Page 17 of The Red Queen

Giovanni’s gaze drifted, as though he were reliving a memory. “She died from pancreatic cancer. It was a rough way to go and nothing I did, no amount of money or doctors, could save her.”

Despite herself, Desi felt a tug of compassion. She could feel his guilt over his wife’s death, though she didn’t understand why he would feel that way if the woman died of cancer. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Perhaps one day your son will come around.”

When he looked at her, Giovanni’s expression had hardened once more. “I don’t think so. Antonio is stubborn, and though it grieves me, he’s incapable of managing the family business.” He studied her, then asked, “Did your master not want children to carry on his name?”

Desi resented the word ‘master’, but let it go. What was the point in arguing when he’d made up his mind?

“Yes, he wanted children.”Not mine, she added silently. “He wasn’t eager to settle down and thought he had enough time to marry and have a family.”

“Don’t we all,” Giovanni murmured.

He said nothing more, instead staring at her with his dark, enigmatic eyes until it was everything she could do not to squirm in her seat. Finally, she said, “I’m ready to go back to my room.”

At first, she thought he would argue, but he only said, his voice mild, “Put the knife you took back on the table, and I will escort you down.”

Desi stood and dropped the stolen knife on the table. True to his word, Giovanni escorted her back to her room and locked her in for the night.

Chapter Eight

“Clothes for you to wear.”

Desi glanced at the clock next to her bed. It was 7 PM, an hour past the time the housekeeper normally showed up in her room with a tray. She rolled from her side onto her back and sat up to glare at the housekeeper.

“Fuck off,” she snarled at the woman.

Mrs. Capelli ignored Desi, setting a stack of clothing on the chair next to the door. She’d been dropping off clothing for Desi every day and every day Desi ignored them. She didn’t need handouts from her captor.

She’d been in Italy for a week. Her days were becoming routine. She was given two meals per day, with more than enough left over on the trays for snacks. She’d dined upstairs with Giovanni three times out of seven days. She was never sure when he would come to escort her up, but it was a pleasant break in her day, and she was always on the lookout for escape opportunities.

She was recovering quickly from her injuries. The gunshot wounds barely pained her, though the missing finger was difficult to get used to.

She was feeling the strain of her captivity. Desi was a restless person and rarely sat still for long, which was made difficult when she was trapped in a cell with only a bedroom and a washroom. Still, she supposed this was a step up from a coffin.

The door to the cell banged shut with unnecessary force, showing that she’d pissed off the housekeeper with her rude behaviour. Good. She despised the woman and gloried in setting her off. It was one of her few amusements.

She rolled off the bed, stood, and made her way to the pile of clothes. She wouldn’t wear them, of course, but she was curious. The styles changed from day to day, and she wondered who was picking them out. Sometimes sweatpants, sometimes jeans, sometimes a dress. Always in her size.

She lifted a red dress from the small pile and shook it out, holding it up. She raised an eyebrow. She’d seen sex workers wear more than this dress would cover. It was sleeveless with a vee that would drop almost to her belly button, and so short that it would barely cover the top part of her thighs.

Was Giovanni ready to take their relationship to the next level?

He was a strange man. Their brief meals together were the only times she saw him. Otherwise, he left her to her own devices in the cellar bedroom she now called home. He didn’t visit; he didn’t offer much for amusement. He just let her rot until he was ready to see her.

During their last meal together, she’d forgotten a carefully concocted plan to seduce him into giving her more freedom and berated him for leaving her alone all day, every day, with nothing for stimulation. Lab rats were treated better than her.

The next morning a sudoku puzzle book had shown up on her breakfast tray. She’d torn the pages into tiny pieces and flushed them down the toilet. The activity had provided a few minutes of entertainment.

Desi dug through the pile and picked up a pair of strappy four-inch heels. The brand label was Louboutin. Nice. Someone had good taste in shoes. Her size, of course.

The pile also included a waist length black leather jacket with buckles on each side. It would look incredible with the red dress and heels.

“What the fuck are you up to?” she murmured.

So far, all the clothing sent to her had been fairly conservative and designed for comfort. This was so… not. She loved the red dress and heels, would have picked them out for herself, which made her hate them all the more. She dropped the dress and moved back, turning around.

Giovanni was standing just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, an amused light in his icy dark gaze as he watched her.

She eyed the gun in the holster under his arm. With his arms crossed, he might not be able to stop her if she lunged for it. When their gazes met again, he lifted an eyebrow as if to say,try it, see what happens.

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