Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
S arah
Marco takes Robert and Bella back. Vincent had offered to let them stay here. However Robert, with his typical tact and delicate sensibilities, declined the “gangster getaway package.” We made plans to meet again for a full practice as well as a light refresher before this weekend’s performance. Bella and Robert still have to make their normal classes and sessions after all, and this week has an extra performance slipped into the schedule. In the spirit of the upcoming Halloween season, the company is putting on a masquerade formal, with another showing of the tragic ending just to add a little extra spice to it.
Marie introduces me to some more members of the household staff, whom she all seems to know by name, before walking me back to my room.
“Thanks. I would have gotten lost.”
“Of course. I suppose this place is a bit of a maze until you get used to it.” She gives me another kind smile and disappears when I turn to open the door. She must be part fairy considering the way she just materializes and then silently vanishes.
Inside, I strip off my sweaty clothes and head straight for the shower. After thoroughly washing, I lie on my stomach on the now warm tile floor of the shower, my face resting on my arm and the hot water pounding along my back and legs. I’m almost lulled to sleep when I hear the bathroom door open.
“You know, kitten, I’m getting used to finding you naked when I walk in the room.” Vincent’s deep voice carries over the pattering of the shower.
“Happy to be of service, sir .” I try to add a sultry tone to my voice.
He growls.
I smile. Mission accomplished.
The water turns off. I twist and find him holding a towel out towards me. “While I hate to do it, you should get dressed. Dinner time.”
He pulls me to my feet and wraps the plush, oversized towel around my body. Using it as a handle, he pulls me close and kisses me, his teeth lightly nipping against my bottom lip. A shiver runs down my spine.
I look around the bathroom for the pile of discarded clothes I left earlier, though they seem to have vanished.
“Umm, about that dressing thing. Do you know where my clothes went?”
“Probably to be washed. Marie dropped some things off for you. They are in the closet.”
I laugh. “Of course she did. Who is this woman?”
Vincent smiles, warmth shining out from his dark eyes. “She basically makes the place run. Her mother worked here, so she grew up with Marco and I. Kind of like a stepsister.” He gives my towel another yank. “Clothes. Dinner. Now.”
I giggle when he playfully smacks my ass as I walk out of the bathroom.
The walk-in closet is massive. Naturally the majority of it is filled with neatly hung menswear, accessories, and I’m almost positive the giant safe in the back corner is made for guns. Because why not?
A small area has been cleared out, and a selection of women’s clothing is hanging there. Several drawers are left pulled open, and I see they are filled with underwear, loungewear, and pajamas. Shoes in their boxes are lined up neatly on a floor shelf. Everything is mysteriously in my size.
“What kind of clothes?” I yell over my shoulder.
“Whatever you like,” Vincent says from right behind me.
“Holy shit!” I shriek, clutching my chest. “Where did you come from?” I never heard him come into the room.
He laughs and makes a faux Dracula voice. “I fear you are underestimating the sneakiness.”
“I’m sorry, did the head of the mafia just quote an Adam Sandler movie at me?”
He shrugs. “What? We watch movies. In between the whacking and stuff.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the clothes. I grab a luxuriously soft cable knit sweater in a light mauve color, and a pair of ankle-cut black trousers. There happens to be a pair of patent black flats with light pink trim and cute little golden bows on the tops that pair nicely. I start to rummage through the bra and underwear drawer before turning an accusatory eye at Vincent.
Holding up one of the many matched sets that include a barely-there thong, I say, “I’m sensing a theme here.”
He just shrugs and walks out of the closet, whistling innocently.
I finish dressing and return to the bathroom to comb out my hair. I notice a neat row of hair and skin care products, as well as makeup. The same makeup I wear. Naturally.
I finish pulling my hair into a half-up ponytail and lightly dust some make up on before joining Vincent. He extends an elbow as if he’s escorting me to a ball.
We walk through the confusing web of hallways before finding ourselves back at Lina’s cafe. The little tables have been replaced with a dining table set for two, and soft music drifts down. I realize a window is actually a TV screen, which is showing a clip of a busy European street, the pedestrians dressed for dinner and strolling down the brick and cobblestone sidewalks, lights from the street side cafe seating illuminating their faces. Some are smiling, and most are caught up in animated conversation with friends and family.
