Page 152 of Vicious Intentions
Once alone in the hallway, my smile falls to my feet. What am I going to do now? With no ally in this house, how can I ever hope to escape it?
Guilt gnaws at me for having distressed the one friend I might have made here, and with it comes the slow, heavy weight of defeat as I realize there may be no way out of this gilded cage.
I walk up to my room and sit by the window, watching the world go on with its life while I remain trapped in mine.
Time slips by, the sun whispering its final goodbyes as I sit by the window, lost in regret over the choices that brought me here, when a quiet knock on my door breaks the silence. When I open it, Paolina stands in the hallway, looking pale and tense. Before I have time to ask if she’s alright, she presses something into my hand. My breath hitches when I realize it’s a phone.
“Thank you.”
She doesn’t meet my eyes and rushes down the hall, away from me and the contraband she’s just gifted me.
My gaze snags on the security camera in the corner of the hall, and I quickly shut my bedroom door, praying it didn’t catch the phone in my hand. I lean against the door for a moment, and when I don’t hear soldiers’ footsteps race up the stairs, I know I’m in the clear.
I walk back to the window and stare at the precious gift in my hand, only to frown a second later. It’s one of those old flip phones, which means no internet. Which is a problem, since I don’t know any of my family’s numbers by heart. Not my sister’s, not my brothers’, and not my parents’.
I can’t call the police either, because my picture—smiling beside my new husband in supposed wedded bliss—is currently front-page news. Even if they believed me, I know better than to trust that half the NYPD isn’t already in Matteo’s pocket.
“Damn it!” I curse, clutching the damn thing in my hand as if it were a brick I’d love nothing more than to throw through the window.
But I don’t. Because thereisone number I do know by heart. One number I memorized even after I carefully entered it into my own phone back home under a fake name, just in case my burner got stolen again. And that number belongs to Raffaele.
I perch on the arm of a chair, worrying the corner of my lower lip as I weigh the pros and cons of the choice I’m about to make.
Raffaele betrayed me. Kidnapped me. Stole me from my home, just to hand-deliver me to his brother. However, he didn’t seem happy about me marrying Matteo either. He looked sad, almost angry. Perhaps that anger is exactly what I need. Maybe I can use it to my advantage.
There’s a certain poetic justice in the thought. The manipulator becomes the manipulated. If I can somehow playRaffaele as expertly as he played me, then I might have a chance of going home. It’s a long shot, but it’s all I have.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial his number. But as the ringtone sounds in my ear, I hear it echo somewhere inside the bedroom.
I follow the sound with a frown, my pulse quickening when it grows louder as I step toward the other side of the bed, toward Matteo’s nightstand. The ringing appears to be coming from inside one of the drawers. My hand begins to shake as I pull it open, finding a phone ringing neatly inside.
“Looking for something?”
I spin around and find Matteo standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t hear anything. Not a single sound, aside from the phone still ringing.
I end the call, and just as I suspected, the other phone goes silent. Before he has a chance to stop me, I grab it from the drawer and hold it up like evidence.
“Why do you have Rafe’s phone?” Matteo doesn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes sends me into a tailspin. “Answer me!” Again, I’m met with silence, his dark eyes looking almost sorry for me. “For all that’s holy, Matteo, you’d better start giving me some answers. Now!”
“You’re not ready for answers, wife,” he says calmly, taking a step closer to me.
“Stop!” I shout before he can take another step. “Not twenty-four hours ago, you promised me you’d always tell me the truth.”
“I remember,” he says, his jaw ticking ever so slightly.
“Then don’t make yourself an even bigger liar in my eyes. Tell me, why do you have your brother’s phone? Is it some twisted kind of trophy to you? Something to remember how you and Rafe managed to fool a naive, friendless girl into your trap? How you both made a mockery of me?” Matteo’s jaw ticks onceagain, followed by a clench of his hands. “Why won’t you answer me?”
“I can’t. Not when you’re like this, sweetheart. Not when you can’t handle what I have to say.”
Fear begins to seep into me, running wild in all directions at that loving look in his eyes.
Oh, God. Oh, God. No. No. No. No. No.
“Matteo,” I say, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “This isn’t your brother’s phone, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. It’s mine.” My world starts spinning as my head begins to frantically shake.
“No… no, that’s not possible.”
