With This Ring Read online

  She just narrows her eyes at me. Suspicious of me. She should be.

  I walk into the closet and when I emerge after changing, she’s standing at the window looking outside.

  “Where are we?”

  “Isola San Nicola.”

  She folds her arms over her chest and shifts her weight onto her right foot. She’s uncertain but trying not to show it.

  “Where is Isola San Nicola exactly?”

  “Off Porto Di Napoli.”

  “Naples?”

  I nod. “I’m hungry.”

  “How did you get me here? Get my brothers here?”

  “Chopper and boat.” I walk to the door and open it. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Dinner. I’m hungry.”

  “So you’ve said. I want to see my brother.”

  “I’ve also said you don’t make demands, but I gather you have selective hearing. Now unless you want to get fucked before eating, get your ass out the door.”

  Her jaw tightens and she digs her heels in, eyes brightening with anger. “No. And I’m not fucking you.”

  I shake my head. “Fury.”

  “What?”

  I walk toward her, take her arm. “The Furies. Greek mythology.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything? Let go.”

  I walk her toward the door. “Your face is the personification of fury,” I say then gesture to my cheek where she scratched me pretty good before I stopped her. “Fury did this. Rage. Now, I’m hungry. We’re going to eat.”

  She resists but isn’t a match physically. “I thought you were just going to fuck me when you got back. Isn’t that what you threatened?”

  At that I stop, smiling a true smile. I look down at her, not releasing her as she struggles to peel my hand off.

  “Is that what you were dreaming about?”

  “What? No!”

  I look her over, liking her in my clothes. Liking how small she is in them. I lean down, inhale when I’m close. She smells like me. My shampoo. My soap. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to the fucking,” I whisper. When I pull back, I see her pulse thrumming in her neck, see how her face is flushed red.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “First, dinner.” I drag her through the door. Alec watches, snorts like it’s what he expected.

  “I’m not eating with you. I want to see my brother and I want to go home!”

  “And where exactly is home?”

  At that, she falters. I decide not to waste time, so before she realizes what’s happening, I bend down to lift her and toss her over my shoulder.

  She yelps when I do. Then yelps once more when I smack her ass.

  “Quiet,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t quiet though. She doesn’t seem like the quiet type. She struggles, hurtling curses at me as I carry her down the stairs, through the living room. I nod at the soldier standing nearby and enter the dining room where I plant her to sit.

  “Does your mother know the language you use?”

  “My mother doesn’t know much these days since she’s dead, asshole.”

  I stop, take in her anger. I drop it because why the fuck did I even say that? Her mother is dead. Murdered like mine. Well, maybe not exactly like mine.

  Lenore, who opens the dining room door, quickly disappears back through it.

  “I want to see my brother,” Scarlett demands. I guess gaining a little backbone at my silence. “I’m not sitting here with you or eating with you. You killed my brothers. You’ve probably hurt Noah. You—”

  I slam my hands on the arms of her chair and she jumps. I lean in close. I want to be sure I have her attention.

  She leans away from me, quietly staring at me wide-eyed.

  “I have not hurt your brother.”

  “How do I know that? I can’t know it until I see him for myself.”

  “You know because I just told you.”

  She juts her chin out.

  “You will sit with me and you will eat with me.” She opens her mouth to argue but I continue. “And afterward, I’ll consider letting you see your brother.” My concession. Not that I need to make one.

  Her expression changes and she searches my eyes. Probably trying to gauge if I mean it or not.

  “Understand?” I ask.

  “What does that mean? You’ll consider it?”

  “It means if you’re good, I’ll take you to him so you can see for yourself that he’s fine.”

  She stops, studies me for a long minute. “Do you promise?” she asks, earnest and innocent.

  I’m surprised at the question. It’s almost childish. But I nod.

  She stares up at me like she’s not quite sure whether or not to believe me. But what choice does she have?

  “Are we eating in peace?”

  She nods. “Fine.”

  I straighten and when I turn to take my seat, I hear her mutter Neanderthal under her breath. I smile. Pretend I didn’t hear it as the kitchen door opens and Cerberus enters ahead of Lenore.

  6

  Scarlett

  “Jesus!” I’m startled at the look of the very large and very excited German Shepherd that comes through the door.

  Cristiano turns to look at me with a grin on his face—asshole—which is gone the instant the giant hound sniffs me then sets his head on my lap, tail wagging like we’re old friends.

  I admit, this is a scary looking dog but they’re usually the sweetest. It’s the little fuckers you have to watch for. I still remember a friend’s yappy poodle chasing me around the dining room table on my first visit to her house when I was barely five.

  “Well, hi there. What’s your name, sweetie?” I ask him in a voice that makes Cristiano roll his eyes as I lean down to cuddle the dog.

  Cristiano mutters something under his breath. I don’t hear what it is, but he sounds annoyed. Good.

  “Cerberus. Here.” He points beside him, but Cerberus nuzzles his nose into my hair behind my ear. “Christ,” he mutters and tugs the dog away. “Sit.”

  “Hey!”

  The dog whines but sits, just barely, tail still wagging and eyes on me like he wants to play.

