Page 15 of The Bonventi Secret
I walk to the full-length mirror in the corner of my office and adjust my tie. As I stare at my reflection, I see the man I've molded myself into. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless.
I smooth down my jacket, feeling the weight of the gun holstered beneath. It's a constant reminder of the world I inhabit, the power I wield.
As I move toward the door, I feel a sudden surge of anticipation. Not for Livia herself, but for what she represents. A new chapter in the Bonventi legacy, another step towards total domination.
I pause, hand on the doorknob. For a split second, I allow myself to wonder what she'll be like. Will she fight? Submit? But I push the thought away as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter. In the end, I always get what I want.
I open the door and step out.
It's time to greet my future wife.
LIVIA - 5
Isit frozen, my hands clasped tightly in my lap to hide their trembling. The limo's engine cuts off, leaving us in silence. My throat still burns from screaming, my eyes sting from crying, but I refuse to let another tear fall.
Gabriel shifts beside me, but I don't acknowledge him. I keep my gaze fixed on the mansion looming outside the tinted windows. It's a far cry from the cozy UCLA campus I left behind. God, was it only yesterday I was celebrating my fellowship? The memory of Jake's touch feels like it belongs to another lifetime.
"Livia," Gabriel's voice is low and gentle. "It's time to go inside."
I don't move. Part of me wants to curl up and disappear, while another part wants to claw Gabriel's eyes out for his betrayal. "Fuck you," I mutter under my breath.
"Liv, please," he tries again. "We can't just sit here."
A man appears from the house and makes his way over to the limo. Gabriel sighs and gets out of the car. They exchange a few words and then Gabriel sticks his hand inside, offering assistance. "I'll help you out," Gabriel says.
I shove his hand away and stumble out on my own. The crisp morning air carrying the scent of freshly cut grass makes me want to vomit. It's too normal, too mundane for this nightmare I've stepped into.
"Ms. Falcone," the man who came from the house says. "Mr. Bonventi is expecting you. If you'll follow me please."
I hesitate for a moment. A mix of thoughts enter my mind: to run, to scream, to fight. But what's the point? There's nowhere to go, no one to hear me, no fight left to give. So I nod, my movements mechanical, and follow him up the grand steps to the front door.
The entryway is all marble, crystal, and gold. It screams of wealth and power, every surface polished to a mirror shine. My reflection stares back at me from the floor, a pale, disheveled ghost of the woman I was just hours ago. Where's the bright-eyed ever curious natured scholar who was going to revolutionize Victorian literature studies? Gone, replaced by this hollow-eyed stranger.
"This way, please," the man says, leading me deeper into the house.
As we walk, I can't help but think, this is real. It's happening. In moments, I'll be face to face with the man who's claiming me as his own. The thought makes my stomach churn, but a small part of me – the part that's always loved a good mystery – can't help but wonder what kind of man Enzo Bonventi really is.
We pass countless doors, each closed. The corridors seem endless, a labyrinth designed to disorient and confuse. I try to memorize the path, my academic mind kicking in despite my foggy overwhelmed brain. Everything is sleek, masculine, cold.There's not a hint of warmth or personality anywhere. It's less a home and more a museum.
As we approach a set of richly carved mahogany doors, I feel the last of my resolve crumbling and I slump against Gabriel.
"I can't," I whisper, my voice shaky. "Please, Gabriel. Don't make me do this."
"You have to," he says, voice low and final. "For both our sakes."
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, and Gabriel's arm tightens around me. For a moment, I'm transported back to my childhood, when he'd comfort me after a nightmare in our foster home. The memory only makes this reality more painful.
My heart pounds in my chest as I step into the room. It's a study, lined with bookshelves and artwork that probably costs more than my entire education. The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow that feels out of place in this cold, impersonal space.
"Please take a seat. Mr. Bonventi will be with you momentarily," the man says and exits the room, closing the doors behind him.
I take a seat in one of the high-back chairs, the leather cool and smooth against my skin. The scent of fresh lilies fills my nose as I see them sitting on the center table. It's the only soft touch in the entire room, and somehow that makes it worse.
I sit, rigid and tense. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks relentlessly, each second hammering into me. Each tick is another nail in the coffin of my dreams. My research, my career, my independence - all of it slipping away with every passing second.
Tick.
Tick.
