Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Well, you’re not actually a prisoner. You’re a guest,” he explains. “And you’re free to walk around the house if you wish. Though, I have to add, some rooms are locked.” He stops cleaning and opens the door. “If you won’t eat, I’ll give you a tour of the house instead. Follow me.”
That wasn’t exactly what I was going for, but I’ll take it. The only other option besides escaping is to go along with all of this and see if I can find out more about Marcello. After all, I followed him into that club for a reason, so I might as well stick to the plan until I’ve found my parents’ killers. Who knows, he could’ve had something to do with it. Maybe this is actually the big break I’ve been so desperately hunting for.
I traipse behind him, clutching my nightgown because it feels revealing. Not that Mario pays any attention to it. I wonder if he was the one who dressed me.
“Who put this nightgown on me?” I blurt out.
He momentarily pauses right as I pass through the door. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t me, so you can relax.” He snorts. “Marcello has great taste, though.”
I blush, though it feels wrong, but I can’t will it away.
I follow him through the long hallways with countless doors. It’s a mansion with marbled tiles everywhere, lush tapestries—even guns mounted on the walls.
“Those are fake, don’t worry,” Mario informs me when he sees me looking, but I don’t know if I can trust him on his word.
“What’s in all these rooms?” I ask.
“Oh, just beds and bathrooms. There’s also Marcello’s office, my room, the closet, and a few other rooms that aren’t worth mentioning,” he muses, but it feels as though he’s brushing me off. “Downstairs is where we usually spend our time.”
We walk toward the giant stairs that cascade down in a half-circle. Everything is made of marble, and it makes me gulp. I didn’t know Marcello was so wealthy. I’m completely dumbstruck and in awe of my surroundings as I follow Mario downstairs.
Right next to the stairs on the left is the kitchen, where a chef is busy slicing tomatoes for a soup pan that’s gently boiling on the stove. He smiles and continues cutting. It all feels really awkward that everyone greets me as though they’ve always known me, as if they’re my friends and not the enemy.
“Here’s the billiard room,” Mario says, opening the doors to a spacious area with two pool tables and a bar in the back, along with several dart boards and antlers hanging on the wall. The next door is opened to a huge room with a big, white sofa across from a fireplace. There are several tables and expensive-looking chairs, too, and all the way across the room are the same floor-to-ceiling windows that are in my room, lined with thick purple drapes. “And this is the living room area. You’re free to come here whenever you want.”
I don’t know how to reply to that as I’m way too distracted by all the beauty and splendor of this mansion.
Mario walks to another door to knock on it, only to add, “This is Marcello’s office, but I cannot show it to you. I apologize.”
“It’s fine,” I say, clearing my throat. “What’s in there?” I point at a thick steel door with an ominous biometric scanner lock on it at the other end of the hallway and start to walk right to it. However, Mario immediately blocks my path.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to go into that room. Ever,” he says, the look on his face darkened, heavy. “It’s forbidden. Do you understand?”
I nod without saying a word because it feels as though any of them could be my last. Even though Mario looks kind, an aura surrounds him as though he could snap at any moment. And even if I did manage to win a one-on-one fight, plenty of Marcello’s staff seem to be around who could help him subdue me, and I don’t want to lose the little freedom I’ve been given.
“Come, walk with me for a second,” he says, beckoning me to follow him again.
We go into a small hallway hidden behind one side of the stairs. There are a bunch of rooms there, such as a washing room, another closet, and a few more bedrooms. He opens one of them that leads into a private office area.
“This is my personal wing of the house,” Mario says. “This whole hallway and all its rooms. I won’t forbid you to come here, though.” He smiles. But I can’t smile back. Something about this whole cheerfulness while he knows full well I’m a prisoner breaks something inside me.
He reads my expression and sighs. “Let me make you a cup of tea. That should cheer you up a little.”