A scratch at my window draws a gasp from my throat. It could be a tree branch or it could be a person. It reminds me of Foster and how he came to my balcony at the house in the Hamptons.
My heart dances at the thought of him coming through my window. He was so calm and cool the way he inspected my room like he belonged there. We danced in my sunflower forest and my heart soared when he kissed me in my bed. Then he saw the bruises and stopped. We didn't have any privacy on our workouts. That's really why I want my own place so badly. I want a place where I can be alone with Foster.
But he's not coming back and that hurts. It's a bittersweet pain of what could've been. But Foster wasn't who he was pretending to be. He was lying to me. If someday I meet someone as awesome as who I thought Foster was, I want my own place so my relationship can develop without all the pressures of being a Bianchi. Let's be real. The chances of that happening are slim.
There's that scratch again. Would Foster really climb the fire escape here?
Opening the window and peering out, I don't see him. It's pure darkness. Hmm. I could swear I heard something.
As I'm pulling my head in and about to close the window, an arm punches through and grabs my neck. It forces my head down and I can't see who it is.
What do you do when your worst fear comes true? I'm not surprised someone is here for me. I've expected this every night of my life. My plan has always been to fight as hard as I can. Never give up. So I swing my arms to try and get his hand off my neck but he's pinching so hard, the pain disables me.
The pressure from his hand pushes my face deep into the mattress and muffles my scream.
"Shut up!"
I don't recognize the voice. It's a Brooklyn accent, but that doesn't tell me much.
I kick out with my feet and the pressure of his massive torso pins me to the bed.
"Need you to tell your brother something for me. Donnie did me wrong. Donnie needs to fucking pay up or I'm going to rearrange his sister. Got it?"
I'm crying so hard, I can barely hear him. I'm fighting with all my might. No! Foster's jacket is covering the skin on my back so my attacker's hands aren't touching me directly. It's my shield. The only weapon I have right now.
"Don't worry. I'm not gonna fuck you. Not now. But if your stupid fuckup of a brother don't show up with my cash, I'm gonna have my fun with your pretty ass and you'll love it too."
He pushes off me with a grunt and I have my first chance to see him.
Rocco.
His dad is so rich, he doesn't need the money. This is about power and pride. He doesn't want to look like he got taken by Donnie.
"Get out!" I shriek at him and point to the window with my trembling finger. "Get out!"
He sneers and walks to the window. "You got the message?"
"Loud and clear." How could I miss it? "Get out!"
The door bursts open and my dad is standing there with a gun. He points it at Rocco's head. Rocco's eyes bulge and he looks like he's going to pee his pants.
"You fucking hurt her? You hurt her? You little shit."
But Rocco is running to the window. He dives out on the fire escape and the metal clamors.
My dad runs to the window and shoots Rocco on the fire escape.
"Dad! No! You'll kill him." The man attacked me, but I don't want my dad to kill him or get arrested for shooting him.
"Bastard broke into my home, I can shoot the hell outta him. I'll shoot his fucking brain to Yonkers and his fucking family too," he yells out the window.
I hear Rocco's footsteps running away on the pavement.
My dad lowers his gun and looks at me. "You all right?"
"Yes." My chest aches from the pain of my heart trying to escape. I'm gasping for air. "I'm okay."
"Come down to the study. I need a drink." He wipes his forehead with the wrist of the hand holding the gun like he's comfortable handling it.
"No. I'm really okay. Thank you. I'll stay here."
He touches my cheek and pauses to look at the jacket I'm wearing. "I love you, little girl. If I hear you scream, I'll come running. That's why I'm here. That's why you live here. No one hurts you. Got me?"
"Yes, Dad." No one hurts me but you.
He nods and stomps out the door. I didn't even know my dad owned a gun.
What just happened? How did that happen?
I know.
It's my destiny. There are men out there who want to hurt me, and I need my dad's protection.
I'll never be free of him.
Chapter 11 Sunday Dinner
"You're looking thin, Miss Bianchi. Too thin." Charlotte, our housekeeper and cook, says to me.
My simple muddy brown wrap dress hangs loosely on my shoulders and doesn't hug my hips like it used to. I've lost interest in food over the last six months. I've lost interest in life. What's the point? I will always be Vaughn's daughter. I can't run from him or who I am. This is my existence. Each minute sucks the marrow from my bones like a blown-out egg.
The only time I'd ever thought I'd had a chance of a happy ending was with Foster, but he was an illusion I conjured because I wanted so badly for it to be true.
"We have an elaborate birthday feast tonight. Eat a hefty portion for me or you'll have me worried I'm not doing a good job." Charlotte's voice draws me from my wistfulness.
"You're doing a phenomenal job. It's not your food that's bothering me I'm just… I'll make sure to eat with gusto. Okay?"
"Thank you, Miss Bianchi." She smiles at me with caring eyes. It's nice. I wish she could've been my mother. She's so friendly and happy. I'd give up all this money and prestige to be part of her loving family.
She pats my back. "We're almost ready."
I nod and force my lips and eyes into the facade of Milana Bianchi. I don't dare to engage as my true self because no one cares who I really am. They all want Vaughn's dutiful daughter to show up and do her smiling act.
I've been dreading tonight. My father invited his two brothers—my uncle Vinny and Uncle Sal—and their wives. My dad says family who eats together stays together, so we have these Sunday dinners that usually devolve into a drunken shouting match with everyone talking at the same time. They're always complaining about something. The traffic, the weather, prices, people talking smack.
My dad doesn't care if I'm bored out of my mind and it's nothing a twenty-five-year-old girl would want for her birthday. It meets his need to prove we're close.
"There she is. The birthday girl." My Aunt Sylvia, who is plump and over dressed for dinner at her brother-in-law's, hugs me. I embrace her but I'm blank inside. She doesn't care about me. She's putting on a show for her husband and my father.
Over her shoulder, two men in suits standing by the wall on the far side of the dining room. My gaze passes over Renzo quickly and lands on the other man.
My throat grows thick like I've swallowed an apple whole.
A thief has stolen the oxygen from my lungs.
Olive eyes take me in from head to toe without blinking or moving an inch. The man looks exactly like Foster.
The same strong chiseled jaw, a twin sexy dimple in his chin. His handsome face is exactly the same as the Foster I knew, but he can't be standing at my… but he is.