5. L’Homme Idéal
The morning sun’s rays wake me up by getting right into my face and just like that, I’m in for a bad day. I’m ninety percent sure I closed these stupid beige curtains yesterday when I went to sleep. Maybe I should count my blessings since it was grey, cold and rainy and today, the sun shines upon me.
I get my bearings, remembering where I am. Beige assaults my vision and I groan.
I’m ready to go shopping. The decor of this god-awful room is due for a makeover.
I didn’t get to ask Andrea why he needs me. Once I saw his face, I totally forgot logic and turned into a toddler throwing a tantrum. I’m more than aware of myself and my shortcomings. Not getting my way is the fastest way to send me into a rage. All my life, I’ve had to fight for everything, so it’s just a coping mechanism at this point. A child shouldn’t be left to their own devices because they’re deemed less, as their father only has eyes for their younger brother and trains him to be the perfect mafia capo.
But I need to get level-headed with my little shit of a husband because I get a feeling he fucking loves it when I fight and there’s no way in Hell I’m gonna give an inch of what he loves in life.
From what I’ve gathered when we lived in the UK with my cousin Lana, the Capaldi family is well embedded into the dark underworld, trading in guns, favours, protection and everything in between, acting like a middle-man for anything illegal you want to get your hands on. They’ve never touched drugs or the sex trade, but since Mario’s death ten years ago, it seems they’ve gone more quiet. I wonder why Andrea would need a fake wife and why he’d choose someone from a prominent drug family of the Mediterranean Sea. Though with Lana’s kidnapping, I guess I just happened to fall on his lap.
I prepare myself for battle with eyeliner, mascara and red lipstick, and walk the short corridor from my room to the living area, passing a few doors, one of which is left open. I peer inside. The bedroom has the same minimalistic decor as in mine, though the faint smell of tobacco and bitter oranges and the darker colours give me an indication of who it belongs to. Temptation to snoop and understand my husband is too great and I take a step inside, observing my surroundings without touching anything. I snort when I see the bottle of cologne on the dresser. L’Homme Idéal, by Guerlain. Right.
The sound of a coffee machine breaks my daydreaming.
I enter the open kitchen, expecting to come face to face with the man of my nightmares, but the features that greet me are not his. They belong to someone who looks like Andrea but is leaner and more tattooed, if that was even possible.
I saw Andrea’s younger brother through the cameras when his team rescued Lana but I wasn’t expecting him to be here, inside his brother’s house and making coffee. It’s all very domestic for a man who looks like he could kill you with half a thought.
The man’s clinical gaze peruses me from head to toe and gives nothing away. He takes a sip of his coffee, leaving me to wait until I can’t take the silence anymore.
“Nico,” I greet but make no effort to be polite. “Where’s your brother?”
Nico’s calculating blue gaze assesses me with the precision of a sniper. What he finds in me, I’m not sure, his angelic face remaining neutral. Where Andrea has long hair, his is cropped short and a lip and nose piercings complete the edgy look.
“Gone.”
O-kay.
“Where?”
The asshole just shrugs and I’m tempted to shake answers out of him. Before I can do any of that, he holds out a cup of steaming coffee, nodding for me to take it. The liquid is light brown and I take an experimental sip before closing my eyes, because fuck, there’s nothing like the first sip of coffee in the morning. It’s perfect. Strong with a dash of plant-based milk and maybe two or three brown sugar cubes. I know because cow milk tastes sour to me and brown sugar has a deep caramel under-taste I love.
“How do you know how I take my coffee?” I ask suspiciously.
Nico shrugs again. “I have a knack for analysing people.”
Before I can ask what he thinks of me—because why would I care—he asks again, “You ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Shopping.”
“And you’re what? Andrea’s errand boy?”
Nothing I say seems to phase my new brother-in-law. “I’m the person he trusts most. Now let’s go.”
Nico guides me to a door by the kitchen that leads to the garage, where a black Audi calls my name. It’s unfortunate that they drive on the other side of the road because I’d love to feel how smooth this baby is.
