I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get out of here!

Ms. Rizzo, my childhood nanny, looked up from her knitting project as if she’d heard the screaming in my mind. She sighed and rearranged her heft in the rocking chair.

“Daddy has some nerve bringing you back here like I’m some child.” Although I refused to admit it, Ms. Rizzo’s breezy perfume always lifted my spirits. But there was no time for that now. I had anger to cultivate.

Rolling the green and brown balls of yarn and laying the half-finished blanket to the side, she surveyed me for a moment, then softly said, “I’m sure your father has his reasons.”

“What has he told you? When will I get out of here?” I prodded, knowing full well she had no answers. Ms. Rizzo had been hired not only for her years of experience in child rearing, but also for her complete lack of curiosity. What others saw as dullness, I knew, from growing up under her care, was blind loyalty to my father and an unwillingness to know anything that could tarnish his good name.

True to form, her response was, “Just that I’m to keep you safe,” she paused, “and on the property.” With that, she returned to her earthy yarns. The tiny click of tapping knitting needles signaled the end of her contribution to our conversation.

Still, I persisted. “What does he expect you to do?” Ms. Rizzo was every bit of 65 years old and 250 pounds, if I’m being kind.

“I’m sure it’s more that he expects you to not give me trouble.” She rubbed her bad hip and smiled at me.

Not dignifying that display with a response, I merely huffed and stared out my window at the rose garden. My thoughts immediately turned to my mom, as they did with everything on this estate that passed my line of sight. Mom had loved those roses so much that I’d often teased that I was her second favorite. I stood, willing the tears to stay at bay. “I’m going to the kitchen.”

“Why don’t you let me have one of the cooks bring you something?” Ms. Rizzo stopped rocking.

“I’ll be fine. The kitchen is still on the property.” I didn’t give her a chance to reply. I was halfway to the stairs before the door closed behind me. Slowing my pace, I savored finally being alone. It struck me as funny how in a house so massive, you could still suffocate sometimes.

As I reached the top of the circular stairwell, I couldn’t help but look down into the abyss. My room was on the third floor, the same distance from the cold hard ground below as my mother’s favorite salon. Would I fall like she did? How many drinks would that take? Would I know it was coming?

I shook the all too familiar refrain from my head and held tight to the banister. At times like these, I wished Daddy’s men knew how to speak softer when they talked business. Some things, a girl would rather not know.

After making a lovely salad for Ms. Rizzo and myself to share, my thoughts turned back to my mother’s rose garden. Ms. Rizzo always loved the yellow ones. Feeling contrite, I retrieved salad shears from the drawer and started for the rear sliding bay doors to gather a nice bouquet for our lunch.

Dirk, Daddy’s favorite cretin, appeared out of nowhere in front of the door. One hand on the handle and one on an iPad Mini, he blocked my exit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I was instantly indignant at the nerve of him.

“We have orders that you’re not to go out on the grounds today, Ms. G. It’s not safe.” His nasally voice grated on my ears.

“We? Jesus.” My fingers tightened around the salad scissors. “Let me out. You can’t keep me prisoner. I’m only going to the garden.” I held up the scissors a little too fast and close to his face. The fear flashed in his eyes, and I relished the knowledge that he’d never be the man my father wanted him to be.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he held firm, much to my surprise.

“You forget who you work for, Dirk.” I attempted to push past him, but he didn’t budge.

“I work for Mr. Genovese,” he enunciated, “and he doesn’t feel that it’s safe for you to venture outside at this time.” Dirk did his best bodyguard pose, his feet wide and his arms crossed in front of him. He was not intimidating in the least, standing two full inches shorter than myself. It looked more like he was clutching the iPad for protection against me. The sight of it gave me an idea.

“I would hate for my father to know what you watch on that thing when he’s not around.” I stepped closer. Again, he didn’t budge.

Instead, he smirked. “Your father knows all the best sites.”

That’s it!

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“I believe he’s in the library, interviewing your new security detail.” Dirk tapped the tablet’s screen.

“Perfect!” I spun on my heels to storm off.

“It’d be best if you don’t try to give this one the shake. They don’t come cheap.”

“If they don’t come cheap, it would be best if they could keep up with me.” I slammed the salad scissors down on the bar and stomped up the stairs. Even as I did it, I had a déjà vu moment of me doing this exact thing at about seventeen when I hadn’t been allowed to spend a weekend at an outdoor concert. The heat in my cheeks rose. Daddy’s going to answer for this!