Page 22 of The Lies We Tell

Tessa reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled-up slip of paper. Handing it to her father, she held her breath, hoping it was the kind of information he needed. By the way his fingers tightened in her hair, she assumed it wasn’t.

“I already know about this shit, Tessa.” He shoved the paper roughly into his jeans and yanked her down to the end of the aisle and around the side, hiding them from view of the main aisle. “You’re not there on vacation. If you want to see your mother again, you need to do better than that.”

“It’s not as if they trust me and tell me all their secrets. I had to dig that out of a trash can. Besides, they rarely talk business at the house. At least not when I’m around.”

“Sounds like you need to get closer, then,” her father said through gritted teeth. “I saw how Matteo looked at you that day in my office. He wants you.”

“He doesn’t. I can promise you that.”

“Don’t lie to me, girl. The Bianchi Don is not an indulgent man. He agreed to take you for a reason, and that reason is dangling between his legs.”

“We haven’t spent more than a handful of minutes at a time alone together in five days. What do you suggest I do?”

Tessa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out when her father’s grip tightened enough to have tears springing to her eyes.

“I suggest you get on your knees and give him a good suck,” he whispered against her ear, voice low and dangerous. “I told you what happens if you disappoint or defy me, Tessa. Do you remember?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force the mental image from her mind. “You’ll send me my mother in pieces.”

“That’s right.” He released her hair so suddenly she swayed forward, catching herself on the edge of a display. “Give me your phone.”

Tessa dug it out of her purse and laid it in his palm. He created a new contact—Luna, the name of her old dog—and typed in a number she didn’t recognize.

“That’s the number for a burner phone. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to go and then stopped, moving to stand in front of her again and crowding her against the shelves. “Don’t do anything stupid, Tessa. The only way for you to see your mother again is if I give her back to you. If I find out you’re lying to me—about anything—I’ll kill you both.”

Tessa stood there trembling long after he was gone. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to spy on the Bianchis or be stuck in the middle of this war. A war that would never benefit someone like her. What did she have to gain if her father won? If Matteo did? Nothing.

What she wanted was her mother back in one piece and to get off this fucking island for good. She’d seduce Matteo to get the information her father was so desperate for. She’d do anything to free her mother from her father’s clutches. Free them both.

But she didn’t trust her father either, and it would be just as easy to feed Matteo what she knew about Antonetti business dealings too. She’d given him something this morning; now all she had to do was make sure he followed through on his end and actually searched for her mother.

Running a hand through her hair to smooth it, she headed up to the front of the store before her guard came looking for her and set her purchases down on the belt. He walked over and surveyed the items as they were rung up, brows drawing together when he noticed she hadn’t grabbed any tampons.

“They didn’t have the size I needed,” she said casually, silencing his question and watching his face redden again.

He gave a curt nod and made no other moves to speak, following her out to the car and helping her and her bags into the backseat. Once they were in motion, Tessa slumped against the window with a sigh.

She needed to stomp out whatever shred of conscience she had left. This wasn’t about right or wrong, good or bad, anymore. This was about survival. And she intended to make it out of this alive.

Chapter Nine

Drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders, Tessa tucked her feet underneath her and scooted closer to the ring of warmth emanating from the outdoor heater. Enjoying the fresh air until the cold became too much and chased her back inside again was often the best part of her day. She didn’t think anyone noticed she snuck onto the balcony off the second-story library overlooking the sea every afternoon.

But someone must have because today, the heater and a stack of thick blankets had been here waiting for her. If it was Matteo—and she suspected it was—it was the most he’d acknowledged her presence since she’d asked for a ride, save for the family’s stilted and awkward conversation over dinner every night.

She’d tried everything she could think of to entice Matteo into kissing her again. A short list, given her limited experience with men. She didn’t think he’d take well to her dropping to her knees and reaching for his zipper, so instead she’d acted shy and sweet and innocent. A regular damsel in distress. He seemed to like those. Why else would he agree to rescue her from her father’s clutches?

Not that he’d done all that much rescuing. Her father still had her by the throat. He’d been texting multiple times a day, asking how she was. His code for updates. When she had news, she was supposed to ask if he wanted to grab coffee. But there was no news to share.

Matteo clearly thought his kiss in her bedroom had been a mistake. Or it really was just a ploy to get close enough to grab her phone. She hated how much that idea stung, but it wouldn’t exactly surprise her. He struck her as the kind of man who did whatever needed doing to get what he wanted.

On that, at least, they were the same. She needed information, and since pawing through the trash in Matteo’s office on the rare occasion she’d been able to manage it had yielded nothing, she had to up her game.

Maybe she needed to play up their age difference. He was at least ten years older than she was. Didn’t men like being hit on by younger women? The ancient guys her father had always tried to marry her off to seemed to enjoy the idea of being with a woman young enough to be their daughter. Or granddaughter.

She grimaced at the memory of standing in front of men two and three times her age while they appraised her, talking about her as if she was a piece of property and not a person.

Truthfully, she’d be happy to avoid the company of men altogether until the end of time. They never seemed to add much to her life except fear, anxiety, and a sense of being trapped.

---