Chapter 4 – Gabriella
Don Morelli’s home was a classic Victorian.
It was stately and old, with an actual yard.
The porch lights were bright against the night, the wraparound porch full of Made Men.
I tried not to fidget as my sister and I followed our parents up the concrete walk.
Signora Morelli had a tasteful landscape, and I remembered that she kept a vibrant garden in the back, which was where we would gather.
It must be nice to have the luxury of gardening.
Since their marriage had failed to produce any children, that was something the signora had time to devote herself to, I supposed.
My mother had barely kept her figure after so many pregnancies.
We’d each created and continued to deepen the lines in her face that she paid with her allowance to fill.
But Mama cut a beautiful, classic picture as she ascended the porch steps to greet the hostess.
A smile flickered on my lips to see her.
Mama would have been a classic film star in her early days.
Something that no doubt pleased my father when he was paired with her.
Now, his loathing was ill-concealed as he stepped around her to shake the don’s hand.
Unable to produce a male Deluca heir, my mother had failed him.
Something I was destined to do with my own husband, good lord willing.
“Come, have a drink before our guests arrive,” Don Morelli said pleasantly, guiding us through the soldiers already assembled on the porch.
Signor Messina was in the backyard, sipping a beverage out of a copper mug.
His sons were nowhere to be seen. Probably too busy with their brides.
Their absence only fueled the rumors that their hearts weren’t in the criminal enterprises.
We might not be a flashy organization, but when the famiglia gathered for such occasions as this, we were expected to show up.
Both Cristiano and Vincenzo avoided gatherings like the plague.
“Gabriella, that dress is divine,” Signora Morelli gushed as she reached for a mug and handed it to me.
My mother frowned.
But it was my father who hissed as he moved past me to greet the other capo. “Only one.”
I took the drink from our hostess, not wanting to be rude. I didn’t plan on drinking much, but not because it would upset my parents. I didn’t want my brain fuzzy for the next few hours. I needed to stay alert.
“Your roses look lovely,” my sister breathed, stepping toward the plants.
I watched her fingers brush over the thorns.
“That variety has proved to be hardy,” the signora said with a smile. “The perfect rose to withstand the harsh winters. If you’d like, I’ll split one of the bushes for you, Carmela?”
That made my sister giddy.
I wanted to warn her. Tell her that since I was about to be off the market, it would be her turn next. She wouldn’t have the chance to experiment with a green thumb.
“And you too, Gabriella. It might look nice planted at your new home?” The signora’s voice was filled with hope.
The delusional fool.
“Thanks, but I don’t know what kind of residence McDonagh keeps,” I said before taking a long sip of the drink. The vodka was masked by summer berries, a dangerous combination.
“Well, you ask him and let me know.” The signora turned to the porch, where the men had gone quiet. “And look at that! They’re here.”
I braced myself.
A chill trickled down my spine. Sweat pooled beneath the silky cream material. The sluggish feeling invaded my body, and it felt like I was trapped in a bog, unable to move fluidly. Fighting back the cloying feeling, I turned.
The man in a half-mask descended the steps onto the back patio.
He towered above the other males in his party.
Unlike the blonds and the blazing redhead by his side, he was all dark.
The midnight suit was custom-made to fit his tall, thick frame.
Black hair, cut short, fell in soft waves over his brow.
It dusted the plastic that hid half his face.
As if he were looking for me, his masked face cant to the side. His gaze crashed into mine. I met his eyes, and my mouth was suddenly dry.
At first the look was grouchy. Annoyed. But as he continued to stare, his gaze turned stormy. My heart stopped beating. Recognition glint in those dark pools.
He found me.
That unfriendly look sent my stomach churning. My professional front faltered. Fear whispered through my veins. This was the nightmare who’d threatened me under the shadow of night. The masked devil who my famiglia planned to sacrifice me to in just a few weeks.
A howling buzz filled my ears. The sounds of the garden party faded to the background. My breath turned short and shallow. I breathed hard, fighting the panic racing through me. There was nowhere to run, no escape. I stood rooted in place, with the fakest smile ever plastered on my lips.
“Mr. McDonagh, may I introduce you to my daughter, Gabriella,” my father said, suddenly appearing at my side.
His voice was muted by the buzz in my ears.
