Chapter 6
Isabella
If I’d ever been given a say in the matter, I would have chosen to live in Westport. Though I loved the sea views at Amagansett where I spent the last year in my gilded cage, I prefer the lush greenery that surrounds the Volantes’ Connecticut mansion. The gardens are amazing. Hopefully, I’ll have a chance to explore them because I didn’t the last time I was here. Antonio and I came to the house for a few nights after we got married and barely left the bedroom. Things will be different this time, I guess. Nobody’s trying to pretend our marriage is the romance of the century anymore.
Since we left New York, with Antonio at the wheel of his gray Audi SUV and two similar cars following, barely a dozen words have passed between us. It’s clear my husband is not in the mood for conversation. His body language is closed off. His shoulders are tense, his mouth set in a firm line. Though the silence is unnerving, I don’t try to fill it. If Antonio doesn’t want to speak to me, that’s fine.
As we pull up at the gates of the mansion, they swing open to let us through. There are men armed with AR-15s standing outside the guardhouse to welcome us. Security is as tight here as it was at the house in the city. I guess since I helped the Gallos bypass his guards, Antonio has brought in extra measures at all the family’s properties. My husband won’t take any chances with the lives of those he cares about. That fierce protectiveness is one thing I always loved about him.
While the other cars split off from our convoy and head for the guards’ accommodations, Antonio drives us to the front of the house. Glimpses of light shine through the glass panel above the heavy wooden door. I wonder if anyone’s inside. Janetta, the Volantes’ housekeeper, may be there. I hope she is. The older woman would provide a welcome buffer between me and my taciturn husband.
After killing the engine, Antonio gets out of the car. I wait for him to come around to my side and open the door. Though he probably doesn’t feel like being chivalrous toward me right now, his manners are too deeply ingrained for him to leave me to get out of the car on my own. He wouldn’t want his men to see any signs of discord between us. Appearances matter.
Besides, as he reaches in and grabs my arm in a tight grip, it becomes clear he doesn’t trust me not to run off. It isn’t something I would do. I’d not get very far and I don’t want to embarrass myself or Antonio. The punishment he would mete out isn’t worth it.
He leads me into the house and releases my arm. “Stay.”
Though I object to being spoken to as if I’m a dog, I bite my tongue and do as I’m told. Antonio goes back outside and reappears a moment later with my suitcase. I found several outfits still hanging in the closet in Antonio’s—our—bedroom at the townhouse. Antonio didn’t need to bring anything but his laptop with him since he keeps a full wardrobe at both houses. He puts the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, ready to take up to the bedroom later.
“Janetta left dinner.” His tone is clipped. My heart sinks as I realize that probably means the housekeeper has left us alone for the night. “Do you want to eat in the dining room or in the kitchen?”
I’m surprised he’s letting me make the choice, but I don’t even need to think about it. “The kitchen.”
While I love the dining room with its huge oval table and comfy high-backed wooden chairs, it’s a formal space meant for dinner parties. There’s a chandelier hanging over a table, permanently set with fancy porcelain plates and silver cutlery. The room is beautiful, but it isn’t cozy like the kitchen. There’s more chance of easing the tension between us if we eat in a more relaxed setting. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.
“The kitchen it is.”
Antonio leads the way along the corridor toward the back of the house. I glance at the black and white photographs on the wall as we pass. Most of the faces staring out from them are familiar, and I feel a pang of regret that I haven’t seen my husband’s family for so long. I particularly miss Matteo and Gio, the youngest of the brothers who isn’t cut out for the world he was born into.
As I spot someone I don’t recognize in the family portraits, I stop dead. “Who’s this with Alessandro?”
Antonio’s younger brother has his arm around a pretty girl, who’s resting her head on his shoulder. There’s a look of peace and contentment on her face I can’t help envying. They make a stunning couple. Alessandro must be serious about her if she made it onto this wall.
“That’s Emilia.” Antonio carries on walking. “His wife.”
My jaw drops. “His wife?” I jog to catch up with Antonio. “Alessandro got married?”
“Six months ago.” He glances down at me. “Nobody mentioned it?”
I shake my head. Antonio’s men sometimes barked orders at me, but they didn’t talk to me otherwise. We certainly didn’t chat about what was happening with the family over coffee and cake. Rico made it clear from the start that anything going on outside the walls of my luxurious prison was none of my business. War could have broken out and nobody would have bothered to tell me.
“I can’t believe he’s married.”
Alessandro’s a decent guy, but I didn’t think he was the type to settle down, not yet anyway.
I follow Antonio into the kitchen, and an incredible aroma of garlic and red wine hits me. Unless I’m very much mistaken, Janetta has made us Peposo, my favorite Tuscan stew.
“Did I miss any other big news?”
