Chapter 8: Not a Hostage

My mother left the house screaming.

She screamed at Lorenzo on the steps, and at me through the car window, and at the guards who shut the gate behind her.

Paolo did not look back once.

Fiorella watched me from the rear seat until the car turned.

Then the gate closed, and the house went quiet, and I stood in the hall alone with a Don.

"What are you, Livia?" Lorenzo said again.

He had asked it in front of my family and I had not answered.

I turned around.

He was standing at the foot of the stairs with his sleeves rolled to the elbow and the white gauze still on his palm.

"I lied to you twice," I said. "I saw her hand on the tape and I told you I didn't."

"I know."

"You knew?"

"I watched your face." His voice was low. "Don't lie to me, Livia. I told you."

"I'm not lying now."

"Then tell me what you are."

My heart was going so hard I could feel it in my wrists.

"I'm not a hostage," I said. "You said you don't touch hostages."

He went very still.

"I'm not one," I said. "Not anymore."

For a long moment he did not move.

Then he crossed the hall and took my face in both hands.

His thumbs were warm on my cheekbones.

"I've wanted this since the first night," he said roughly. "Once I start I won't stop."

"Don't stop."

His mouth came down on mine.

It was not careful.

It was hard and hungry, and it did not ask me for anything I had not already decided to give.

I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.

He made a low sound against my lips and lifted me off my feet.

My back hit the wall beside the stairs.

His hands were in my hair, and his mouth went from my mouth to my jaw to the pulse in my throat.

"Upstairs," I gasped.

"Not yet."

He kissed me again, deeper, and my knees gave out completely.

He carried me up the stairs in his arms, past a maid who turned her face to the wall.

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