone. When his eyes meet mine again, I take a step back. Rage burns in them. “Disrespecting me in front of my men?”

“Papa,” I start, but with a sudden backhand to the face, he cuts me off before I can rephrase my question. It’s brutal and would’ve sent me toppling over if he didn’t catch my elbow.

“Unacceptable. When I tell you to stay in, that’s more than enough information. You’re not invincible. You have limits. Learn them.”

Tears spring to my eyes before I can fully process what’s happened. He’s never hit me. Ever. And he struck me hard.

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