"Open your mouth."
"Yes, I understand."
He continues to stare at me for a few more moments longer before he pushes his chair back and rises to his feet. He pulls at the lapels of his suit before turning on his heel and walking out of the door, leaving his food only half eaten.
Vito stands as well, opening his mouth to say something before pausing and shaking his head. His eyes move over my face and his lips tighten. "I'll see you later," he says finally, following Giovanni out the door.
I rub at my chest, the pressure building as prickles dance along the back of my neck. A throbbing starts in my skull and I dig my fingers into my thigh, trying to use the pain to ground myself. It proves unsuccessful. I look at my plate, my stomach turning for all the wrong reasons.
I take a few deep breaths, wrapping my fingers around my glass of juice. I down it, letting the coolness wash over me.
"I'm done," I say to Enzo, not turning to look at him. I don't want to see his face, almost as much as I don't want him to see mine.
"Okay," he says, his voice floating from behind me. I hear him shift slightly before feeling his presence at my back.
I get to my feet, slowly pushing the chair back into the table. I lower my head and move toward the door, Enzo close at my heels. The trek to the room that has become my familiar prison is ingrained in my mind, my feet moving on their own accord. The climb up the stairs seem to pull on the muscles in my legs, slowing me down, and I know it's all in my head, but I can't make myself move any quicker.
At the top of the stairs, the pace feels even slower, as if I'm moving through molasses. I grab onto the wall, holding myself up asI look at my feet, trying to even out my breathing.
A voice drifts into my head and my brows pull together as I try to center myself. I look up, finding Enzo now standing in front of me, a frown on his face.
"What?" I breathe out, my voice wavering as I stare up at him.
"You have to learn to adapt," he says simply, folding his arms over his chest.
My face burns and despite the fact that Giovanni just threatened to pimp me out, Enzo's words pisses me off more and I know exactly why.
"And you need to pick a side. Are you my friend or my enemy?"
There's a small change on his face but it disappears too quickly for me to decipher it. "I've never been either. I'm your bodyguard."
"Yeah, but one moment you're offering me bullshit advice and the next you're covering up the fact that your boss raped me."
"Don't say that," he snaps quickly, red tinting his face as his fists clench.
And I know I should step back, leave him alone and end this conversation, but I can't. "Look at you now," I tell him. "Look at how quickly you've already flipped the switch simply because I'm speaking the truth."
"You're speaking dangerous words," he corrects me, stepping in closer.
He slams his hands down on the wall over my head and I jump slightly as his body crowds mine, our warmth mixing.
"I've tried to help you in the past but you make it damn near impossible when it's clear that you're asking to get hurt." His eyes bore into mine as he leans closer, his breath fanning over my face. "Don't mention what happened with Maximo again. He's stayed away but if he gets even the slightest whiff of you bringing this back up, he'll give you more unpleasant memories to accompany it with."
Maximo hadn't stayed away.
He hasn't tried to sexually assault me again, but he'd grabbed my wrists the day after I caught the family's rat. He'd put pressure on the skin, pushing down even after I told him not to. He proceeded to harass me, running his fingers over my flesh and inspecting scars I wish I could forget. He hadn't stopped until Giovanni had shown up, reminding him to stay away from me.
Orders that won't last for too long.
Giovanni's only going to keep his brother at bay for so long before he realizes there's no reason to. I'm not even sure he's the one who came up with the idea for him to stay away from me. It was likely Vito, since I know he's aware of what happened that night. He was the one who gave me Plan B the morning after.
I tilt my chin up, offering Enzo no further response or validation. The silent treatment may be childish but when I see Enzo's eyes flash with anger, I know it's effective.
He pushes forward, crowding me. His body is hard and hot against mine and despite myself, I suddenly become too aware of him. My skin grows feverish, my hands slick with moisture. I stare up at him, confused as my anger mixes with something else that I refuse to acknowledge.
Completely unaware, Enzo’s jaw tightens.
"You think this is all a game, but it isn't. And there's no room or time for you to continue to act like a bewildered little girl," he snaps, slamming his hand against the wall, loud enough to make me jump. "When you come into this world, you change. There's no way around it. No one in this house is the same person they were before they walked into it. Not even the fucking cooking staff. So, you better prepare to adapt, Winter Chastine, or prepare to die."