Raised by the Mafia

30. The Girl's Best Friend (Mila)

With the door shut behind him, Luca sits on the bed like he owns it, but I tuck my legs out of his way. They're my legs; he doesn't own that.

Luca takes my gesture as an invitation to set the chest into the vacated space. It looks exactly what a treasure chest should look like. About a foot in length, half so in height but appears taller due to the domed lid. The curly metalwork on its sides is covered with blackened maybe-ferns, maybe-firs. A code lock from more recent times hides behind a decorative panel on the front. Luca clicks it open, flips the lid open.

Try as I might to look away, eventually, my head turns to peek inside. The contents, too, look exactly like what the contents of a treasure chest should be: gems, amplifying the smallest amount of light to that unexplainable colorless glitter and precious metal curving round them lustfully. There's just enough to drive anyone to salivating.

Luca extracts the biggest piece from the velvet-upholstered innards—the diadem splashed with diamonds. "A provenance came with this. Apparently, at the heart of your collection is the set Emperor Alexander II had ordered for the coronation of his morganatic wife and long-time lover."

"He really liked his squeeze," I quip, while Luca crowns me with his bounty. His fingers thread through my hair after its considerable weight is balanced, thumbs slipping to my cheeks.

"That he did. Alas, the plan had failed, as many plans do. First, because the idea was unpopular after his first wife died. Then, Alexander himself was assassinated."

"We'll all get there." I'm only half-joking. I don't remember the time when I had expectations of dying peacefully in my sleep. Maybe never because kids rarely dream about how they want to die.

He ignores my morbid remark and pulls out a necklace. His fingers slip it under my runaway hair, fastens it around the neck. It's better than a garrote, but I doubt Luca knows how to use it anyway. But who knows? Italians always liked them.

The gold chills my skin, but most of the finery falls on the cotton of my shirt.

"It should be worn against the skin," he whispers seductively. His fingers linger on the collar button above my breasts. His eyes ask the question.

I rattle the handcuffs instead of answering. "Give me prettier bracelets than this first, then we'll see about skin."

"No, I like it this way." His mouth touches the inside of my chained wrist, tongue tickles. "For now."

Ryan has to live through this, so I'll have to live through this too. I don't squirm or protest the intimate gesture.

"Yes, I love it very much," Luca concludes, encouraged by my meekness.

"I've never guessed you for restraints-fetish guy."

"You tempt me to work on it."

How did it all go wrong? I spear the lawless mountains in the window with an accusatory glance. The mountains were supposed to squish Luca's colossal ego, not transform him into a domestic tyrant!

He kisses me on the cheek. "Truth, Mila? So I can go on with the story?"

I rattle the cuffs again. "It's not like I can stop you." But I'm curious. And it's a neutral topic that delays the inevitable moment when Luca makes a more open demand.

"Alexander's lady-love, of course, didn't receive her jewels. Romanovs shunned her to the last," Luca says. Something sad flickers in the depth of his eyes. It figures that he would feel for the adulterers. And Alexander could teach Luca a thing or two on womanizing.

"Romanovs didn't shun diamonds. Typical."

"Not completely," he says, lining a diamond brooch and snaking bracelets in my lap.