She got back in the car barefoot. He could keep her beautiful strappy green sandals that gave her four inches when she wore them. She never wanted to see them again. Or the camisole or her bloodstained jeans. She was going home to inform her grandfather Marco was dead. Then she was packing her bags and leaving.

She cried all the way back to the estate. Parking in the cavernous, heated garage, she ran up the back stairs and let herself in that way, going through the kitchen, hoping to avoid everyone. She needed a shower, although she didn’t think she could ever scrub hard or long enough to erase what had happened. Erase the feel of Elijah’s hands and mouth. She couldn’t brush her teeth long enough to ever get the taste of him out of her mouth, or the scent of him out of her lungs.

Siena hurried through the house to the stairs leading to the upper story. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to confront her grandfather and the more she wanted to just leave. She dashed at the tears still falling and skidded to a halt as she entered her bedroom. Paolo sat on the edge of her bed. His gaze jumped to her face and he looked—terrifying.

His face was dark, almost red with anger. The anger radiated throughout her room, filling the air until she nearly choked on it.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked.

Even as she spoke, she found herself looking beyond him to the bed where he sat. Her comforter, the one her grandmother had given her, was shredded, great long tears right down the center of it. She looked around her. The room was in shambles. The walls had rake marks, as if a giant cat had scraped its claws from ceiling to floor, peeling paint and wood off in strips.

“Shut the door.”

Her heart seemed to stop for a minute and then began to pound. She tasted fear in her mouth. Paolo looked—evil. When she didn’t move, he stood up, stalked to the door and slammed it closed behind her. He came close to her, inhaling her scent as he walked around her.

He was close. Too close. She felt his body heat. His rage. She wanted to move, but her feet refused to cooperate. She could actually hear herself screaming inside.

“I can smell his stench on you,” he spat out.

She remained silent, the tremors seizing her body worsening. Something terrible was happening and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“Did he fuck you?”

She took a breath and remained silent.

“Did you let him fuck you?” Paolo roared the question, his voice like thunder, his features contorted with anger.

“That’s not your business,” she replied in a whisper. She couldn’t look at him. She could never look at another man again.

“You fucking whore.”