Chapter 36 Contessa
Contessa
I take advantage of my inability to sleep by taking a walk along the beach, relishing the feel of the warm sand between my toes and the soft breeze in my hair.
I feel lighter than I have done in a while, and despite the confusion I’m battling around my feelings for Benito, I cannot wait to see Cristiano and Trilby become husband and wife.
For all intents and purposes, this is a mafia marriage, bringing two families together, albeit willingly, for mutual benefit. But from where I’m standing, it’s the marriage of two souls who love each other so much it sometimes makes my eyes hurt.
I glance at my watch and realize I have only one hour before I have to join the wedding party and prepare for the rehearsal.
I hurry back to my room and change into the bridesmaid dress.
Trilby chose a beautiful dusky rose taffeta for all our dresses, which somehow compliments our various skin tones and eye colors.
Me with my pale skin, jet black hair and green eyes; Sera with her equally pale skin, auburn hair and blue eyes; and Bambi with her dark hair, olive skin and rich brown eyes.
The styles are all different too. Sera’s dress is backless with a halter neckline and empire waist; Bambi’s dress is short and light, cut to bounce around her knees as she walks; while mine is strapless and fitted, with a beautiful long slice up the right thigh.
It reminds me of the dress I wore to Gianni Di Santo’s funeral all those months ago.
As I gaze back at my reflection I have to concede it really is a beautiful dress and the color does highlight my better features. Still, I can’t help but feel a little bit itchy that it isn’t black.
I pick up the pearl-covered purse that Trilby had specially made for each of us as a bridesmaid gift and make my way down the main staircase. The wedding party is gathering in one of the function rooms on the ground floor, away from the main hall where the ceremony will take place.
I silently curse that an imaginary bug cut short the tour I should have had from Sera when we first arrived because I really don’t know where to go.
There are signs nailed to the walls, pointing to beautiful room names, but I have no idea which room we are meeting in.
I remind myself Cristiano has hired pretty much the entire hotel so it’s unlikely I’ll go far wrong.
I turn into a corridor and follow the sound of voices. They’re coming from a room at the far end, but I’m curious to see what the other rooms look like. I decide to take a sneaky look before the rehearsal gets underway and I become swept up in the mayhem.
The first door to my left is called ‘Maine’. The interior is beautifully colonial—lots of white rattan furniture and nautical striped cushions. A large glass-topped table forms the focal point, reflecting the mid-morning sun.
I close the door softly and cross the corridor to another.
I push it open and step into the room. ‘Manhattan’ has a more masculine feel—dark wood paneling, gold picture lights and leather club chairs surrounding a solid wood boardroom table.
I decide I much prefer the other one and start to back out of the room.
But the door closes sharply and a hand wraps around my face, flattening my cheeks.
My body lights up everywhere, my core smoldering at the memory of last night.
Shamefully, I want nothing more than to feel his large hands on my thighs, beneath this beautiful dress, his tongue licking and probing at my lace underwear, my fingers wrapped around his erection…
But I’m already late and I’m wearing a bridesmaid dress for heaven’s sake.
I go to turn around, mumbling a weak protest into his palm, when the door flies open and Benito steps through it, his face contorting into something deadly.
It takes me too long to figure out what’s happening. Benito is standing in front of me. So, who is holding his hand over my mouth?
Alarmed, I try to scream but it’s muffled.
The hand squeezes me tighter, then I’m pulled back against a hard chest. Another hand whips out from behind me and points a gun at Benito.
I struggle against the chest but whoever has me in a headlock is freakishly strong.
I start to hyperventilate, unable to grasp air.
My brain scrambles. Why would anyone here want to kill Benito? Cristiano has this place locked down—anyone who isn’t a trusted guest or member of the wedding party is allowed within a two mile radius. Is there a traitor on the inside?
I try to shout “No!” but the word is absorbed by the solid palm.
My gaze darts frantically to Benito. He is eerily calm, as though he’s used to people attempting to assassinate him on a fairly regular basis.
He even drops his gaze to his phone, and types something out before sliding it into his pocket.
A soft exhale leaves his lips, then he says, “Put the gun down, Federico.”
What??
I somehow find strength I couldn’t before—perhaps it’s knowing that my childhood friend, my first, wouldn’t truly hurt me—and I duck out of his grasp, then spin around, my arms outstretched, hands braced.