As I climb onto one of the high stools at the island in the center of the room, Antonio opens the bottle of Chianti that’s sitting on the countertop. I can’t prevent my lips from turning up at the corners. Janetta knows that’s my favorite wine, not his. It’s a subtle indication she’s on my side and I need someone on my team, even if they’re unlikely to show it openly.
“Depends what you consider big news, I guess.” Antonio pours two glasses of wine and slides one across the marble countertop toward me. “Leo got married a couple of days ago.”
It’s lucky he told me that before we started eating dinner because I might have choked. It’s the last thing I expected to hear. Leo Volante is a complete asshole, especially when it comes to women. He’s fucked his way through half of New York and doesn’t regret discarding his conquests once he’s done with them. He hasn’t got a gentle bone in his body, except when it comes to his mother. With a serious penchant for violence and a mile-wide streak of arrogance, he’s not an easy man. I can’t imagine what sort of woman would take him on.
“That’s monumental news. Who’s the blushing bride?”
Antonio purses his lips in what I take to be disapproval. “There wasn’t a lot of blushing going on.”
Ah, Leo’s new bride must have a mind of her own. That’s almost guaranteed to land a woman on Antonio’s shit list.
“So who is she?”
“Vinnie Bianchi.”
My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out. “Wait, what? Are you talking about Carlo Bianchi’s son?”
“Daughter.” Antonio drags a stool around to his side of the breakfast bar so he doesn’t have to sit shoulder to shoulder with me. “Venezia Bianchi. She goes by Vinnie.”
“So Carlo’s mysterious second son is actually a daughter?”
“That’s right.”
For years, people have wondered about Carlo’s second child, supposedly a son he sent away to be raised abroad. It takes me a moment to process the fact he has a daughter and that she’s married to Leo. I want to ask how that came about since the Bianchis and Volantes are mortal enemies, but Antonio scowls and I take that to mean the topic is now closed.
As he picks up his glass and rolls the stem between his fingers, I can’t help staring at Antonio’s hands. They’re strong and masculine, capable of choking the life out of a person. His fingers are long and elegant. Heat rises to my cheeks as I consider the incredible things they’re able to do.
Antonio clears his throat. When I glance at him, his expression is one of expectation. I furrow my brow, confused. What does he want from me?
“Dinner’s in the oven,” he says eventually.
It takes me another moment to realize he’s waiting for me to serve him. I could call him out for expecting his wife to dish up his food for him, but this isn’t a hill I’m willing to die on. Before our time is over, I’m sure there’ll be much more important issues for me to take a stand on.
I slide off my stool and go to the oven, acutely aware that Antonio is watching me. The aroma that hits me when I open the door makes my mouth water. Though I’m a decent cook, I haven’t mastered Tuscan cuisine the way Janetta has.
Grabbing the padded mitts to protect my hands, I take a heavy casserole dish from the oven and set it down on the countertop. Then I bring out a shallow, rectangular dish filled with creamy polenta. I find plates in a cabinet near the stove and grab a serving spoon from the drawer, which also contains the cutlery we’ll need to eat the meal.
I serve up a generous portion of food for Antonio and a smaller one for me, and carry the plates and cutlery to the breakfast bar. I place Antonio’s food in front of him. He doesn’t say thank you, just takes me serving him as his due. I guess he’s reserving his good manners for when people might be watching.
Again, it’s not something I want to start an argument over. Tamping down my irritation, I scoop up some of the stew and pop it in my mouth. It’s instantly comforting, the familiar flavors carrying my mind back to a happier time. The red wine dominates, but the garlic also comes through. The beef is so tender it melts in my mouth.
“This is good.” My remark is intended to start a conversation. “Janetta hasn’t lost her touch.”
“I wouldn’t keep her around if she had.” Antonio is typically dispassionate. The woman has worked for his family for decades, yet he talks so casually about discarding her. It’s a harsh reminder that everyone’s disposable as far as Antonio is concerned.
Silence falls again as we continue to eat. I take sips of the dry red wine and cast the occasional glance at my husband. It’s funny the things you miss about a person. The way the corners of Antonio’s lips turn upward when he’s enjoying a meal is one of them. He takes his time to savor each mouthful.
The longer we go without speaking, the more uncomfortable I become. I don’t know why Antonio brought me all the way out here if he doesn’t want to talk. If he thinks he’s going to act as if I don’t exist until he wants to fuck me, he’s in for a shock. I won’t let him ignore me.
“Tell me about my new sisters-in-law. What are they like?”
He shoots me a glare as if he believes I’m asking about things I have no right to know. I stare back at him, refusing to cower in the face of his contempt. He heaves in a breath and puts his fork down.
“Emilia’s Italian. She’s a couple of inches shorter than you, brunette, slim.”
“Really? What’s her shoe size?”
Antonio frowns, and I roll my eyes. “I don’t want her vital statistics. I want to know what she’s like.”
Antonio considers the question for so long I think he’s not going to answer. Then he takes a sip of wine and sets his glass back down.
