“What’s the update?” I ask Jase, leaning against the wall in the hall. My eyes stay pinned on the carved glass doorknob with my thoughts on what’s behind it.
“Same as before.” Jase’s answer comes out low as we both see Aria and Daniel making their way toward us. They’re far enough away that she won’t be able to hear. Her fingers twist around one another as she walks quickly to keep up with Daniel’s pace.
I don’t know what Daniel tells her with a wide grin, but it cracks the solemn look on her face and she smiles back at him.
“Romano’s ready to strike when we are. As far as everyone knows, it’s the two of us taking out Talvery.”
“And the drug? What about the buyers hoarding it?”
“They’re all saying Marcus. But it’s only a name.” I know what he’s getting at. When a man is close to death, he’ll tell you anything you want to know, either to make his ending quick or to try to save himself. Four men now, each hoarding the drug we know to be lethal and each only giving up a single name in their last breath. Those are the only four buying in bulk, except for the girl I saw a week ago. I’d rather not seek her out, but our options are dwindling.
“Why not give more information?”
Jase’s palm presses against the wall and I can feel his gaze on me as he leans closer. “What does he have on them that they keep his secrets even as they die?”
“Maybe they don’t know anything else,” I offer, but Jase shakes his head. I only glance up at him because of Aria. She sees his expression and the bit of happiness Daniel provided her instantly vanishes.
Jase looks worried, angry even with a scowl plastered across his face.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I tell him lowly, but he doesn’t stop.
“They didn’t give me anything. Not a drop-off point, not a procedure or any details at all.” He leans in closer to me to emphasize, “Only a name.”
Our gazes are locked for a moment longer than they should be.
Daniel clears his throat at the same time that I hear his and Aria’s footsteps come to a stop behind me.
“Then we have a name,” I tell Jase and a small twitch gathers on the corner of his lips.
“Later,” I remind him. “We’ll talk later.” He nods, pushing off the wall and finally nodding a hello to Aria.
“I hope you like it,” Jase tells her, and she glances between the two of us, not knowing what the hell he’s talking about.
As Daniel and Jase walk away, heading back the way Daniel and Aria came, she tells him, thank you, to which she’s given a smile from both of my brothers.
Her nervousness is still visible as she barely glances toward me and continues to run her fingers along the seam of her blouse. Anything out of the normal routine causes this reaction in her.
I wonder how long that will last.
The drunken comment she made the other night hasn’t left me. That night, as soon as she was asleep, I made arrangements.
She said she’s going to leave me one day. That she’s going to run away and hide in her room until the war is done with. She was drunk, but she said it as if it was a fact.
She doesn’t remember saying it, but that doesn’t change anything.
I won’t let her leave me. She’s never allowed to leave me.
I asked her why she’d leave me, and she said so simply, that sometimes she just wants to breathe but can’t even do that without overthinking everything.
I won’t give her a bedroom, but she can have a room to run to.
I can hide what’s going on from her until her questions fade and all she has left is me.
“What is this?” Aria asks as the door opens.
“It was a storage room,” I answer her with one hand splayed on her lower back and one hand on the door to push it open as far as it’ll go.
“And now?” she asks aimlessly as she takes a step into the brightly lit room. Her face is filled with awe as she steps further into the lushly decorated room.
Other than a gray paisley wallpapered wall to the left, where one would presume a bed to sit, the remainder of the walls are a soft blush, nearly white.
The chair at the vanity is lined with a matching gray striped fabric and beyond it are glass vases and a matching glass standing light.
Gray and blush are the only two colors. The decorator referred to the color scheme as mineral tones, but it looks feminine as fuck to me. I wanted Aria to know this room was designed for her, so every piece of furniture and item contained in this room was meant to ensure she knew it belonged to her.
Everything else, from the plush white rug in the center of the room to the sheer curtains, is white. A glass table and mirrored nightstands allow the light to shine through with no obstructions.
It didn’t take long for the company to put it together. Her room is at the other end of my wing, farthest away from my bedroom. It was Jase’s suggestion and the only reason I agreed was due to my impatience. I needed it done quickly considering we’re only days away from all-out war.
“What do you want in return?” Aria asks me hesitantly.
My expression turns hard for a moment while I consider her. “This isn’t a negotiation or a game, Aria. It’s a gift.” Her beautiful hazel eyes widen slightly and her lips part to apologize, but I interrupt her to ask, “Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she says reverently as she admires the details of each of the pieces, only taking small glances at me to keep track of how I’m assessing her as she reacts to the room.
“There’s no bed?” she asks quietly with a touch of confusion as she stares toward the wall where one should obviously sit.
“You can sleep in my room…” I almost add, “or the cell,” but I choose not to. She seems to hear the words regardless, her eyes drifting to the floor as she swallows thickly.
“This isn’t a room I’d like you to consider your bedroom.” My words bring her gaze back to me. Choosing my words carefully, I tell her, “You belong with me, but this is a place for you to go if you need… space.”
She only nods, and I think that’s all the reaction I’ll get until she peeks up at me, her fingers trailing along the patterned wallpaper, and says softly, “Thank you.” The gratitude melts the tension between us, and it soothes a deep need inside of me for her to want what I can give her.
I watch Aria walk hesitantly to the vanity, intricately carved and an antique, but stunning. She barely touches the cut glass knobs before pulling out the drawers and finding her things there.
Not the ones she had at her home, but new ones to replace each item she had.
Her hand hovers above them for a moment, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll be bitten by something inside if she moves too quickly.
Her pace is quicker as she moves to the closet, filled with all kinds of clothing. From expensive dresses and lingerie to nightshirts I was told she prefers.
“I enjoy picking out what you wear,” I tell her and catch her attention as she turns to look at me, although her hand is still caressing the silk of a deep red blouse.
“And you choose red,” she says beneath her breath before turning back to the closet. “There’s certainly a theme.”
“Red complements you well,” I answer her although she doesn’t respond. I take a single step toward her, but she continues to examine the room, taking in each bit with care.
“If you’d like something changed,” I tell her as she opens a nightstand drawer, “it can be arranged.”
She stares at me as she shuts the drawer. There’s an edge to her movements.
“How did you know?” she asks, and her question is laced with tension.
“Know what, exactly?” I ask her, my muscles coiling from the tone of her voice.
Her gaze shifts to the open door before her eyes land on me. Her fingers play with the edge of her blouse in a nervous fidget.
“You have a lot of things here.” She licks her lip and debates on continuing, but she doesn’t need to.
“I asked for a list,” I answer her before she can ask how I knew what she’d want.
“There’s a rat,” she whispers, and her posture turns stiff.
“How did you think Romano knew when and where to acquire you?”
“Acquire… is that what you call it?” Her voice rises as she stalks toward me. Slow, deliberate steps and I can feel the tension rolling off of her shoulders. “The rat told you where to acquire your whore and what to fill her room with?” she asks me with shaky breaths and tears in her eyes.
“I wanted this to be nice for you.” The hard words linger between us as my throat tightens. Anger is written on my face; I can feel it like stone, but I can’t change my expression.
Of every smart comment and tiny bit of anger she’s shown me, this is the worst.
Distrust is clearly evident. I didn’t earn her distrust. I’m not the fucking rat.
“How did you expect me to react to being told someone was spying on me?” she asks with genuine distress as her lower lip wobbles and she catches it between her teeth before turning her back to me. I thought she already knew. She’s a smart woman, but I forget how trusting she is. How loyal.
Her arms cross and uncross as she debates on how to handle the revelation. She paces from the dresser to the vanity. Already pacing in this room. I have to fight the urge to smirk as I watch her pace back and forth over the white rug, which is exactly how I pictured her in here.
But not so soon, and not like this. This room is better than the cell if nothing else.
“I thought you would have assumed,” I tell her honestly and nervousness prickles my skin as she glares back at me. It’s unsettling and I debate on leaving her here, but I refuse. She’s not going to take her anger out on me. Not when it belongs to someone else. “It wasn’t supposed to upset you. I wanted you to have everything you could have possibly wanted,” I admit to her and try to keep my voice even and calm, but the anger toward her response still lingers.
The nervousness grows inside of me, and I’m sickened by it. I thought she would appreciate this. I thought she would be excited to have everything she had before. Or at least grateful. I thought wrong.
I should feel irritated or pissed, but that’s not what I feel at all. I’ve done this to her. She can’t accept a gift without being cautious of my intentions.
With a growing pit in my stomach, I speak without meeting her eyes. I stare straight ahead at the hanging curtains that are only meant to add beauty to the locked windows that will never open for her.
“I wanted to make you happy,” I tell her and clear my throat of the spiked knot. “I thought this would make you happy,” I pause to run my hand over the back of my head, feeling the ever-present crease that reminds me how shitty I am at knowing what she needs beyond a good fuck and finally look into her thoughtful gaze that’s already softening, “or at least provide you comfort.”
My heart beats faster as she stares back at me with a kindness she hasn’t before given me. “I’m trying to be gentle,” I confess to her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers in a choked voice. The second I feel myself wavering and losing the man I am to this woman, she wanders toward me and wraps her arms around my waist, her hands splaying on my shoulders as she hugs me.
It takes me a moment to hold her to me and when I do, I kiss her hair and bury my face in it before she pulls away.
Her eyes are glassy but she doesn’t cry; she sounds strong, although a few of her words crack as she says, “It’s just a reminder… of everything that I’ll never have again.” She gestures to the room and exhales deeply before adding, “It’s beautiful and it does give me comfort. You have no idea how much I love this. I do.” She swallows with her eyes closed and then runs her fingers through her hair. I wait patiently for her to continue.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… there’s always something that happens that proves I know nothing and I’m lost.”
“You’re not lost.” My response is immediate, and my tone is one I expect from myself. It’s not to be questioned. “You belong here, with me.”
Her shoulders steady as her breathing calms and her formerly emotionally-distraught features calm once again, but it’s an act. She’s brimming inside with a mixture of fear, betrayal, anger, and confusion.
“You’re only lost because you want to be,” I tell her low and deep, reaching out and pulling her small body closer to me.
Her hands land on my chest and she gasps slightly before looking up at me.
“I can give you everything. I can give you what you never even dreamed of before.” I mean every word. I can and will.
Her long hair shines in the light as she nods, making it swish along her collarbone. She’s compliant, but her wide eyes are full of questions. Questions she doesn’t ask me. Some of them I’m grateful I won’t have to answer.
“If you want to run, you run here.”
“Carter, there are things you can’t replace.” She looks straight ahead at my chest as she speaks and her shoulders shudder. “Money can’t replace–”
“I’m fully aware of what money can’t replace. Nothing can erase the past. Nothing can bring it back.” The sharp edge of my words and the pain and anger I refuse to hide in them erase her desperation to beg me for what I will never give her.
“I’ll give you what I can. Everything that I’m able. But sometimes what we want most is impossible to achieve.” My throat tightens with emotion and just as it does, Aria props herself up on her tiptoes, gently caresses my face and kisses me.
It’s short and only a peck. Only a small kiss. Nothing like what we’ve shared before.
It feels different than it has before. Her touch is hesitant. A different kind of fear is in control of her and shows in her eyes. The kiss is meant to put an end to the conversation. She’s hiding in that act.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I command her although the edge of desperation is evident to me. I don’t think she can hear it. I pray she can’t.
Her answer doesn’t come quickly. She tries to leave me, and I cling to her, but she grabs my wrists and pulls my touch away as she tells me, “I’m scared.”
“You don’t have anything to fear if you obey me,” I tell her, pinning her gaze to mine.
“You don’t understand,” she whispers.
The unspoken words between us are causing a crack in the delicate balance of what we have.
The reality that she’s still my prisoner.
The truth that I won’t rest until her father is dead.
The fact that she won’t forgive me for killing everyone she’s ever known and loved.
And the fact I never want to be without her and I think she feels the same about me. If only she could accept what’s to come.
The Talverys will be massacred. And she, the sole survivor of her name, belongs to me.
