Page 18 of Obsession & Oath

“You haven’t met my mother.”

Rocco chuckles to himself. “Hang in there,fratello.It will be over before you know it.”

Chapter6

Carmen

Three days in, and I’m ready to bang my head against the iron bars of my cell.

They are perhaps the only remaining indicator that this room used to be a dungeon in the traditional sense. The stone walls are smooth and pale, washed clean of whatever history they once held.

I’ve fiddled with the wallpaper enough that it is torn at the edges where it meets the narrow bed in the corner. The bed's frame is made of iron, and the mattress is thin but not unbearable.

There’s also a small wooden table and chair placed against the back wall, and a single lamp glows softly on top of it, casting warm light that does little to soften the starkness of the space.

What would be lovely is ifsomeonewould give me something to do other than quietly lament my existence. Instead, I have to make do with pacing. Thirty steps to the back wall, fifty-two steps across, then back again.

The floor is cold beneath my bare feet—smooth tiles instead of rough stone—and the air smells faintly of lavender. The smell wafts through the door to a tiny adjoining bathroom, the sink and toilet cleaned each day.

But it’s the silence that gets to me. It’s heavy and unbroken, like the walls themselves are listening. There’s no window, no clock, nothing to mark the passing of time. Only the meals that appear three times daily remind me that I’m not suspended in a pocket of timelessness.

This is why whenever I hear the door creak open down the corridor, I’m practically buzzing with excitement at the prospect of some kind of human interaction.

The guard’s name is Pierre, and he pretends he doesn’t speak English. But one time, I made a joke about the thickness of the soup he was bringing me, and I caught him smiling.

Also, Dante spoke to him in English when I arrived.

But I’m not thinking about Dante.

“Well, hello, princess.”

Until he’s standing right there in front of me. Soup bowl in hand.

I wish the patronizing smirk on his face would somehow obscure how objectively attractive he is. It’s a frustrating reality that I’m slowly trying to come to terms with. At least he’s ugly on the inside, where it counts.

“Where is Pierre?” I say stubbornly.

“Am I not good enough for you?”

I make a show of looking him over. “Pierre is prettier to look at.”

Untrue. But it’s enough for Dante’s smirk to falter just a bit, which is a small victory.

“And here I was just trying to check in and make sure you were settling in all right,” Dante chastises as he slides the bowl through the grate.

“Finally remembered I existed?”

“How could I forget?” he quips back. “You’re the sole reason my mother has been meticulously torturing me these last few days. All of which could have been avoided if you’d only behaved yourself back in Brooklyn.”

I cross my arms, a deadpan expression on my face. “Oh, how awful for you.”

“I’d take the cell any day.”

“All right, let me out of here, and we can swap,” I reply brightly.

Dante pretends to consider this. “Tempting. But I do recall you threatening to kill me, and I’d rather not take those chances.”

“You called me a sexual deviant.”

---