“She’s quiet, kind, a bit na?ve in some ways, and sharp as a tack in others. She recently bought a hotel in Soho. It’s doing well.”
His praise is grudging. It’s no doubt a struggle for him to get to grips with the Volantes having a career woman in their midst. When Antonio and I married, he made it clear that any competition outside of the house would not be an option.
“Does Alessandro love her?”
Antonio stares at me, eyebrows arched, as if my question is ridiculous. “He’d put a bullet in anyone who hurt her.”
I guess in my husband’s world that’s what passes for love. I yearn to hear him tell me that he’d kill anyone who hurt me, but I’m not about to set myself up for disappointment.
“And Vinnie? What’s she like?”
“I don’t know her.”
“Well, was it a nice wedding?”
Antonio shrugs. “I wasn’t there.”
This is painful, like talking to a reluctant stranger. We’re intimately acquainted with each other’s bodies, but in many respects, it’s as if we’ve only just met. This conversation is like a tennis match, with questions and clipped responses being batted back and forth across the breakfast bar. It doesn’t feel like a game I can win, but I’m not ready to give up yet. I’ve got to get Antonio talking.
“What about Matteo and Gio? Either of them planning to settle down?”
“No.” Antonio’s jaw clenches. The way he’s acting, you’d think I was trying to get to his deepest, darkest secrets, not make polite conversation about the family I married into.
“How’s Livvy?”
I’ve been hesitant to ask about his sister, not because I don’t want to know how she is, but because I don’t want to let something slip. I’m worried about Livvy. She’s the reason I blew up my marriage in such a spectacular fashion. When I let Joey Gallo and his attack dog Vito into the house, I was trying to protect my young sister-in-law. Telling Antonio that would go a long way toward fixing our relationship, but I can’t betray Livvy’s trust. The poor girl can’t breathe with five overprotective brothers hovering around her.
“Olivia’s a pain in the ass.”
It’s always annoyed me that neither Antonio nor Leo calls their only sister by the pet name the rest of the family uses for her. It’s like they want to keep their distance.
“Cut her some slack. She’s young.”
Antonio snorts derisively. “She’s old enough to settle down.”
My heart sinks as I realize what he’s saying. “You’re going to arrange a marriage for her?”
“It’s time.”
That pisses me off. Livvy isn’t even twenty yet. I set down my cutlery. “You can’t do that, Antonio. Look how badly it worked out for…” I resist saying us because I don’t want to open the door to that discussion yet. “Giulia.”
“If you’re talking about Giulia Costanza, that worked out well for her. I believe she inherited a small fortune when Johnny died.”
“You think money makes up for what she went through?”
Giulia was forced to marry a man older than her father. Johnny Lombardi was a short, balding pig who used his money to buy one of the sweetest women on the planet. God alone knows what horrors she suffered on her wedding night. I wish I’d been there to comfort her, but I’d already been exiled by then.
“I think she came out of it pretty well and I’ve ordered her father to let her enjoy her freedom.”
My eyebrows shoot upward. I did not expect that. “You have?”
“Yes, Isabella, I have. Contrary to what you might think, I’m not a totally heartless bastard. I won’t let the Costanzas force another unsuitable alliance on her, and I won’t marry my sister off to anyone who isn’t worthy of her.”
“But still…”
Antonio slams a hand down on the countertop, making me jump. “I will do what’s best for my family. You will keep your opinions to yourself. Is that clear?”
Tears sting my eyes. It’s not just the chastising tone in my husband’s voice, but the fact he’s suggesting his family has nothing to do with me. No matter what he may think, the Volantes are important to me.
“Is that clear?” he demands.
“Yes, Antonio.”
Wounded, I give my full attention to my dinner. The food doesn’t taste as good anymore, but I force myself to eat every bite, so Antonio has no further reason to find fault with me. I polish off the stew with unseemly haste, finishing at the same time as Antonio.
“Would you like some dessert?” I ask, though I’m not sure if Janetta prepared any. There’s usually gelato in the freezer, if nothing else. “Coffee?”
“No, Isabella.” Antonio sounds weary rather than irritated. “I want some peace and quiet.”
Taking the hint, I get up, grab my plate and reach for Antonio’s, intending to clear everything away.
“Leave it,” Antonio barks. “Janetta can deal with it in the morning.”
We didn’t have a housekeeper when I was growing up, so I’m used to cleaning up my own mess.
“It’s fine. I can just…”
“Leave it, Isabella. Go to bed.”
His tone is firm, but I still hesitate.
“I…”
“Now, Isabella,” he growls, “before I take you over my knee.”
Though I’m tempted to challenge him to do it, I hold my tongue. Being draped over Antonio’s knee while he spanks me would open up a range of emotions I can’t deal with right now. So I do the only thing I can. I set my plate back down on the countertop, turn and flee.