Dark Mafia Heir (Mafia Vows #3)

Chapter 17

17

Vivienne

“ T welve bloody. . . argh !”

I’m almost pulling my hair out when I get to the thirteenth CCTV camera hoisted by the side of the house, which is partially hidden by a bunch of overgrown leaves from a nearby tree.

This wasn’t the initial plan—spying, moving around the large estate, counting the installed security cameras. No—as hard as it might seem to convince anyone who accidentally catches me in the act—this wasn’t the plan.

It’s a warm afternoon, one I initially planned to enjoy with an aimless stroll around the vast estate, and surprisingly, it was going really well. I mean, after spending one week indoors, reliving the heated shower sex moment, I needed a break, and a change of scenery.

The sun shone on the big house, and other houses littered around. The grounds looked amazing, and the structures blended nicely with the trees and grass around them.

The lawn was perfectly cut, the flowers blooming beautifully, the air smelling sweet and fresh. I heard the birds chirping and leaves rustling in the breeze. Hidden behind the house were some orchards. Rows of fruit trees stretched towards the sky. I went in and out of the orchard, and stood on my toes to gaze at the distance. It looked like rolling hills, green pastures, and I desired watching the sunset on that scene.

Life, in that small nick of time, seemed good, and normal. As normal as it was when I played with Harper in our make-believe garden back at home. As normal as was it was when I moved about with my head held high, breezing in and out of any club I saw fit.

That was until I was reminded about how I got here in the first place. Absolutely nothing about that was normal. Yes, I was kidnapped by my husband, and with that came the responsibility to recall my plans to escape from all of this.

The memory burns in my mind, a vivid and unrelenting image that refuses to fade no matter how hard I try. I can still see Antonio standing amidst the terror, his dark eyes cold as ice as he moves like a predator through the bloodied remains of my father’s men.

It isn’t just the violence that haunts me—it’s the reason why he did it. Taking men’s lives to pass a message of just how cruel he really was. Men who had served my father for years reduced to a heap of silence and soulless bodies.

I could still feel my heart pound in my ears, the fear seizing me as I realized that day was probably just another day for him, nothing special.

Every time I remember Antonio doesn’t look like a monster, that is the most unsettling part. He was always controlled, almost regal in how he carries himself, as if what he’d done was beneath him, but necessary—it was terrifyingly composed.

That is what led me to start this devious act of mine, and my mind was almost blown at the number of security cameras in the house. How many did someone really need?

It doesn’t matter.

I can’t stay here, anyway. Not in this life, not under Antonio’s shadow. Whatever my father had done to bring this upon us doesn’t matter either.

Antonio might think he owns me, that I’ll cower like some obedient pawn in his games. But he’s wrong.

I would find a way out. Out of his reach, out of this nightmare. No matter how long it took, no matter what I had to do, I would escape Antonio and this fucking world he thinks he’s trapped me in.

I start making a turn around the house, back to the front, when movement at the entrance makes me pause.

“Agatha said I’ll find you roaming around the house, and she was right.”

At least, she didn’t say you’ll find me mentally taking note of the CCTV cameras, I think as I turn to the source of the voice.

It’s Ginny, and she looks just as beautiful as the first time I saw her. She is dressed simply but elegantly, wearing a tailored black dress that hugs her curves just enough to highlight her figure without being overly ostentatious. Around her neck is a single gold chain, delicate and understated, but on her, it seems to gleam with purpose.

And she’s wearing that pleasant, friendly smile on her face, one that always has me smiling back at her.

“Liked what you saw?”

I blink when I realize what she’s speaking of. “What?”

She joins me on the lower step and gestures to the surrounding environment. “I asked if you liked it—the estate. I know you do. I’ve been here a couple of times and enjoyed taking strolls around. You might not believe me because, well... living with these men is anything but peaceful. But the surroundings here are incredibly serene. Have you seen the orchard?”

“Yes, I have. It’s beautiful and abandoned.” Strangely, I feel relaxed around her. “And I believe you. I experienced it myself. Walking around this place, you’d never believe that the men here sleep with knives under their pillows.”

Ginny snorts. “Just knives? Sometimes, my husband keeps the gun on the vanity when he’s in the shower.”

I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a chuckle. It’s amusing that she finds her husband’s habit absurd, but the subtle crinkle at the corner of her eyes and the lingering smile on her lips tells more than she does: the thought of her husband is like having a breath of fresh air.

She loves him.

Despite the uncanny bond and connection, I feel forming between us, that is one thing we’ll probably never have in common: love for our husbands.

I’m pretty sure I’m on the verge of detesting mine, and everything about him. Except for sex with him.

That’s tolerable, at least.

We slowly go around the house again, but I don’t bother noting security installations anymore. This moment, chatting with Ginny, is liberating, like I am finally getting something I lacked for a long time.

We talk about everything and anything we think of; what my life was like before Antonio, my sister, my father, friends, if I ever had any, and her life with Dario.

She’s happy. I’m not.

But we both like salted caramel popcorn and ice cream and Netflix, and a bunch of other things that are truly silly.

I like Ginny. I like that we share interests. But she reminds me of my sister, and how much I miss chatting like this with her.

“And Agatha? How’s your relationship with her?”

I kick a stray pebble and knot my fingers behind my back. Ginny doesn’t see the red stain on my cheeks, but I feel the heat creep up my neck when I remember nearly slicing off Agatha’s neck.

