I could have asked why, but I already knew. Money.

The Whitehalls are seen as ultra, mega wealthy, but we’re a large family and our fortune is spread between dozens.

“Asset rich,” my Uncle Titus once said at a Christmas party. “But cash poor. That’s half the Whitehall dregs these days.”

Mom would sooner die than admit it, but we were once those dregs. After daddy died there was no one to work or negotiate our yearly share of the family fortune. We stopped going to our vacation homes. Zia Teresa became not just my nanny, but a cook and housekeeper. Mom and Harris constantly argued about his Audi, mom telling him he’d have to pay for gas and repairs out of his trust fund.

After mom promised me to Mr. Parker, everything changed. One minute mom was screaming we needed to sell our house in Big Bear, the next she had a silver Bugatti and there were four hundred people at my ninth birthday party. I didn’t have to ask where the money was coming from. When I was ten, I heard mom asking our accountant “Is Zachery’s quarterly payment here yet?” I just didn’t know why he was giving us money. And then I did.

I don’t blame mom. She was alone with three houses and four children to take care of. She had a responsibility to look after our family and so did I. At least Mr. Parker wanted to make me a part of his family. All Eli Morelli offered was a ruby necklace on loan and a few nice outings.

And to be touched by him…

I shove the thought away. He kidnapped me, had my bodyguard killed, and locked me in this basement.

I get up and clean myself as best I can. I wash with water from the bathroom sink and rinse my wedding lingerie, leaving it on the towel rail to dry. I wrap the thin blanket around myself and return to the bed, putting my St. Christopher next to the lamp. My stomach rumbles. If I could only escape with Eli’s necklace. I’d pawn it then go straight to the nearest deli and eat everything behind the counter. Then I’d book a hotel and take a bath. Call Zia and say, “I’m coming home!”

And then Mr. Parker would find me. And we would be getting married again.

My chest tightens. “Don’t,” I tell myself. “You would rather be his wife than stuck here.”

A clattering scrape makes me jump. Extra light floods into the basement and footsteps clang on the metal stairs.

“Hello?” I call out, trying to sound strong. “Who is it?”

“What’s up, Tesorina?”

My heart sinks as Doc emerges from the shadows. He’s still barefoot and in ripped black jeans, but his T-shirt has changed. It’s another sleeveless one that shows off his tattooed ribs. He must be very proud of the sides of his body. I wrap the blanket tighter around myself. “Hello, Mr. Valente.”

“Oh, so well-mannered.” He grips the bars of my cage and tilts himself backward. “You ready to chew through your own arm or what?”