Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Nicolò
The quickest way to tell if a family is at the top or still fighting for it is to spend a few minutes in the don’s home.
There’s a tension in this one that simply doesn’t exist in the Di Santo residence.
The men whisper in hushed tones, the staff doesn’t make eye contact, and there’s a tense vibration in the air that chills the skin.
I’ve watched every man who entered the room, each one ill at ease. What I can’t figure out is why. Alessio isn’t the formidable head of the family I’ve assumed all these years. His body is weak and his mouth twisted from the strain of barking orders that aren’t always carried out.
The scene has comforted me a little. I don’t fear for Bambalina’s safety and something tells me Alessio isn’t champing at the bit to fuck her either.
He has plenty other things on his mind and I wonder how far toward the front a potential alliance with the Russians is.
I agree with my brother: the Bratva won’t align with an Italian family, but they might lead one to believe it’s a possibility. And that is equally as dangerous.
I’m not afforded the luxury of a housekeeper or other member of the house staff taking me to my ‘rooms.’ Instead, one of Alessio’s men leads me to a room in the opposite wing where I’ll be staying until the wedding.
The man is pleasant enough, explaining where I’m able to walk freely, and where in the house is off-limits—for now.
He also explains that, as her chaperone, I’m to bring Bambalina down to dinner for seven pm.
I check my messages and watch the clock until six-forty-five, then I make my way across the house to Bambalina’s suite.
Alessio’s man has explained where it is, but I still take a slight detour to familiarize myself with the new surroundings.
The house feels less like a home and more like a series of war rooms. Through the few open doors I pass, I see tens of TV screens set up, with men watching them closely, wearing headsets.
And the staff seems to generally keep to the ground floor.
I find Lina’s room and knock softly.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
Footsteps rush to the door and she opens it quickly. The second I step inside her room and close the door, she falls into my arms.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to feel her. Like any good trauma victim, I’ve managed to block out the memory and the call of my limbs to focus on everything else that dictates our survival through this minefield.
“Nicolò.” She sighs my name into my shirt like she’s been holding it in her throat all day.
Clutching her to my chest, I stroke a hand down her hair. “I’m here, baby.”
After several minutes like this, she pulls back and lifts her gaze to my face. It’s filled with resignation and finality. And that breaks my heart.
“This isn’t forever,” I remind her. “I’m going to get you out of here. I don’t know how yet, but I will do it. You are not marrying that man.”
She sucks in a breath, alarm fluttering across her features.
She forces determination into her voice making her sound much older than her eighteen years. “I am, Nicolò. You heard Cristiano. We need this alliance to secure the future of the family. This is my purpose. I’ve accepted it—you have to accept it too.”
I shake my head vehemently. “I don’t believe that. There is another way, and I’m going to find it. Trust me.”
She drops her gaze, curling her fingers around mine as if to reassure me. “I know you want to give me hope, Nicolò, but I’m going to be okay. You have to let me do this—for my father.”
I press my lips into her hair. “You’re my stepsister, Bambalina, I’m going to protect you. I’m supposed to protect you. It’s what I was born to do.”
“Is that why you killed Dario?” she asks, a suspicious glint in her eye.
I almost jerk back in surprise at the question, having always thought Lina was a little like my mom in the sense she preferred to pretend nothing untoward was going on inside the bulletproof walls of the Di Santo family.
“I didn’t kill him,” I reply.
Her face brightens instantly and I breathe out with relief. “One of my soldiers did.”
She reaches up to my shoulder and touches the collar of my shirt. “Is that why you have blood here?”
I look over my shoulder, mentally cursing my sloppiness.
“Um yeah, collateral damage.”
The truth is, I killed the man with my bare hands. First one in years. No soldier in sight. I can’t seem to help myself where Lina is concerned. But I had a hunch she doesn’t exactly get turned on by homicide, and I guessed right.
Her shoulders drop. “I love that you want to protect me, Nicolò, but can you imagine what would happen if you didn’t let me go through with this?”
She leaves the question to hang in the air as I allow the story to play out for a few seconds in my head.
The small chance we have of getting extra manpower on the streets would be lost. The Russians would continue their assault on our businesses, on our men, on the people who trust us.
We could be slowly eradicated in New York. And that might only be the beginning.
None of us know how many Russians Morozov has on the ground, how many he’s shipping into the country for this fight. New York might not be enough for him. He might want Boston too… Where would it end?
I slowly drop my gaze and she reads it like a well-thumbed book, then speaks her conviction in soft, determined tones.
“You have to understand, Nicolò, by letting me do this for our family, you are protecting me.”
My face falls before I can stop it. “But what about you, Lina? What about what you want?”
A sweet, sad smile breaches her lips. “What I want hasn’t changed. But what I can have has.”
“You can always have me,” I whisper. “Whenever you want and however you want. Just say the words.”
She blinks slowly then looks deeply into my eyes. “That isn’t true and you know it. But there is one thing you can give me.”
My heart has thundered down into my stomach. “Anything. Anything at all.”
She tilts her chin up, her lips full, ripe and wanting. “A final kiss.”
My heart catches on the word ‘final’ but all I hear is ‘kiss,’ and that’s all I’ve wanted to do since we walked into the living room back home.
