Novels by Annie gold

MARCO POVLuca’s office smells like control.Leather, espresso, and whatever cologne he wears to remind people he’s the oldest.Aria is sitting in the cold chair. Again.She looks smaller today. Tired. But her back is straight. She didn’t bow. She never bows.That’s the problem."Close the door," Luca says.She does."Sit."She’s already sitting.I’m leaning against the window because if I sit next to her I’ll do something stupid. Like reach over and fix her hair. Or punch Luca for making her sit through this."Breakfast was a mess," Luca says."Yes." Aria’s voice is steady."Victoria is a problem.""I know.""And you," Luca points at her, "are now her problem."I almost laugh. Now her problem. Like Aria wasn’t already everyone’s problem the second she walked in here and spilled water on Victoria’s $8000 dress."I didn’t start it," Aria says."No," Luca says. "You finished it. You talked back.""I wasn’t going to let her—""I don’t care what you were going to do," Luca cuts in. "I car

ARIA POVI don’t sleep.I lay there until the sky went gray, listening to the house breathe. The Moretti house doesn’t sound like other houses. It creaks, but not like wood. It’s marble shifting. It’s air vents. It’s the sound of money settling.At 7am there’s a knock."Breakfast in 20," Nico’s voice. Soft. Like he’s afraid of waking me."Okay," I say.I wash my face with cold water because the hot takes too long to heat. I put on the uniform they left in my closet. Black pants, black shirt. No dress this time. No name tag. Just staff. Anonymous. Safe.The dining room is huge. Longer table than my whole apartment. Crystal glasses that probably cost more than my rent.They’re all there.Luca at the head, coffee, reading something on a tablet. No look up. Like I’m furniture.Enzo, eating like he’s timing himself. Efficient. No wasted movement.Nico, pushing eggs around his plate. He looks like he didn’t sleep either.Dante, at the far end, not eating. Just watching the door. Always the

I don’t know why I got up.Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that "don’t go in there" is the fastest way to make someone want to.2:14am. The hall was dark. Cold. The house was too quiet, like it was holding its breath.The footsteps were gone.I followed them. Bare feet on marble. Past my room, past the stairs, down a long corridor I hadn’t seen during the day.The east wing was light and clean. This part wasn’t.The lights were dimmer here. The walls had old paintings, faces I didn’t recognize. And at the end, a door. Black. No handle on the outside.It was open a crack.I should’ve turned back.I didn’t.Inside smelled like dust and something metallic. Like old blood.There were boxes. Furniture covered in sheets. And in the middle of the room, a table. On it, photos.I stepped closer.They were all of the five brothers. Younger. Maybe 10, 12, 15. And with them, a woman. She had Luca’s eyes.Their mother?One photo slipped from the pile. Behind it, another. This one was

Aria POVI didn’t sleep.How do you sleep when you just got fired, and the Morettis just offered you a job?I showed up at Velvet at 9:50am, ten minutes early because being late to rich people costs more than time. The restaurant was empty in the morning, all that black marble looking dead without people to fill it. The host didn’t even look at me."Luca’s office," I said."Third floor," he said. Like I should know.The elevator was glass. I watched the city rise under me and tried not to think about rent. Tried not to think about the fact that I ironed this same dress last night because it was the only clean thing I owned.His office door was open.Luca was behind a desk the size of my entire studio. No smile. No "come in." Just, "Sit."I sat. The chair was leather and cold.Marco was there too, leaning against the window, arms crossed, grinning like he knew a secret. Nico sat in the corner, quiet. Enzo stood by the bar cart, pouring water like he had nothing better to do. Dante wasn

My alarm goes off at 12:47pm, and I don’t hit snooze because snoozing costs minutes I don’t have.The studio smells like old coffee and a heater I can’t afford to run, and the money in my account isn’t enough to feed me for a month, talk less of paying house rent. I did the math last night, and the math still doesn’t work this morning. I’m 21 today.I pull on the black dress, Velvet’s uniform, two sizes too big since Dad died and I stopped eating. The name tag says ARIA in faded letters, the shoes say blisters. Velvet opens at 6pm but I’m on prep at 3pm, because birthdays don’t pay bills and neither do tears.The bus is late, so I walk the last six blocks in wet socks and get to the back door at 2:58pm with a headache. Mia is smoking by the dumpster, she’s been here three years and she hates me. "Happy birthday," she says, and she doesn’t mean it. "Thanks," I say, and I don’t mean it either.The kitchen is loud. Pots banging, someone yelling about fish, the walk-in humming like it’s a