  “Cerberus?” I ask Cristiano, feeling my eyebrows arch high as the food is laid out on the table. The feast includes roasted chicken, vegetables, potatoes and salad along with a basket of warm rolls.

  “You know the name?” Cristiano asks looking surprised.

  “I can read, you know.” Arrogant fucker.

  He harrumphs.

  “You named your dog the guardian dog of the Underworld?”

  He ignores me, pouring each of us a glass of wine. Then he places a hunk of chicken on my plate before pointing to the vegetable tray. “Which do you want?”

  “It’s pretentious, don’t you think?”

  “Which do you want?”

  I look at the food, my stomach feeling empty again. “Everything.”

  He seems surprised but heaps food onto my plate before serving himself. I pick up my fork and knife but stop.

  “Has Noah eaten?”

  He picks up the chicken and bites into it confirming my earlier assessment. Neanderthal.

  “I have no reason to starve your brother. Eat.”

  I do even though I’m not sure I believe him. One step at a time. When I see Noah, I’ll ask him if he’s eaten. If he hasn’t, I’ll figure out a way to convince Cristiano to give him food.

  We don’t talk for long minutes. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He eats like he’s not used to eating in public or with company. And apparently, he doesn’t feel any qualms about openly watching me as he does.

  Cerberus comes to sit under the table, laying his head on my bare foot. He’s soft and warm and I slip him a piece of chicken.

  “Don’t feed him,” Cristiano says.

  “Why? Are you afraid he’ll like me more than he likes you?”

  “I am his master. It’s not about like.”

  I shrug a shoulder and abandon my knife and fork to pick up my chicken with my hands. He studies me, an eyebrow arching as I finish my dish then reach for the other drumstick. I give him a grin and take a huge bite. Maybe if I’m gross enough he’ll realize he doesn’t want to fuck me and let me go instead.

  Not likely.

  When he’s finished, he wipes his mouth on his napkin. He rises and leaves the table, disappearing into the kitchen without a word.

  Cerberus sits up as soon as he’s gone and rests his head on my lap again. I feed him the last of my chicken, worry creeping back in.

  For all my bravado, I am afraid. I don’t know what Cristiano wants or what he’ll do to Noah or to me. The chances of this turning out well for either of us are pretty much nil.

  When Cristiano returns wiping his hands on a towel, I school my features. I don’t want him to see that I’m anxious. He holds the kitchen door open.

  “Cerberus,” he calls and gestures to the kitchen.

  Cerberus disappears into the kitchen as Cristiano returns to the table. He eyes my dish.

  “You eat a lot.”

  “I was on a hunger strike.” And I have to admit, I may have overdone it tonight. I put my hand on my full belly.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “To protest my wedding.”

  “A hunger strike is ineffective unless your life holds some value. It only weakens you.”

  “Sometimes whether or not you eat is the only thing you have control over. I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that since you’re probably usually the one on the other side of things.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.” He watches me for a long minute. “What did you hope to achieve?”

  “Nothing, actually. I knew it wouldn’t achieve anything. Wouldn’t change anything. I know my brothers,” I pause, remembering. “Knew them.”

  “Mm.”

  “I sat and I ate. Can I see Noah now?” I ask, taking care not to sound like I’m making a demand.

  “Finish your wine.” He finished his and two more glasses as we ate. I’ve only sipped mine.

  I pick up my glass and drain it. He raises his eyebrows as I set my glass down and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  Cristiano shakes his head at my bad manners, stands and pulls my chair out. I find this strange because I didn’t think he had any manners himself.

  I stand and follow him to a bathroom. He holds the door open and switches on the light. It’s beautiful inside, like the rest of what I’ve seen of the house. Italian style with elaborately painted walls, some with frescoes depicting scenes from Greek mythology. It all looks like it’s been touched up recently. Even this tiny bathroom has a vaulted ceiling, similar to the rest of the first floor.

  “You eat like an animal,” he says. “Wash your hands.”

  “I only mimicked my host.”

  “If I’m your host you imply you’re my guest.”

  I wash my hands and switch off the water before grabbing a towel and turning to him. “Your captive then. Is that better? Call a spade a spade, a devil a devil.”

  “You come from a family of devils.”

  He’s right. I do. So, I don’t answer. Instead, I follow him through the large, open living room with its elegant, Venetian style furnishings and glance at all of the paintings we pass. I notice his eyes linger on one in particular. A woman in her late twenties. She’s beautiful.

  “Who is that?”

  “My mother,” he says without turning around.

  His mother.

  She was executed with the rest of his family by my brothers. By the man I was to marry.

  I shudder with a sudden chill. If he notices he doesn’t say anything as we proceed into the decidedly cooler and darker corridor, the smell of must already present here. It’s the one that leads to the cells. I remember being dragged up here.

  I make a mental note that we’ve only passed one soldier inside the house.

  “Hold on to the handrail,” Cristiano tells me. He walks ahead of me like he can see in the dark.

  “There aren’t any lights?”

  “No.”

  “Are you keeping Noah in the dark?”

  He turns and I can just make out his eyes from the little bit of light coming from the house. “Better than six feet under, isn’t it?”

