Semua Bab The Vitale Brothers Ruined Me, Then Made Me Their Queen: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The drive is silent.I count the trees blurring past the tinted window to keep from screaming.Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four.It’s a rhythm. A heartbeat. If I focus on the numbers, I don't have to think about the fact that I just sold my life for a debt I didn't create. If I count, I’m not really here. I’m just a ghost riding in a stranger’s car.We leave the city behind. The road winds up the cliffs, higher and higher, until the sea is just a dark, crashing bruise far below us.Then I see it.The Vitale estate doesn't look like a home. It looks like a fortress built to keep the world out—and keep the sins inside.It’s all grey concrete and sharp angles. Brutalist. Cold. It sits on the edge of the cliff like a predator waiting to jump. High walls topped with cameras surround it, blinking red eyes in the gloom.The iron gates open with a heavy, metallic groan."Welcome home," Aureliano says from the seat beside me.He doesn't sound welcoming. He sounds like a warden welcoming a pr

I don't sleep.I lay on the silk sheets in my clothes, staring at the ceiling until the sun bleeds through the glass.When the knock comes, it isn't Spadino. It’s a guard."Boss wants you," he grunts. "Office."He doesn't wait. He turns and walks down the hall. I scramble to follow, my shoes loud on the marble.Aureliano’s office is on the ground floor. Double doors. heavy dark wood. The guard opens one, jerks his head inside, and leaves.I walk in.The room smells like old paper, espresso, and the sharp, metallic tang of ink. It’s freezing. The air conditioning is humming, keeping the temperature low enough to preserve a corpse.Aureliano is sitting behind a massive mahogany desk. He’s writing in a ledger. He doesn't look up."Lock the door," he says.My heart stutters. I turn. The lock is heavy brass. Click."Come here."I walk toward the desk. My legs feel like lead.One step. Two steps. Three.I stop in front of the desk."Closer," he says. He still hasn't looked at me.I step aro

The dress lies on the bed like a puddle of smoke.It isn't a dress. It’s an insult.It’s sheer grey chiffon. No lining. No structure. Just a whisper of fabric meant to veil, not hide."Put it on," the guard says from the hallway. "And nothing else."I dress with shaking hands.The fabric settles against my skin. It’s cold. It clings to every curve, every scar, every goosebump. I look in the mirror. I can see the dark circles of my areolas. I can see the shadow between my legs.I am naked. Worse than naked. I am wrapped in a suggestion.I walk down the stairs. My bare feet make no sound on the marble.The dining room doors are open. The sound of male laughter spills out, heavy and thick with cigar smoke.I stop at the threshold.There are six men at the long table.Aureliano sits at the head. He looks like a king in a black suit. Ciro is on his right, silent, drinking water. Spadino is on his left, spinning his knife on the tablecloth.The other three are strangers. Associates. Men wit

The diary burns against my skin.I can feel the leather cover pressing between my breasts, hidden by my dress. Every breath I take reminds me it’s there.I am blood.The thought echoes in my head, louder than the clatter of pans in the kitchen. I am scrubbing a copper pot, my hands red and raw from the hot water. Ciro is nowhere to be seen.The house is quiet. Too quiet.Then the world explodes.CRASH.The kitchen window—reinforced glass, bulletproof, I assumed—doesn't shatter. It spiders. A web of white cracks blooms instantly across the pane.Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.The sound is distant at first, then deafening. Automatic gunfire. It sounds like a typewriter from hell.I drop the pot. Water splashes my legs."Get down!"I don't know who yells it. I don't move. I freeze. It’s my instinct. Be a statue. Be a ghost.The back door kicks open.Spadino Vitale slides into the room. He isn't holding a gun. He’s holding a knife, and he’s laughing.He looks wild. His curls are a mess, his eyes wid

It is two in the morning.The house is sleeping. The monsters are in their caves.But the light under the library door is still on.I stand in the hallway. I am wearing my oversized t-shirt, my bare feet cold on the marble. I am shivering, but not from the temperature.I am shivering because I am about to walk into the lion’s den and ask him not to eat me.I touch the spot on my chest where the diary burned against my skin earlier.I am blood.But blood isn't enough. Blood gets spilled. I need leverage. I need time.Sofia Greco is coming in a week. Once she is here, I am done. I will be locked in the basement, or sold, or "disappeared" to keep the new bride happy.I need a shield.I push the door open.Aureliano is there. He is sitting in a leather armchair by the fire, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He isn't reading. He is staring at the flames.He looks up as I enter.He doesn't look surprised. He looks bored."I didn't call for you," he says. His voice is gravel and smoke.I walk