Once I’m settled in the passenger seat, Nico drives us out of the property. I stay silent as I reluctantly observe how gorgeous it is. It’s isolated and surrounded by a thick forest. The small dust road leading to the cottage is bordered by magnificent alder trees on both sides. Sanctuary is the word that comes to mind.
We make our way onto a national road before entering a modern highway that screams of a big city.
West Hill looks a lot like London, though it’s definitely smaller. My nose is almost to the window as I take everything in. We pass residential areas with cafes and people milling on and about, then hit a bit of traffic when we enter what I think might be the heart of the business district, with skyscrapers and lots of dudes in suits.
It’s almost forty minutes after we’ve left the house that Nico stops and parks on a long cobblestone street filled with high end boutiques. This place isn’t Kalliste; it isn’t warm and welcoming, familiar and vibrant, but it has charm and seems to have a rich history.
For the next three hours, I visit every shop. Most of them don’t carry my size, but those who do get the payday of the week.
I was determined to hate every step of this ridiculous process of settling in Andrea’s life, but spending two-hundred thousands pounds with my new husband’s credit card is something I want to do again very very soon. My father was well off growing up, but this level of luxury is new and exciting. A comfortable buzz takes hold of my body, and I ride the high the entire day.
I’m coming out of Kiki de Montparnasse lingerie shop with ten thousands pounds worth of goods when someone bumps into me, almost making me drop my bags to the ground. I wouldn’t care but I’m sure Nico would be mortified. He wisely skipped this one.
“My apologies, Miss. I was running and didn’t see you there. Can’t quite believe myself because you’re so gorgeous you’re hard to miss.”
Ugh.
I sidestep the middle-aged man in a suit, but he mirrors my move, and I tense up. I’ve been training in a boxing ring for years, but I don’t think my husband would be very happy with me if I ended up in a jail cell on my first day here.
“It’s a shame we’ve never met before.”
“I don’t come here often,” I say.
I could have just smiled and left but I had to open my goddamn mouth, giving him an opening for conversation.
“I gather from your accent that you’re not from here. How delightful. My name is Parker Addams. Here’s my card. I’m always happy to help a new face in the community. If you need a job or just want to make new friends.”
The exchange must last only a few seconds, but it’s already too long. Before I can refuse Addam’s card, Nico’s at my side, and I release a sigh of relief. The smile on the man’s face slowly vanishes when he recognises the man by my side. His voice trembles slightly when he asks me if I need help, and I snort.
“No, Mr. Addams, but thank you for your concern,” I say sarcastically. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re expected somewhere.”
I turn around and walk to the car, Nico in tow. My brother-in-law gives a look to the other man that would make me squirm if it was directed at me. He’s so intense. But I’m thankful for it. I shiver dramatically, shaking my shoulders from the lingering creepiness of the conversation.
“Are you okay?” Nico asks, though his voice doesn’t betray any emotion.
“Yeah. He was just weird.”
“He’s Andrea’s opponent.”
“Opponent? What do you mean?”
“Ask Andrea.”
I don’t think my brother-in-law likes me very much, but at least I get very clear solutions with him, which I appreciate. I can’t believe he dutifully followed me around without a complaint or a word. And he never rose to any of my incessant attempts at conversation, except this one. Granted, it was mostly to get dirt on his brother, but I have to say, I admire his strength.
When I get back into the cottage, I rush to my room. I change the sheets and replace them with the dark blue high-count-thread Egyptian cotton I bought, then place the pink and bright yellow throw pillows on the bed and the club seat. I already feel my anxiety quieting down to a manageable level.
Colours and textures have always quieted my mind and helped it not go into overdrive. This entire room was sending me into a panic.
Next, I remove all the towels from the bathroom and replace them with the fluffy dark blue ones that match the bedsheets. Anyone who has white towels in their bathroom is asking for blood on them. And in the Moretti Family, that can happen at any time.