I sink into her for a few long, mindless moments, then an awareness of the clock ticking pulls me back.
I open the door reluctantly and we walk out onto the landing. The stairs are only a few paces away and we’re walking down them in no time. One of Alessio’s men from earlier is standing at the foot ready to direct us to the dining room.
Letting Lina walk ahead, I allow my eyes to search the room so I know where the exits are, who is sitting where, whose expressions are blank and whose are overly interested.
Most expressions fall into the latter camp which doesn’t surprise me.
As far as I’ve been able to gather, Bambalina is the first woman to have captured Alessio’s interest in a long while.
Only a few women are seated and they’ve been positioned at the furthest end from Alessio who presides over everyone at the head of the long table.
He looks up as Lina enters, eye-catching in a conservative dress that covers her arms and knees.
Her outfit is a world away from the sexy red dress and gold one I violated her in, and I’m grateful for that.
If she’d worn either of those the men around the table wouldn’t be merely interested; they’d be drooling.
Alessio nods to the chair beside him and Lina begins the long walk past interrogative eyes to the head of the table.
When he flicks his glance to me it’s with a nod to the very bottom of the table.
I take my seat, watching those seated at the top of the table, my eyes on Fiero.
The eldest son stands as Lina approaches and flicks another curious glance at me.
The same glance he shot at us when we arrived.
Clearly, his father hasn’t filled him in on this latest development.
“Bambalina, this is Fiero, my eldest son.”
Fiero’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he bends to kiss Lina on the cheek. I wonder, with some discomfort, if he knows about us. Then again, how could he? I’ve only met him twice and he’s never met Lina before. He knows she’s my stepsister. It makes sense that I would chaperone her.
“This is Remo,” Alessio says as the second son I met in Fiero’s club stands and greets Lina. “And this is Cassio and over there, Brando,” Alessio says, barely giving either of them a glance.
“Great,” one of them mutters, not bothered by the fact the whole table can hear. “Our new stepmom is younger than us.”
My gaze lifts to Lina as she lowers carefully to her seat and she flushes a deep red. She heard.
The kid that spoke is too pretty for his own good. And cocky. I make a mental note to shove him up against a wall later and show him the shape of my fist, but Fiero shoots me a glare like he just read my mind.
The fourth son doesn’t say a word. He just watches, turning his dinner knife over and over repeatedly, like it’s some kind of self-soothing device.
Further introductions reveal three of Alessio’s most senior men—a wiry consigliere and two bored-looking capos.
Then there are two cousins, Marco and Luigi, and their seemingly brow-beaten mother who seems to be heavily reliant on the red wine she’s gripping like a life raft.
A young girl sits opposite Alessio’s two younger sons, tossing her blond hair about and teasing their persistent seriousness.
Servants ladle soup into bowls and the clatter of cutlery drowns out the sound of Alessio’s conversation with the men sitting closest to him.
I look up the length of the table and notice Lina’s fingers trembling so hard she can hardly eat her soup.
A sudden flood of hatred winds its way up my spine and I glance at Fiero.
He’s watching me watching Lina, but his expression is neutral.
He nods once in an unspoken agreement. He and I will talk. Not here and not yet, but soon.
After several minutes, the soup bowls are cleared and dinner plates laid. We are served the softest veal and the freshest vegetables. Alessio has a good cook, I note with some reluctance.
As I settle into the evening, I watch Lina doing her part.
She speaks only when spoken to, asking only the right questions when it’s her turn, showing interest in correct things.
Alessio’s interest seems to increase a little over the course of the dinner.
It should please me because that can only bode well for our alliance, but it feels like a knife has been jabbed deep into my chest and someone is twisting it slowly.
She only looks down the table a couple of times, but when she does, her eyes find mine instantly and her shoulders soften.
It’s this that I focus on and not the unbridled urge to stride the few paces to the head of the table, rip the head off this family’s don and tear the room apart. There’ll be time for that.
After the dessert plates are emptied, Alessio rests his elbows on the table and gives Bambalina his full attention. “You are a beautiful woman,” he says, as though he’s appraising a portrait in a gallery. “You’ll be happy here.”
An iron fist curls around my lungs making me want to lash out.
Lina is beautiful. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
But she’s so much more than that. She’s kind and loving and considerate.
She’s a devoted sister and daughter. A talented photographer—and writer.
Alessio can only see what’s on the surface and that makes me livid.
She blinks up at him but her shoulders are, once again, stiff.
“You will want for nothing. You will be escorted wherever you need to go, provided with everything you need—clothes, jewels, riches. As a Bellucci wife, you’ll be granted luxuries others can only dream of.”
Lina blinks, choosing her words carefully and with a view to survival.
“Thank you. I’ll do my best to be worthy of your hospitality, and loyal to this family.”
My fists curl beneath the table and an unvoiced growl makes my throat ache.
Silence stretches, filled only by the clink of cutlery being cleared away and the low hum of distant conversation. Alessio studies her for a long moment, his expression neutral. Lina’s hands flex over her napkin, but she meets his gaze with quiet composure.
The room feels colder when she finally looks away—as if everyone at the table knows something has just been set in motion, and there’s no turning it back.