Sold to Moretti Mafia

Elena

Like clockwork, the lock turns, and the door opens at a quarter to twelve. The maid enters the room with my lunch. Carrying a tray of food, she walks all the way up to the bed and hands it to me.

“Would you like me to stay while you eat?”

The tray almost slips out of my hand at the suggestion. “Ah, I’d love to, but…” Julian might kill you.

“I’ll stay, then,” she chirps, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know if it’s safe. Julian doesn’t like anyone in here.” I wonder what she is thinking about my relationship with Julian. She obviously knows that he keeps me locked in here.

“He told me himself it was okay to come in and talk to you while you ate.”

“Oh…” That’s surprising. So surprising that I’m not sure if I should believe her. Maybe I should tell her to leave just for her safety. On the other hand, if this is true, I would love the company. I already feel connected to her, knowing she was here when I was sick. We didn’t talk a lot then since I was mostly unconscious, but there is still a familiarity between us.

“If you’re sure, I would love it if you’d stay.” I smile. “Would you like some?” I point to my tray. “There is always way more than I can eat, and I would hate to sit here and eat in front of you.”

She smiles widely and reaches for the grapes, her fingers barely graze them when an image of a dead person sprawled out on the kitchen floor pops into my head.

“On second thought, maybe you don’t want to eat my food. The last person who did, died.” I half-laugh even though it’s not funny.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Mr. Moretti has been having everything tested before it’s brought up to you. He doubled all security around the house as well.”

“He did?” That makes me pause.

“Yes, he is always very concerned about your safety.”

I just nod, not wanting to correct her. He isn’t worried about me. He is worried about someone taking what’s his. If she saw the dress he wanted me to wear, or knew half the story of how I came about being here, I doubt she would think he cares.

For the rest of the lunch, I try to steer away from the subject of Julian and ask Marie about her and her life instead. She tells me about her siblings and her parents, who came to America from the Philippines when she was just a little girl.

“I wondered where you were from, you look so exotic, but you don’t have an accent.”

“It’s because we moved when I was in kindergarten. My parents have very strong accents,” she explains while I take the last bite of my sandwich.

“That was delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your lunch. It was nice spending some time with you, but I need to get back to work now.”

My shoulders sag in disappointment. I took my time eating, drawing this out as long as I could, but I knew this would end sooner rather than later. “Hopefully, we can do this again.”

“I’m sure we can.” She grabs the now empty tray and heads out the door. “Bye, Miss Elena.” We give each other a little wave goodbye before she closes the door and locks it behind her.

Instantly, I’m overcome with guilt. Is Julian really okay with her coming in? Maybe she was lying, or she misunderstood him? What if this was a test?Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Oh, god. What if Marie gets hurt because of my selfish need for company?

* * *

I’m so nervous for the rest of the day, I can’t even concentrate on math. I can’t shake the feeling that Marie is in danger and that it’s my fault.

When Julian finally comes to get me for dinner, I’m on pins and needles. As soon as he walks in, I bombard him with questions.

“Is she okay? Marie, I mean. You didn’t do anything to her, right?”

“Why would you ask me that? I told her it was fine to come in.”

“I thought…”

“You thought I killed her?” He arches a brow in questioning.

I feel ashamed to admit it, but nod since there isn’t any point in lying to him. Julian is cruel, sinister, and I know he wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone. Man or woman.

“I didn’t kill her… but your concern for her well-being is interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Maybe that’s not the right word. Convenient would be better.”

“What that’s supposed to mean?” I’m almost afraid to find out.

“At the event I’m taking you to, I need you to behave. I need you to act a certain way and do things you might not want to do, but you will do them because if you don’t, Marie might get hurt.” The words slowly enter my mind, and I piece the puzzle together.

“You’re using her against me,” I growl angrily.

“Yes, but I will not harm her if you behave, and I will reward you. I will give you more freedom. All you have to do is prove yourself to me.”

“Prove myself? What does that even mean?” I toss my hands into the air. “I’ve never done anything for you not to trust me. I’ve played all your games, never fought you on anything. I let you keep me in your bedroom without complaining. I think I’ve proven myself enough… maybe you are the one who needs to prove himself to me.”