I also bought amazing curtains with dark jungle patterns on them but even as nosy as I am, I don’t feel like looking everywhere for a ladder to do it myself. Instead, I place all the clothes I bought with Andrea’s money in the built-in closet on the other side of the room. There are a couple of extravagant gowns, but mostly, it’s everyday outfits that I love. Leather and jean jackets, tight denims that mould my ass and an assortment of loose tee shirts and blouses, without forgetting my iconic leather boots, high heels and a pair of white sneakers.
And of course, my Kiki de Montparnasse lingerie collection. Nothing else will do to fit my generous double D and size 16 ass.
As I pull the bras and panties out of their bags, a white card falls off. The paper is thick, what you would expect from a high end boutique, but there isn’t any logo on it. Just a note scrawled in a small masculine script.
Welcome back, Giulia.
Alarm bells ring in my head because I’ve never shopped there before. I take the computer I bought out of its packaging and plug in the USB key I carry everywhere with me. It has a couple of programs I’ve developed. The one I use now allows me to hack into the cameras of the Kiki de Montparnasse shop I was just in and review the time I was there. The angles are shit and I don’t really see the shop workers put the card in my bag, or not, but they do fumble with the four bags for a while, folding and packing all the items I got.
My stomach grumbles loudly, and I put the card in the drawer of the nightstand. I haven’t eaten all day. I feel bad for Nico. This isn’t unusual for me. I can get tunnel-vision when I’m doing something I love. And I loved spending Andrea’s money.
I haven’t heard from my dear husband and I’m getting antsy. I need to get to know him well if I have any hope of renegotiating our timeline or simply kill him in his sleep. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.
I enter the kitchen, determined to cook myself a meal though I don’t know any single recipe.
Andrea is at the stove, a man-bun well in place at the back of his head, giving him a laid-back aura I know is only a decoy, and an apron around his toned waist. A fucking apron.
I stop dead in my tracks, and he turns to me with the smirk of the Cheshire cat.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you today, guerrieritta. Did you get everything you needed?”
I shake my head out of my stupor and walk to the counter. “For now,” I say with a smile. “I hope you’re ready to lose a lot of money. I loved using your card today.”
I mean it as a taunt, but I”m not ready for the force of his attention on me and the darkening of his gaze. He walks the short distance that separates us, leans his nose into my hair and… inhales?
What the actual fuck.
“You can make a habit out of it, guerrieritta.” His voice drops low and rough, travelling across my skin like it belongs there.
My hand presses on his chest to keep him at bay.
“Get off me, Andrea. You’re being a creep.” My voice comes out breathy, his proximity making me feel dizzy.
He steps back and turns to the stove again.
“Are you cooking?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I am.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Andrea clamps his lips together to suppress a smile and I have half a mind to grab the bottle of wine and smack it on his head until he lumps on the floor at my feet. Where he fucking belongs.
He ignores me and asks if I’m hungry before fixing me a plate without waiting for my answer. He also serves me wine, but I don’t touch it. I don’t want to make a habit of casually drinking every day. Alcohol won’t be used against me ever again. Once a man you trusted makes you drink to get sexual favours, you learn to stay clear of what would alter your mind.
I dig in and fuck him, it’s delicious. A risotto with mushrooms and pumpkin and so many flavours I wish I could cut my tongue out instead of enjoying anything he made. He looks at me with intense focus and rather than getting lost in his gaze, I clear my throat, and breach the most important subject of my presence in his life.
“So, dear husband, are you gonna tell me what you need me for?”
“Say that again.”
“What?” I glance up and when our eyes meet, my breath hitches.
“I love it when you call me ‘husband’.”
“You’re deranged.”
He chuckles before sobering and answering my question.
“Considering you’re Alana’s spy, I guess you already know I own West Hill.”
I wave my hand at him to continue and he plants his elbows on the table, resting his chin on them. He looks like a king giving an audience and I can’t stop but stare, blinded by his ambition and drive.
