Page 34 of The Boss
I nod and close my book with the pen tucked inside. I head to one of the big windows, feeling slightly better.
First, while Quinn isn’t around, I need more intel. I need to start figuring out how he thinks, what he wants. Sex, sure, power, obviously, but what else? This place is hella weird. It’s a mystery, which is a lot like a puzzle.
So, I’ll start solving.
I look out over the manicured lawns, seeing less dogs today. There are a lot more men in vests and big black SUVs now than when we arrived. If it were warmer, if there weren’t a panic-inducing amount of woods stretching endlessly past the guarded fences, it’d feel like home almost. Except for the notable lack of cameras where they should be, mounted every few feet scanning all directions.
“Ugh,” I groan aloud.
This is all so damn strange. I go to the opposite window and look out.Okay, so, not like home at all.The back half of the property looks like a magazine with statues, flowers, multiple fountains, a pool. Is that a maze garden? Then maybe an orchard? And I can’t even see the back fence, which makes my heart begin to race.
I step back from the window.
One thing at a time.
Shower in a glorious bathroom. Next, go see if my poor little dog survived the night. Marlon didn’t ask to be a prop in all this. And, surprisingly, I miss him after toting him around everywhere with me the last month.
Then I’ll get some food. I have no appetite, since I’m stuck in a living nightmare, but I need to keep my strength up.
Marlon. Food. Recon. Seduction. I’ll walk the house, the yards, maybe even out into all the trees. I know this place is huge but I can cover a lot in a day.
I’m Luna fucking Mancini.
And I’m getting the hell out of here.
CHAPTER 20
Luna
I adjust my high ponytail, my soft, cleavage-showing beige lightweight sweater and bootcut dark blue jeans one last time in the mirror. The jeans hug what butt I have and my cute hiker boots peep out of the bottom. I’m dressed for exploring, with a little extra mascara, ready to face whatever I’ll find in this weird frat-asylum-mob-probably-haunted-house.
I nod at my reflection before embarking out into the crazy house.
Alright, let’s see if I can remember the way to…hooooooly mother of God himself that smells good. Marlon, buddy, hang in there another minute.
I take the grand stairs quickly to the foyer, passing what seems like a million men. Similar men. Like…mini Quinns. Well, hell, any man is miniature next to him. But they are all muscular, all wear the same simple, dark, combat clothes, leather jackets or vests, knives and guns holstered all over. Some have red hair instead of black but even the cut seems the same.
And they’re young. My age, some teenagers, maybe a few in their thirties but no one much older than that. Odd.
I make my best guesses on the first floor, weaving through a big living room, trying to follow the smell and sounds of a kitchen or dining room.
Oh.
Okay.
Dininghall.Freaking cafeteria. That’s what this is.
More dark wood and old fashioned paint line the walls. Antique wood chairs fill the space and big oil paintings in ancient-looking frames fill the walls. Ugly chandeliers hang from the ceiling which is up a couple stories. There’s a staircase off to one side and a landing, almost like a balcony overlooking the room. At this point I’m kind of surprised this place has electricity, it looks so archaic.
A few men look up from the many long wooden tables as I enter. They keep their expressions remarkably neutral. Surely, they’re curious. They must’ve heard things about me, the crazy Italian princess and her dog in a purse. I was even prepared for some hostility. But everyone looks away and carries on conversation like I’m not standing here, stunned and frozen in the wide door frame.
Well, suits me just fine. Easier to snoop if no one pays me any attention.
It’s noisy in here and even noisier, I notice, through the swinging doors at the far end. The men keep walking through with their plates of food.
Food that smells divine.
I walk to what must be the kitchen like I know what I’m doing.
