Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Vittorio's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"A quiet wedding. Next weekend, before it becomes obvious. We preserve appearances, legitimize everything." Alessandro's smile never reached his eyes. "My clinic's reputation ensures discretion. The timing is actually perfect for the merger discussions."
"Get out." Vittorio's voice was deadly soft, aimed at Dr. Romano. "Leave the prescription pad."
The doctor hesitated, his worried glance finding mine before Vittorio's growl sent him hurrying away. The click of the door closing felt like a coffin lid.
They discussed me like I wasn't there—wedding dates, clinic transfers, treatment protocols. Through the fog of panic, certain phrases cut like glass: "hormone management", "behavioral modification", "complete isolation during adjustment period."
Alessandro's smooth voice continued laying out plans while I stood there, ears ringing from Vittorio's rage, my cheek still burning. Their words blurred together: wedding dates, clinic protocols, behavioral adjustments. I barely registered being dismissed to my room.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking as I fumbled with the compact. The nightly check-in couldn't wait.
Safe. Everything fine.
The lie tasted bitter, but what else could I say? That Vittorio had shown his true face? That every shadow in this house now felt like a threat?
Rest well, Pearl. We're here.
I pressed my fingers to the screen for a moment before closing it. Even those few words felt like oxygen—a reminder that somewhere out there, seven men would never treat me with anything but love.
My fingers hovered over the keys. I should tell them. About the baby. About everything. But typing those words would make it too real, too dangerous. Not yet. Not here.
The city lights blinked like stars beyond my window. Somewhere out there, my lovers were waiting, planning, ready to burn this world down if needed. But they didn't know what was really at stake. Not yet. I closed my eyes, remembering how safe I'd felt surrounded by them that last morning—Rocco's rumbling laugh, Vincenzo's gentle touch, Nico's understated strength, Luca's fierce protectiveness.
My hand drifted to my stomach, the truth of what grew there still too fragile to share. One secret I needed to keep, just a little longer. Until I was sure. Until I was safe. Until I could see the joy and wonder in their eyes instead of just the fear and fury this news would bring right now.
For now, I had a part to play—the obedient daughter, the willing bride. Let Vittorio and Alessandro think they had won. Let them think they knew what I was protecting.
I'd learned long ago that the most dangerous prisoner was the one who smiled and nodded, all while dreaming of freedom. And now I was dreaming for two.
28
PEARL
Time was a noose tightening around my neck, each heartbeat bringing me closer to the inevitable.
Through the fortieth-floor windows, Providence sprawled below, deceptively peaceful.
"May I use the library today?" I asked over breakfast, keeping my voice quiet, demure, the way he liked. "I'd like to study more about the Italian masters. Since you've taught me so much about art appreciation..."
Vittorio looked up from his newspaper, studying me with that calculating gaze I'd learned to hate. "I have a board meeting downstairs in an hour." He took a slow sip of his coffee. "But yes, you may use the library while I'm gone."
The library was the only permission I dared ask for. My eyes drifted to his study door, remembering how different things had been before Mom died. Back then, I'd spent afternoons in there doing homework while he worked, playing the part of the doting stepfather. The Picasso had hung in the same spot, and I'd watched him open that safe countless times, always the same sequence, his wedding date with my mother. 0714. A date he'd chosen to mock everything he'd destroyed.
"Thank you, Daddy." I gathered my notebooks, the weight of Nico's modified compact mirror hidden among them suddenly heavy.
I forced myself to breathe normally as he stood, straightening his tie. "Stay on this floor," he warned, then headed toward the elevator.
My heart stuttered as he walked away. One hour. One chance.
I counted his footsteps, waiting until they faded completely. Then another minute, just to be sure. The library and his study shared this floor of the tower—another way for him to keep me close, to maintain his perfect illusion of family. I slipped out his spare keycard from where he always left it after our reading sessions. Predictable, like everything else about his carefully controlled world.
My hands trembled as I eased his study door open. But I'd learned from Vincenzo how to move silently, how to become part of the shadows.
The Picasso loomed larger than I remembered. My fingers shook as I turned the dial—0714. The numbers felt like acid in my mind. The mechanism clicked softly, and the safe door swung open.
There, right where I knew they'd be—the manifests, the financial records, the patient transfers. My eyes darted across each page, taking in columns of numbers, signatures I recognized, dates circled in red. Something cold settled in my chest as I flipped through file after file, each one worse than the last.