“The next stepping stone of my ambitions is a seat in the City Council. The elections are in May and my campaign is about to start in full force.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Politics and the mafia don’t mesh well, guerrieritta.”
“I thought they actually did.”
“In private, certainly. In public, however, that’s a different story.”
I laugh mockingly. “You need me to clear your image.”
“I need you to help me win.”
“Same difference.”
I recline in my chair and consider him under the light of this new information.
Andrea Capaldi is a successful businessman. He owns multiple corporations, all in service of the local communities that also bring him loads of money. His father was also a prominent mafia figure, dealing mostly in guns and information. From my latest knowledge, he still has a hand in that. I’m sure that’s not appreciated with the high snobs of the political elite of this shit hole.
“You want to be perceived as a family man,” I suggest. That would make sense. Politics and family go hand in hand in the public eye, no matter what happens behind closed doors.
“I want to be perceived as the best option, if not the only one, and a beloved one at that. How fantastic that my wife has a talent for winning crowds and gathering secrets?”
I’m used to getting disregarded by men and in general. They see my boobs and ass, the provocative clothes and the unapologetic way I walk in the world and assume I have no brains. I fucking love to put them in their place. Andrea’s display of confidence unsettles me. Respect has been hard earned with me collecting secrets for our family, and leveraging my knowledge to our gain. Having his, without demanding it, is … new.
I don’t like it.
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice. Will that be all, dear husband?”
His eyes dull, and his lips turn down.
“We entered a mutually beneficial agreement, Giulia. I already saved your cousin and agreed to your conditions. Now, I’m asking for you to play your part.”
The steel of his voice and the set of his jaw show me that he’s also not used to being challenged. I’d love nothing more than to do just that but unfortunately, he’s right. We entered a contract, and it’s my turn to pay up.
“I know what our lives and our contract entail, Andrea. But I don’t have to like it. I’ll play the dutiful wife outside these walls, but don’t think for a second that I won’t make your life miserable just for the fun of it.”
If he thought he was getting a meek little wife, he’s in for a fucking reckoning.
The smile is back on his gorgeous face and I’m shocked to think that I missed it for the few seconds it disappeared. I must be drunk.
“Like spending 200,000 pounds in a day?”
“That’s just collateral damage for making me live here. A gentleman wouldn’t even mention it.”
“No one ever called me a gentleman, guerrieritta.” His voice sounds like sin and I don’t miss the innuendo but decide to ignore my heart skipping a beat. I take a centering breath instead.
“So, what’s on our agenda?” I ask.
“We’ll start tomorrow by going out to dinner. We need to be seen spending quality time together, start the rumour mill. I’ll need your ring size right now so I can order your wedding band.”
“How romantic.”
“I thought you wanted this to be purely business, guerrieritta?” he purrs.
I have no snarky comeback, and I hate him for it. I try to appear nonchalant, but we both know I lost this round.
“Of course. Though, please get yourself one, as well. You need to show that your playboy days are behind you, fully commit to the costume. What else? Any function I should be aware of? I just spent 200,000 pounds, but I’m happy to spend more to look presentable. You know, as your wife.”
He swipes his hand on his jaw, the sound of his skin against his stumble enough to trigger my ASMR response, little tingles scratching the back of my brain delightfully. I’m sure he’s doing it to hide his cocky smile. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself. How sad. He must not go out a lot if I’m the source of his entertainment.
“We have a fundraiser in two weeks. That will really kickstart my campaign. After that, it’s more fundraisers, press conferences, debates and the like.”
“Sounds boring, but I’ll be there every step of the way. Let’s get you elected, Mr. Capaldi.”
I hold out my hand to shake on it, but he takes it and brings his supple lips to my fingers, letting them rest there while holding my gaze.
The air changes between us, heavy and charged. My breath catches in my throat, and I wet my suddenly dry lips with the tip of my tongue. I cough to dispel the intensity of the moment and force my pace to slow as I leave the room to go hide away.