“Cordial? I guess, we’re cool,” I say instead. There’s no need going down that memory lane with Ginny, although I am surprised that she isn’t aware.

“She is generous, isn’t she? After you tried to use her as an escape pad.”

Of course, she’d heard. The whole house must have heard, too.

We’re by the orchard when we stop walking. Ginny turns to me, and the smile that once was on her face is no longer there. She brushes loose strands of her hair behind her ear and nibbles on her lower lip.

“Look,” she sighs. “I know this isn’t the best life you’re living, and I’m sorry you are stuck in this situation. I know what it feels like first-hand to feel trapped.”

Does she?

She seems to read the question in my eyes and further clarifies. “Dario and I weren’t always in love. We were enemies at first, even though I always found him really hot,” she says with glee. “But now we mean the world to each other. I’d give my life for him, and I know he’ll do the same for me. I believe there’s a chance you and Nio will fall in love with each other.”

Before I can stop myself, my protest flies out of my mouth. “I doubt it. Nothing will change.”

“Vivienne…”

Maybe I should stop now, before I say anything more, before I incriminate myself.

“No. A girl doesn’t see the carcass of her father’s loyal men and happily marry the man that killed them.”

“That’s your father’s business.”

Her bluntness stirs tears to my eyes for one reason: she’s right. Those men’s deaths were my father’s business. Not mine. “He had a gun to my father’s head.”

“Vivienne, that’s still your father’s business.”

A teardrop spills on my cheek, and I angrily wipe it away. “But he kidnapped me anyway. And you can’t say that’s my father’s business because I’m here. It’s my business. And I will get out of here before I join the list of victims hung on Antonio Mancini’s wall.”

In the midst of this emotional turmoil that wracks through me, I can’t help but feel thankful that I didn’t have to marry the old bastard my father initially planned for me, but it doesn’t make being married to Antonio any less scathing.

Ginny is quiet for a while before she shakes her head with a conviction that I don’t share. “Antonio won’t hurt you, Vivienne. I’m sure of it.”

Well, I’m not.

And before we find out which one of us is right, it’ll be too late. I’ll be long gone by then.

Ginny leaves earlier than I want her to, before dinner, leaving me to wallow in the lingering effects of our conversation. It feels like there’s a hole in my chest, an ache I need to feel; and maybe that’s why I miss Ginny’s company more than I should.

I’m seated in the dining with an array of delicious food spread out before me when one of Antonio’s men steps inside with an unmistakable aura of intimidation, dressed in black. I recognize his fresh, buzz-cut cut, and unsmiling face from the night when Antonio was a pretend gentleman. He drove us home.

“Luca, is it?”

His brows dip, and the frown on his face deepens, like he doesn’t expect me to be talking to him. “It is. I am.”

Strange response, but I can’t exactly peg him to be the talkative type. He wasn’t chatty that night, either.

I should focus on ripping my chicken and broccoli to shreds and eating in silence, but I blink, and this man before me doesn’t look so made of stone anymore.

If anything, I dare myself to think I can hold a five-minute conversation with him.

“Nice to be in the same space with you. I’m Vivienne.”

Luca’s brows rise in greater surprise. “I know who you are.”

He didn’t expect me to introduce myself. Did everyone else really think I’d go around parading as the popular Antonio’s wife?

“Oh, okay. That’s good, then.” I take a bite of the tasty broccoli. “Care to join me? I’m afraid they made too much of all this goodness, and there’s no way I’m clearing all of it.”

“I’m good.”

“If you say so. Prepare to have the waste of the good stuff on your conscience.”

I see a ghostly smile tug on his lips.

“I’m sure I can handle more than that on my conscience. If I have one.”

Did he make a joke?

I doubt it. He was under the category of men who slept with knives under their pillows and dropped their guns on bathroom vanities while they had their showers. It’s possible that Luca does not have a conscience.

“What brings you to these parts of the house then, if you weren’t reeled in by the aroma?”

He looks around, then back at me. “I’m on duty.”

“Watching the mansion tonight?”

“Exactly that.”

I nod, and nibble a juicy chicken part.

The conversation between Luca and me goes back and forth in a friendly tone. He turns out to be more engaging than I thought he would be.

We beat five minutes and end up laughing like old buddies. The summary? He likes his job, and is thorough with even the most minute responsibility Antonio gives him. I don’t ask any further questions to know he’s one of the loyal ones. One that would possibly kill or die for my husband, if the situation was of life and death.

I know all these and yet, ask anyway, because I feel warm enough towards him, and I think it will kill me if I don’t.

“Luca, this is abrupt, but can I make a request?”

Luca tilts his head, watching me warily. “Will Antonio approve of this request?”

Fuck Antonio.

“I don’t know, but if it’s not important, I won’t risk my neck by asking. Can I please use your phone to call my sister?”

The warmth that flowed easily between us changes so fast, I think I imagined it. An icy cold replaces it when he pushes himself off the chair and starts for the door.

“Luca. . .” I’m literally grasping at straws to bring him back. “Luca, please.”

His broad shoulders are almost past the door when he turns back with a frown that is deep enough to put a dent in his features.

“I asked if Antonio was going to approve, but you already knew the answer, didn’t you?”

Heavy boots thud on the polished floor when he marches out of the dining room, and that marks the end of our conversation.