Blood & Roses

Chapter 6 -Trapped

Present Day – The Safe House

Bianca's POV

My appetite died after Roscoe left. Breakfast sat untouched on the table — eggs, toast, some fruit, coffee. It smelled good, but I couldn't eat it. Stop deceiving yourself, Bianca, little Miss naggy, my inner voice of reason whispered. He's gone; pick yourself up and move on.

I pressed my palms against my eyes and forced myself to breathe.

No, I thought. I won't accept that. Not yet. Not until I saw a body. I've been watching the news lately, and there's no news of a body belonging to the Moretti Mafia kingpin. What if he burned to ashes, and his remains were unrecognizable?

"Shut up!" I barked out loud at the little voice in my head.

I stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the forest. The trees were still, the sky was gray, everything was going on normally except in my world. Without meaning to, my mind drifted backward again to the first night I spent in Adrian’s house.

....

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

Bianca's POV

"Sit."

The word hung in the air between us. I glared at Adrian Moretti — the man who had saved my life and carried me like a precious thing a few minutes ago, now commanded me like I was a dog. His behavior was giving me whiplash.

"I'm not a dog," I said.

He lifted his eyebrows. "I never said you were."

"You said 'sit.'"

"I did." He gestured to the chair beside him at the dining table. "And you're still standing. Don’t let me repeat myself, Principessa. Sit!”

I sat and folded my hands angrily. He was not the boss of me, and he should think again if he thought I was going to follow all his demands.

"I have a home; my mother and brother are expecting me. I can't just leave them in suspense". I huffed.

When I didn't get a reply, I took a deep breath and appealed to him in a calmer tone.

“ I don’t want to bother you; thank you for your help. Your driver can take me home, then you can enjoy your meal. Win-win”

His eyes locked on mine. “You're staying here tonight, Bella.” And the look on his face said he meant it.

“But my mother . . .”

He raised a hand, cutting me off mid-sentence. Then he signaled to a guard I hadn’t seen standing at the corner. The guard handed him a phone, which Adrian handed over to me.

“Call your mother, tell her you are at a friend's place, and will be back later.

I don’t have any stay-over friends; I always go back home, I protested.

“Make up something then, or do you want to tell her what really went down tonight?

"Of course not!"

I couldn’t worry my mother with the truth, especially now that she was ill. I had never kept anything from her. How far was I sliding down this rabbit hole? I was adding lies to my repertoire. I didn't want to do it. But I squared my shoulders, and I dialed Mother's number; she picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Mama!” I said with forced cheerfulness, Uh, I won’t be back today. I am staying over at a friend's house tonight.”

“A friend's house?” Mother queried, skeptical. “ You didn’t tell me you got a friend, Bianca.

Mother knew me well; my introverted ass loved to stay home and either read or paint. Socially, I was awkward and struggled to strike up conversations.

“Uh yeahhhh, a new friend. I'll be back tomorrow; it's too dangerous to come back tonight. I'll tell you all about it when I come back.”

“Ok, babino, stay there, and return tomorrow.”

"Alright, ma, good night. Kiss Matteo good night for me.”

That went rather well, but guilt racked me as I ended the call. I hate lying, especially to mother.

“Good girl,” Adrian said, with his barely there twitchy smile. I shoved the phone back to him.

“Dig in,” he waved at the dishes in front of me.

I turned to snap back, "I'm not hungry," but the smell of whatever the chef had prepared was making my stomach growl.

,

Adrian smirked. " I just heard your stomach grumble, Bella." He motioned with a fork and shoved some food into his mouth.

I felt my face heat. "That's not—"

"Eat, Bianca!"

I picked up my fork and took a bite. The food was incredible — roasted chicken, potatoes, vegetables glazed in rich and buttery gravy. I hadn't eaten a real meal in weeks. Not since before our funds ran out.

I ate and got engrossed in my meal; after a few minutes, I raised my head to see Adrian watching me.

"You're staring," I said between bites.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because you're interesting."

"I'm interesting?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

" I set down my fork. " I'm just an art student who works at a club because I can't afford her mother's medicine. I'm not looking to be interesting. I'm desperate." I quickly covered my mouth after the last sentence. Way to go, Bianca, I scolded myself.

Adrian leaned back in his chair. His eyes — dark, unreadable — didn't leave mine.

"Desperate people are the most interesting," he said quietly, especially if they have nothing to lose. That makes them dangerous."

"I'm not dangerous."

"You are." He tilted his head. "You just don't know it yet."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I asked the question that had been burning in my mind.

"Why me? Why did you ask someone to guard me in the club? Why did you help me out today?"

He was silent for a long moment.

"Because I wanted to," he shrugged, then said. "Everyone else looks at me and sees power, money, and an opportunity. They see Adrian Moretti, and they either want something or they're afraid of me. You, on the other hand, look at me like I was a person."

I frowned. "You are a person."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Most people would disagree."

"Most people are idiots; I'm not most people. I don't want anything from you. In fact, you look like trouble, and I want none of it."

That earned me something I hadn't expected — a real laugh, low and warm.

"You're honest," he said. "I like that."

"I'm not trying to be likable."

"I know." He leaned forward. "That's why I like it."

We talked for over an hour. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was eating, the next I was telling him about my father — about how he believed in my art, about how he died leaving nothing but debts. About my mother's illness. About Matteo, who looked at me like I could fix everything.

Adrian listened. He didn't interrupt or offer solutions. He just listened. When I finished, he said shared some personal details which surprised me.

"My mother, a few years ago," he said quietly. "An ambush. Since then, my father has never been the same after that. He's lost a part of himself.

"I'm sorry,"

"Don't be." He looked away. "It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't make it hurt less, right?"

He met my eyes again, and something flickered there — pain, maybe. Or the feeling that someone else understood what he felt.

"No," he said. "It doesn't."

For a moment, neither of us spoke; the candles flickered between us. The mansion was silent; suddenly Adrian stood.

"You should rest," he said. "Today has been a hectic day."

Then he stormed away. Weren't we getting along fine now?