Page 19 of Bound By A Promise
“I get it.” I began pushing hangers from side to side, checking out Catalina’s clothes racks. “Papá would probably do the same thing.” I craned my neck, looking at my sister over my shoulder. “You know, keeping us safe is their way of controlling us.”
“Maybe. Remember Occam’s razor?”
I rolled my eyes. “Are we back in psychology class?”
“What does it say?”
“The simplest explanation is usually the one closest to the truth.”
Catalina nodded. “So, when Dario says he wants to keep us safe, he means…?” She left the sentence open.
“He wants to keep us safe.”
My sister grinned. “Are you finding anything you want to borrow?”
To avoid daily trips to my sister’s closet, I chose four sundresses, a nicer dress, and a couple of tops. Once back in my room, I changed into an emerald-green and blue dress, pairing it with sandals with straps that wound around my ankles. The neckline wasn’t too low for Mama to comment on, but when I looked in the mirror, I liked the way it made the top of my breasts noticeable.
My prepping was in vain—not only wasn’t Dante at dinner, but neither was Dario.
With each passing day, I felt more and more trapped within the walls of Catalina’s home. I’d spend my time in my room on my laptop or phone or in the theater room. I even ventured into the library from time to time.
The only thing that kept me from going stir-crazy was my new obsession with Dante. I’d wander the lower level of thepenthouse simultaneously hoping to find him while nervous of what I’d say if I did. The few times he joined us for dinner, he was a mix of personalities. The jovial man I’d met a year ago was a bit darker, more intense.
That personality was equally interesting and even a bit more intriguing.
Five days into our visit, I sat at dinner, pushing Contessa’s meal around my plate. It was hard to be hungry when I felt like I wasn’t doing anything to create an appetite. The conversation around me wasn’t registering until I heard the shift in Dario’s tone.
“We should discuss that in private.”
It was a warning I’d heard my father say to my brother on more than one occasion. I looked around the table, wondering what exactly I’d missed. Dante’s muscles tightened beneath his Dri-FIT short-sleeve shirt. There was a sharp edge to his jaw as he stabbed the roasted lamb on his plate. Mama and Catalina were eating quietly.
It was Dario’s gaze that met mine. “That isn’t a discussion you should have to hear.” His tone was lighter than a moment before.
“I didn’t,” I replied honestly. “But if I had been paying attention, that would have been all right too. I grew up in the same home as Cat. I haven’t exactly been sheltered from the ways of the cartel.”
“Camila,” Mama whispered.
Dario nodded with a slight grin. However, it was Dante’s stare that I felt scorching my skin. My flesh pebbled as I turned to him. Lifting my chin, I sat taller. “I’m not a little girl.” I hadn’t refuted his comment when he made it nearly a week ago. Obviously, it had been eating at me.
Dario lifted his eyebrows. “Do you know who says they’re not a little girl?”
I laid my fork beside my plate. “Anyone who isn’t a little girl.”
“On the contrary. The need to announce who you are or who you’re not serves the exact opposite purpose.” He inhaled, his nostrils flaring. “Nevertheless, our dinner conversation will remain appropriate for everyone present.”
The capo had spoken. Despite the way the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, I knew better than to continue the conversation. Catalina once explained that Jasmine and I were the same age. It made sense that Dario would see me as a child. I peered up, lifting my eyes as my face looked down at my plate. Dario wasn’t my concern. It was the man with the smirk across the table.
Chapter
Seven
Dante
My apartment was one floor, as opposed to Dario’s two. Nevertheless, the four-bedroom floorplan was more than enough space for a single man. With access to the capo dei capi’s home, I wasn’t exactly bringing women to my bedroom. Other than Contessa’s once-a-week visit to clean—keeping things from getting too out of hand—rarely did anyone come by. If Dario wanted me, he’d call me to him.
Wearing nylon basketball shorts and a t-shirt, I had my heart set on getting some sleep. More than likely, I’d be called out to the Kansas City streets. As I sat at my kitchen counter with my tablet, reading the day’s reports from the capos on the street, the unexpected sound of the elevator stopping caught my attention, making my ears buzz.
A brief glance out the large windows confirmed what I already knew. It was late, too late for Contessa, or on the rare occasion, Dario, to make an unannounced visit. I assuredmyself that the bratva wouldn’t be brazen enough to enter my apartment. Then again, they’d invaded the Ruiz home.