Page 15 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
“You look beautiful.”
I stiffen at the sound of that voice and whip around so fast my hair temporarily blinds me. Enrique stands in the center of the room, his hands casually in his pockets. He wears a full suit, despite the heat, and the black material matches his hair, making him seem all the more demonic.
“What do you want?” I ask.
His head tilts, and a mocking smile makes an appearance on his face. I feel like he’s always laughing at my expense, as though I’m nothing more than entertainment to him.
He turns, glancing at the barely touched breakfast tray on the side table. I had half an apple and some coffee this morning.
“You need to eat,” he says, focusing on me once more. His gaze sweeps the length of my body. “You look thin.”
“Your concern is touching.” I snort.
“Skin and bones aren’t attractive, principessa.”
“Aw, how sweet of you. Good to know my appearance is a top priority for you.”
All humor wipes from his face. “Eat the food I provide you.”
“Like a good little prisoner?”
His jaw tenses, and he closes the distance between us. I take a step back, and my hips hit the glass barrier that surrounds the balcony. When he lifts his hand, I flinch, expecting his violence. Instead, he trails his fingers over my cheek gently. I imagine he enjoys taunting me.
“I’ve spoken to Gabriella,” he says.
My gaze snaps to his. “Can I speak to her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Five days. She’s coming here.”
My stomach sinks. No, no, no. I don’t want her here. It’s not safe for her, and I certainly don’t trust him.
He presses his body against mine more tightly, forcing my back to bow hazardously over the balcony railing. “I thought it was about time we had a meeting, renegotiated some things.”
I swallow heavily because I know exactly what that means. He’s going to take everything that’s ours because he can. I’m his hostage. He has Gabriella backed against a wall. “I’ll let you see her,” he says. “If you’re a good little pet and eat your food.”
“Why do you care?” I whisper.
He smiles before sliding his hand around the back of my neck, and then he shoves me over the balcony railing. For one terrifying moment, I’m falling, but he catches me. His hand wrenches against the back of my neck, leaving my body suspended between safety and tragedy. My fingers instinctively grip the front of his jacket. That one hand is the only thing keeping me from falling to my death. Our eyes lock, and I see the twisted sense of power swimming in his, the smug satisfaction, the excitement of holding my life in his hands.
“You seem to think you have some control here, Miss Ricci.” He leans in closer, staring right at me as though he could see my very soul. “You don’t. You are nothing here but what I make you.”
My heart thunders, and my breaths hitch. I slowly release my hold on his jacket and allow my weight to fall completely into his arms. “Then drop me,” I say.
His eyes narrow, and I know he’s trying to figure me out. Suddenly, I’m hauled back to my feet on the balcony. My heart races so hard my hands tremble, but I grip the railing to hide my fear.
“You aren’t here to ask questions. Do as you’re told, and our marriage will be a success.”
My blood pressure rises as though my blood were physically boiling in my veins. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I loathe him.
He glances at the tray of food once more. “Eat. I can’t have Gabriella thinking I don’t treat my fiancé well.” He smirks and then turns and walks out of the room, leaving me to my simmering rage.
I take several deep breaths and press my fingers to my temples, willing a sense of calm that is very much absent.
Five days. Though I hate that she’s coming here, I know there’s nothing I could say that would stop Gabi. And I can’t pretend I’m not excited to see her. It feels like I’m left with very few friends these days, seeing as I keep betraying the few I once had.
This task I’ve chosen is a lonely one.
The tension in the room is so thick, I’m practically choking on it. That damn clock ticks incessantly until I wish I could tear it from the wall. I cross one leg over the other, remaining poised, the perfect lady. My eyes remain vigilantly fixed on the bookshelf directly across from my position on the sofa. I count the books, twenty on the first shelf, twenty-two on the second… But I can feel Enrique’s eyes on me from across the room, burning a hole in the side of my face. Tick, tick, tick. My spine gets stiffer, and my chest tighter with each marked second that clicks by. After what feels like an eternity, there’s a knock on the door. My lungs suddenly expel all the air they’ve been holding, and my body sags with the effort. Enrique gets to his feet, and I count eleven brisk steps as his shoes tap on the wooden floor. The hinges let out a short squeal, and there’s the low murmur of a man’s voice, though I dare not turn my head and look. A few seconds later, and I hear more footsteps, including the distinctive sound of stiletto heels clattering down the hall. I push to my feet and turn around just as my sister walks into the room, looking every inch a steely mob boss. The glossy black strands of her hair hang in a perfect sheet down her back, matching the tailored dress that clings to her curves so perfectly. That cool gaze sweeps the space before landing on me. She instantly softens, like ice cracking in water. Her hiked shoulders drop an inch, and a smile splits her face, changing her from a mafia boss to my big sister.
