Chapter 5

Chiara

“All the men in this family are stronzos,” Giorgia said over the phone. “What can you do?” 

I clutched the pillow in my hand, wanting to rip it apart. 

“So, will I see you at the party tonight?”

What a great friend. Giorgia had given me a one-liner and changed the subject so she didn’t have to deal with it. If I hadn’t needed to get it off of my chest, I would’ve shut my mouth, but Alice wasn’t picking up the phone, and Giorgia was the only other friend I had left that I trusted.

“Giorgia.” I shook my head. It wasn’t even worth it. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

The door to my apartment opened, and Tommy walked in with a big smile on his face. 

“Hey, babe,” he called.

I gave him a half-smile. Fake it. Fake it. Fake it.

“Is that Tommy?” Giorgia asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Tell him I said hi!”

I rolled my eyes and plastered a fake smile on my face. “Of course.” 

Everyone loved Tommy, it seemed. Everyone but me. 

“Giorgia, I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” I shut off the phone before she could respond to me.

Tommy pulled on his tie, loosening it. “Sleep well?”

After gathering all the patience I had left, I stood and helped him remove the damn tie. “Yes.” I hung the tie off of one of the kitchen stools. “You’re home late.”

He ran a hand through his hair. The scent of strawberries lingered on his neck. He’d tried to hide it with an overwhelming heap of Axe cologne, but I still smelled it. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I had a big deal last night.”

My fingers, quite tensely, unbuttoned the last few buttons on his shirt. “Nothing that you couldn’t handle, I bet.” I forced myself to kiss his cheek and then I gazed down at my feet. “I’m, uh, going to shower.”

Before I slipped into the bathroom, Tommy peeked his head in. 

“Your dad’s having a party tonight. I bought you a dress.” He opened the door wider and showed me a pretty royal-blue dress with a swooping neckline. Tommy sure did like his tits, huh? “We’ll leave at six.”

Daddy didn’t have any more work for him tonight? I rolled my eyes. Goody-two-shoes Tommy had to keep up his image of the perfect guy to marry the boss’s daughter and inherit the Capitelli millions, apparently.

His phone buzzed. Work calling again. 

Once he left and shut my bedroom door, I frowned. I locked the bathroom door and started the water, letting the steam decorate the top of the mirror.

I stripped my clothes and put on the dress to see how it would fit. It was a few sizes too tight in the hip area and a size too loose in the bust. He’d probably gotten this dress for her. She would be able to fill it out perfectly, her boobs hanging out of it, basically screaming fuck me in it.

I tried to pull the bust tighter, tried pushing my breasts up, so the dress would look decent, so I would look decent. But it didn’t work. This dress hadn’t been made for someone like me. It had been designed for her.

What was wrong with me? Was I not enough for Tommy? Were my boobs not big enough? Was I not pretty enough? What did she have that I didn’t?

A tear slid down my cheek. I gazed at myself in the mirror and wiped away the tear. I was stronger than this. Tommy wouldn’t break me. The whore wouldn’t break me.

Once I spent almost an hour in the shower, I walked to my bedroom to see Tommy sprawled out on my bed, drooling on my pillow. 

Stronzo.

Since he was sleeping oh-so peacefully, I woke him up. If he was making me stay up all night, thinking about all of the things he was doing to her, then he wasn’t going to get any sleep when he was here.

“Go take a shower. We need to leave soon.”

He grumbled and dragged himself into the bathroom. I walked into my closet and shut the door. Obviously, the dress he had bought for me was not going to work for tonight, so I had to throw something together. 

I wanted to wear something that screamed, Look at me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

Not her.

I picked out a wine-colored dress that accentuated my ass—because if you got it, you’d better be flaunting it. That was how Mom had lived.

Once I accessorized, I sat down on one of the couches in my walk-in closet and reopened Google. The article from yesterday about Alessandro was still up, so I decided to do a little more digging. I wanted something that I could use against him so he would have to give me another chance. He had secrets. Everyone in the family did.

The journalist’s name was Greta Morelli. If she knew something—anything—it was worth trying to find her even if she didn’t speak English. Within moments, I found her email address and her work phone number.

The phone rang three times before someone answered. 

“Ciao. La Sicilia,” a man said.

“Hello.”

“Un Americano. Un momento.”

There was some fumbling on the line and then a woman spoke. “Hello. How may I help you?”

“Hello,” I said. “May I speak to Greta Morelli?”

She was quiet for a few moments. 

“You have the wrong paper,” she said quickly.

“No, this is the—”

“Sorry, we cannot help you. Please don’t call back.” 

The line went silent.

Dammit. I was going to have to get my information a different way.

“What’re you wearing?” Tommy walked into the closet with a towel wrapped around his waist. “I bought you a dress for tonight.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “It doesn’t fit.” I stood up and did a twirl. “Don’t you think this looks good on me?”

He paused for a few moments and walked over. “Are you wearing a push-up bra?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed, then pulled the top of my dress down a bit to see more of me. He shook his head. “Change. You’ll look better in my dress.”

We gazed at each other for a long time. Anything to please Tommy boy. He was the king, and I had to be his stupid little servant for a bit longer.