  I swallow. Yes, I guess it is.

  I miss the next step, gasping as I stumble forward. Cristiano catches me, steadies me, then wraps my hand around the handrail, his hand covering mine entirely, the skin rough but the act gentle. He keeps it like that, holding mine for a moment too long and I still have to look up at him even though he’s standing on the lower step.

  “Hold on to the handrail,” he repeats.

  I nod, breaking eye contact.

  We walk on. Once we take the next turn on the curving stone staircase, I see light. I don’t wait for Cristiano to step aside or lead me to it, but rush there myself.

  “Noah!” I close my hands around the bars and see my brother sitting on a cot eating the last of his meal. The source of the light, a flashlight beside him.

  “Scarlett!” He rushes to me, hugs me through the bars. “How did you get away from him?”

  “She didn’t,” Comes Cristiano’s voice. He takes up space at my back, too close, making the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end.

  Noah looks up at Cristiano who has a good six inches on him and about seventy-five pounds.

  “You ate?” Cristiano asks as I look my brother over. He doesn’t seem to have any new bruises, no broken bones that I can see.

  “Yes, sir,” Noah says.

  I can tell Cristiano likes this. “Have you been beaten?” he asks.

  “What?” Noah asks.

  “Beaten. Did anyone abuse you?”

  “No. No, sir.”

  Cristiano nods and turns to me looking at me with a ‘told you so’ expression on his smug face. But then he takes my arm and turns me away.

  “Hey.” I try to claw his arm off.

  He stops, looks back at me. “You saw your brother. He’s fed. He’s unhurt. Let’s go.”

  “That’s not really fair.”

  “It’s exactly what you asked for.”

  “But…no. That’s not…I want to talk to him. Can he come upstairs? He’s harmless.” I gesture to Noah as if to make a point.

  “Are you warm?” Cristiano asks Noah over my head.

  “I…guess.” I forget how young he is. Just a kid. So unlike Diego and Angel were. “I have a blanket.” He points to it as if he doesn’t want to be any trouble.

  Cristiano turns back to me. “You’ll visit tomorrow.” He pulls me to the stairs.

  “He’s probably scared down here all alone.”

  “I think he’s old enough to no longer be afraid of the dark. Let’s go. If you give me trouble, you won’t see him again.”

  I go with him because I don’t have much choice. “Does that mean we’ll both be alive tomorrow?” I ask when we’re upstairs.

  He releases me, looks down at me. Sweeps his eyes over my—his—clothes. “I haven’t decided. That’s my favorite tie by the way.”

  I look down at the end of the tie hanging out from underneath the sweatshirt. “I wasn’t going to put that dress back on and I wasn’t going to walk around naked, so I didn’t have much choice. If you give me a different tie you like less, I’ll give this one back to you.”

  He reaches to pull the sweatshirt up and I grip his forearm. Not expecting it, I’m not sure what he’s about to do. Not that I’d be able to stop him if he wanted to strip me naked right here. But he just fingers the knot.

  “It’s ruined.”

  “I’m sure it’s not ruined, and I didn’t know it was your favorite tie.” I think of something then. “Are my brother’s bodies still down there?”

  “You care?” He meets my eyes.

  “Not about them. I just…with Noah down there...”

  “Don’t coddle the boy.” He walks back toward the dining room. “Were you involved in the business? I wouldn’t think your father would have allowed it.”

  “My father didn’t allow it,” I start, following him into the dining room where our dinner plates have been cleared and dessert and coffee are laid out. It’s something different than the chocolate cake I had earlier.

  He gestures for me to sit, then grabs a bottle of whiskey from the side table before taking his seat. Same as upstairs, it’s the brand my dad preferred.

  He pours two fingers of whiskey and must think I want some, but I shake my head.

  He leans back and drinks a sip, watching me.

  “And my father wasn’t in charge for the last ten years, remember,” I add on.

  I shift my gaze to the cake.

  He gestures for me to go ahead.

  “Can I take a piece to Noah? I’m not sure how much you fed—”

  “Your brother is fine. Eat.”

  “Then I’m fine too.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Eat and I’ll send a piece down to him.” I’m confused by this but then he swallows what’s left in his glass and focuses on pouring more.

  “Aren’t you going to eat any?”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Should I be thinking of that? No. If he wants me dead, he can do it much more easily than going to the trouble of baking me a poisoned cake. I help myself to dessert as he watches me.

  “You’re too skinny. I like a little more meat on my women.”

  “I’m not your woman. I’m not even a guest. I’m your captive, remember?”

  “Don’t want to break you in half when I fu—”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I start but when I look at him, he’s got a grin on his face. “You’re messing with me.”

  “You’re easy to mess with.”

  Well, I can’t argue that. I take things too literally, too much at face value. Always have. My parents would say it’s because I have an innocent mind. I would swap out innocent for naïve if I’m being kind. Stupid if I’m not.

  It’s quiet as I take a few bites of the generously frosted cake, although I don’t really want more. I’m just not sure I’m ready for what comes next.

  “Why do you care so much about this brother when you don’t seem to care about the others? They were executed before your eyes and you didn’t flinch.”

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