“Where is this?” I ask.
“Rome. It’s a livestream. Thought it might provide a little entertainment.”
“That’s so cool. I’ve never heard of that before.”
He just smirks.
“Oh, right, because you’re you.”
He pulls out my chair and gestures for me to sit. “Because I’m me.”
A waiter materializes and unfolds a crisp white napkin into my lap before filling our glasses with a white wine. A ridiculously good white wine.
“The chef is amazing. He can make anything you’d like, but I had to take a guess for tonight.”
“Well, you’ve been right so far.” I point at my wine.
The waiter reappears with help, and the two of them set out a small spread of grilled salmon and a colorful salad with a collection of dressings, from a creamy poppyseed to several vinaigrettes. A basket of bread, wrapped in a linen cloth, completes the display, the heavenly fresh-baked scent quickly filling the room. He places serving utensils in the dishes and empty plates in front of each of us. The wine glasses are topped off before the bottle is left nestled in an ice bucket at the side of the table.
“Ladies first, of course.” Vincent sips his wine, watching me with smoldering dark eyes.
It occurs to me that the meal is set up so I can pick out my own portions, rather than have the staff set up a plate for me. It’s adorably considerate. Damn it.
The meal is amazing, as promised.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out, as a bite of salmon melts with butter and lemon and spice across my tongue.
“I told you he was good.”
“You weren’t lying.” I refill my wine, the pleasant buzz already making my lips tingle. “Well, dear , how was work? Tough day at the office?”
Vincent smiles but lets out a tired sigh. “It was—” he pauses, as if looking for the right word, “long. Complicated.”
“Figure out who is trying to kill you yet?”
Something dark flashes in his eyes ever so briefly.
“How was your dance lesson today?” He promptly changes the subject.
“Amazing. I don’t know how you got Madame LeReoux. She’s probably the most well-regarded instructor in the city. A bit terrifying, but amazing.”
“And your friends?”
“Robert is, well, Robert. Bella is terrified of doing both parts, but honestly, she’s a natural. Between rehearsals with Robert and lessons with Madame, she’s going to rock it, even if her first performance is right around the corner.” I sigh. “I wish I could see it.”
Vincent regards me for several moments, his eyes searching my face while absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the checkered tablecloth.
“Are people still trying to kill you? More than is usual?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You dodged my question earlier.”
“You’re in enough danger as it is.”
I swirl the wine around in my glass. We sit in silence for several minutes, before Vincent clears his throat.
“What do you want to do when you retire?” he asks.
“I always wanted to open a ballet school, like my mother.”
He gives a little nod, encouraging me to keep talking.
“Dancing… it’s the way I feel closest to her. And it helped me become who I am. To appreciate what I can give the world that maybe no one else can. I know it probably sounds stupid, it’s not like I’m saving lives or anything. But the world is ugly enough, and if you can make it more beautiful, you should. I’d like to give that to someone else.” I blink several times, preventing the wash of emotion from taking over.
“You miss her,” Vincent states.
“Yes.”
“What happened?” he asks, his dark eyes focused on mine.
“Who is trying to kill you?”
He sighs again. “Someone is making a move to take over the organization.” That dark flash of emotion flickers in his gaze again.
“You’re holding out on me.”
“So are you,” he counters.
I shrug and gesture across the table to suggest that the floor is all his.
He runs his hand through his hair and mutters something in Italian. “My former in-laws.”
“You were married?” I don’t know why it’s shocking, but somehow it is. “Where is she?”
His eyes have a solemn, haunted look. “She died.”
“I’m sorry. So did my mother.” I sniffle. “She was killed, actually. My father killed her. I saw it. I was hiding in the closet.”
Vincent grabs my hand, rubbing the back of it. “Is that why you’re claustrophobic?” he asks.
I nod. “It was a long time ago,” I tell him, wiping under my eyes.
“So was my wife. