Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I itch to beat into him for more than a perverted mind when he heads down the hallway while saying, “Charge her phone. Her battery’s flatter than Valeria’s tits the first time she pranced around you in a bikini.”
He says his suggestion as if it’s a peace offering, but I know what it really means.
He’s a snooping piece of shit.
Valentina stored her phone in a secret compartment in her backpack. He wouldn’t know that unless he riffled through her belongings like I did when Dr. Di Petro checked her vitals after Valeria drugged her.
“Just looking out for you like you always do us, Vanni,” Dante says from the safety of the stairwell.
He’s smarter than he looks.
I may have pushed him over the landing if he were still in front of me.
After slamming my door shut, giving it extra oomph for leverage, I plug Valentina’s phone into a charger on the bedside table. A photo featuring Valentina and a woman, presumably her mother, brightens the screen. She looks a lot like Valentina, but twenty years older.
She’s beautiful, but her kind eyes expose her exhaustion. The dark rings circling her eyes remind me of what Valentina said at the clinic. She was there because she wanted to help her mother.
And that’s when it hits. I can’t rest yet. Injustices still need to be corrected.
Plans flood my head as I put on my socks and shoes. While most revolve around Valentina, a few are for my own benefit. I won’t let someone like Valeria Giuffrida write my story, and I also won’t let her depict Valentina as the antagonist in it.
When I step into the hallway outside my room, the resolve in my chest burns brightly. Tonight, I’ll set things straight, and I won’t even need my gun. Yet.
19
VALENTINA
The heavy feel of an expensive comforter on my legs jolts me awake. I am briefly disoriented by the paneled walls and expansive space. Then, slowly, the other penny drops.
I’m in Giovanni’s room.
Traces of his aftershave mist the air, and let’s not forget his aura that depletes even the largest space of oxygen. I remember now, but one question remains. Why am I waking in his bed? I drifted off in the armchair with my arms folded and my brows narrowed. I was determined not to get comfortable in his space, but now I’m under the covers, snuggling in as if accustomed to high-thread-count sheets.
I sit up too quickly, and my heart launches into my throat. It sinks several feet when I scan the room. Giovanni isn’t here. I don’t think he came back last night. The bedding on his side is untouched and cold.
The negativity I’ve been unsuccessfully dodging the past six months conjures up many theories. None of them are good.
What was so urgent that he needed to stay out all night? And worse… who was he with?
When only one name ripples in the crisp morning air, my back molars smash together. I shouldn’t care if Giovanni spent the night with Valeria, but I do. The thought of him out all night with her turns my veins to ash.
Why bring me to his room, then vanish for hours on end? It doesn’t make any sense.
Eager to wash his aftershave from my skin and perhaps drain my screams with a gallon of water, I slip out of bed. Partway to the bathroom, I notice my backpack on a dresser by the windows. I frown. That wasn’t there last night. I searched for it, convinced Giovanni’s staff would have delivered my belongings to my room. Yet here it is, within view, as if it were put there for me to notice.
I’m about to grab it when a familiar ping breaks through the blood rushing in my ears. I crank my head back to the bed so fast my neck muscles protest. They won’t be the only things requiring assessment when I get out of here. I’ll need to get my hearing checked as well. That’s how loudly my heart rages when I spot my phone on the bedside table.
It’s lit up with the alarm I set to remind myself to give my mom her tablets, and it prickles my skin with guilt. I set reminders to prevent my aunt from adding more responsibilities to her already overflowing task list.
After crossing the room in three quick breaths, I unlock my phone and tap out a message to my aunt.
Me:
Can you please give Mom her meds?
When I press send, nothing happens. I don’t have enough signal to send a text.
As I walk around the room, I raise my phone to the ceiling, trying to get a signal.
Frustration bubbles inside me when I don’t get a single bar. I need to get word to my aunt, but I’m trapped in a dead zone.
I shoot my eyes to the main door, anxious enough to consider ramming the wood until someone comes to check if I’m alive, and that’s when I see it. A key is in the lock, glinting in the morning light.