The air is swiped from my lungs.
It is Federico—the boy I lost my virginity to three years ago. The boy I mourned for weeks, months, years after he left, who never wrote me back… until a couple of months ago.
“Fed…” I gasp, words forming on my tongue but not quite sailing on the air. “What are you doing?”
“What I promised I would do. Now get back Tess. You don’t want to see this.”
He cocks the gun and I don’t even think. I throw myself at him, knocking him backward into the table. Another click of metal sounds behind me.
“He’s right, Tess. Get out of the way.” Benito’s voice is low and vicious. “In fact, leave the room.”
My breath stutters and the room spins. Long fingers wrap around my wrist. “No, Tess. Stay.”
“Don’t you dare tell her what to do,” Benito growls. “You’re waving a fucking gun about like a child. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“A child?” Fed’s voice is unrecognizable and his hold on my arm is unyielding.
Yes, he was a boy when he left, but he’s not a boy anymore.
I glance at him through trembling lashes.
He’s filled out to twice the size and his cheekbones have emerged through a face of carved granite.
I swallow, unable to believe the person who coaxed me through my first sexual experience is the same person still wielding a firearm at the infamous Di Santo consigliere.
“I haven’t been a child since I watched you murder my uncle in cold blood.”
My eyes flick to Benito expecting him to deny it, but he doesn’t.
Somehow I know he wasn’t lying when he said Augie killed Mario, not him, but I guess a Di Santo kill is just that—a Di Santo kill.
The small matter of who pulled the trigger is irrelevant.
“Seeing something that evil makes you grow up pretty fast.”
“If you think that’s evil, why are you working with the Marchesi’s?” Benito grits out through a clenched jaw. “Have you forgotten how they killed Tess and Trilby’s mother?”
Federico lets go of my wrist, spins me around and pulls my face into his chest. His coarse whisper reaches my ears. “I’ve got you Tess. Don’t listen to him.”
I dare not move. I use the wall of flesh to hide away. I don’t want to confront any of this. All I know is Benito can do more than hurt me—he can rip out my heart and grind it beneath his foot. I’ve had a small taste of it and the pain is unbearable.
Fed has already given me his worst—he ignored me for over three years. And now he’s back.
Despite the hard lines of his chest, he’s still the softer of the two men.
He’s the one least likely to put me in compromising positions that I enjoy too damn much.
He’s the one who would listen to Cristiano when he says to keep away, because he’s sensible like that.
He doesn’t need to be prepared to lose everything simply because he can’t stay away.
I feel Benito’s glare on my back but I can’t move.
“Fury Marchesi doesn’t have anywhere near as much blood on his hands as you do,” Fed spits over my shoulder.
“That’s because he got his minions to do his dirty work for him,” Benito bites back. “And if you still think that’s tame, how about the nephews quartering Joe Bigelow and draping his bleeding corpse over a fucking boat and sailing it down the river for everyone—kids included—to see?”
“Fine.” Federico is trembling with anger. “If you want to talk kids, what about your former don’s child trafficking activities? Weren’t you serving him while he was off making deals with the cartel?”
I lift my head at the same time as my stomach drops. It can’t be true. I knew what Savero had planned—we all did—but only after Cristiano discovered it and killed his own flesh and blood, putting an immediate end to those plans. Had Benito known all along?
“I advised Gianni for seven years,” Benito grits out in a voice as low as the devil himself. “I inherited Savero. And, not that it’s any of your goddamn business, he didn’t let anyone in. Not even me.”
A shiver of relief ghosts down my spine.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he continues. “Why are you working with the Marchesi’s?”
Fed’s breathing steadies, then he says, “I’m not.”
I jerk my head up. “But… you said in your letter…”
“I thought I was,” Fed says, a look of discomfort eating into the corners of his eyes. “But the man I thought was a Marchesi is someone else.”
“Who?” I whisper up at him.
“He isn’t connected to either family,” Fed says, his glare boring into Benito. “But he’s been very helpful to me.”
“In what way?” Benito demands.
“Well,” Federico flicks the wrist holding the gun to check his watch. “I would say that, any second now, your precious restaurant is going to go up in flames.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benito’s voice dips to a new low and I genuinely fear for Federico’s life.