The bedroom he carries me into is large.
It’s maybe twice the size of my childhood bedroom in my father’s house. There’s a massive four-poster bed with what looks like Egyptian cotton sheets in cream and gold, a sitting area with a couch and two armchairs arranged around a fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the late afternoon light, and a door that presumably leads to a bathroom.
It’s beautiful.
It’s luxurious.
It’s clearly fit for a queen.
It’s also unmistakably a prison.
The beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows with their view of the gardens and forest beyond have bars on them.
It’s not obvious prison bars, but decorative ironwork that’s been cleverly designed to look like it’s just part of the aesthetic.
Scrolling patterns and flourishes that disguise the fact that each piece of metal is thick enough that I’d never be able to bend or break them.
The door has a lock on the outside.
It’s not a simple lock either.
I can see from here that it’s a deadbolt, the kind that requires a key and I won’t be able to pick with a bobby pin even if I had one.
Leo sets me down in the center of the room, on a plush carpet, and I immediately stumble away from him.
My legs are shaking so badly I can barely stand, and the wedding dress isn’t helping.
I catch myself on the back of the couch and turn to face him, trying to pull together some semblance of dignity even though I’m still wearing this ruined dress and I’m pretty sure I look like a fucking mess.
Leo surveys me with those cold dark eyes, his expression unreadable.
The scratches I gave him in the car are still visible, thin lines of dried blood that make him look dangerous.
Which he is.
I need to remember that.
Leonardo Santoro is a dangerous man who just kidnapped me and brought me to a fortress in the middle of nowhere.
“You’ll stay here until I decide otherwise,” he says, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. “You’ll be fed three times a day. Clothes will be provided. Books, if you want them, and art supplies. Whatever you need. But you’re not leaving this room without supervision, and you’re not leaving this property at all.”
My throat is so tight I can barely get words out. “Why?” It comes out barely more than a whisper. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you.” He says it simply, like it’s an obvious fact. “This isn’t about you.”
I gape at him. “Then why?—”
“Were you not listening in the cathedral? Your father killed my brother five years ago.” Leo’s jaw jumps and it’s the first sign of real emotion I’ve seen from him since we left the city.
“Gabriel didn’t want this life. He had no desire to be in the family business. But our father sent him to negotiate and your father executed him like he wasnothing.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I whisper, and I hate how weak my voice sounds. “I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t even—I was incollege, I didn’t know?—”
“I know.” Leo’s expression doesn’t change or soften. “But you’re his daughter. You’re what he values most in this world. Connor Brennan might not care about much, but he cares about you. And now he knows what it feels like to lose someone he loves.”
The implication of his words sinks in slowly.
“You’re going to kill me.”