I faltered, not sure what to do. The Irish mobster stopped in front of me. Dio sopra, I probably looked idiotic just standing here, grinning and wheezing through my teeth.
“Good evening.” His voice was that same breath of dangerous air that I’d heard loud and clear in the night. It cut through the drone, crisp.
I sucked in a staggered breath and lifted my hand. Those storm cloud eyes dropped, looked at my hand, and his jaw tensed. I realized why a second later when he stretched out his gloved fingers to wrap around mine.
The leather was warm and supple, but beneath it was that hard, powerful grip. The one that I’d felt around my throat the other night. I meant to pull away at the moment the handshake could be considered proper.
His fingers stayed wrapped around mine.
Five more beats passed.
My heart felt shaky. As if it weren’t up to the task of pumping blood.
I lifted my gaze to his, falling still under the weight of it. Those eyes were the lightest of blues, tinged with grey and anger. There was something alive, roiling through those stormy depths.
Pain—I recognized it immediately.
And no wonder. The mask hid the worst of the mess. But raised red skin streaked down the side of his throat. It broke the inked design that once stained the area. His ear was poofy and knotted. A patch of hair didn’t quite grow right.
The beast didn’t speak, just watched me.
From somewhere in the background of guests, a string of Italian flickered through the air. “Filthy Irish.”
I wanted to bark at them for being so rude!
“Well, don’t hog the cailín,” the redhaired man said with a chuckle. “I want my turn to meet my daughter-in-law.”
The mobster released my hand. I snatched it back, dropping it to my side. His gaze tracked the motion.
Merda!
“I’m McDonagh Senior, but you can call me Padraig.
” His brogue was thick. The accent made the words dance in the air, merry and chipper.
The redhead opened both palms, offering them to me.
I wasn’t sure what to do with that. The moment I slipped mine into his, balancing my cocktail carefully, he pulled me close and pressed a kiss on my cheek.
“My wife’s got a wee cold in the head, but she wanted me to pass on her greetin’. ”
I nodded robotically.
“Liam? Gabby? Why don’t you two come over here and have a cocktail,” Signora Morelli urged, pointing to an intimate spot. An ornate metal table and chairs, crafted to look like vines, sat near her prized rosebush. “Come along, come along. We’ll have dinner presently.”
There was nothing to do but obey.
The don’s wife ushered us to the spot, and I sank onto the metal. It was hot from the summer night, burning through the thin silk of my dress. I dropped my copper mug on the table and clasped my hands in my lap.
The mobster pulled back his chair. The legs scraped over the paved stones in a low screech. He put the chair’s back to the bush, sat down so that he was angled away from me.
I risked a peep and noticed his good side was my profile.
The party began to mingle. The host and hostess made sure their guests had beverages, and soon a pair of maids brought out trays of food.
I declined when they brought it our way.
The male across from me did the same. Once the maids backed away, he crossed his arms over his chest. The suit jacket pulled taut across his shoulders. I zeroed in on the motion, and a trickle of heat shivered through me.
“Not too ugly from this angle, is it.” He spoke so low, I didn’t realize he had at first.
I swallowed my tongue. My brain scrambled for a response.
Dio, was he this big the other night? Even if I was standing, he would still be taller than me, sitting there on the patio chair, which he dwarfed with the sheer breadth of his body.
“This isn’t your fairytale, cailín.” His voice dripped with a vicious bite. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I snorted. There wasn’t much else to say. “You don’t know me. Why would you assume this isn’t what I want?”
He turned. The edge of the mask flashed. “Are you daft?”
“No.” Probably not, but I wasn’t sure about the vernacular.
“What kind of girl your age wants to be shackled to a hideous mutt like me?” he growled.
I leaned forward. “Maybe I was betting that you had a sunny personality.”
It was his turn to snort.
He looked away, staring at the groups that still didn’t mix. “Don’t count on it.”
“Clearly,” I muttered and snatched my drink. I swallowed the chilly liquid. Ice clinked against my teeth. “You can’t be all that bad.”
Liam snorted. “Do you know what happens when you tempt monsters, cailín?”
I shivered.
I don’t want to know.
So instead, I bravely asked, “What does that word mean?”
Was I avoiding the conversation? Yes. And for good reason. There was no escape. Which meant there was no point answering him.
“It means girl.”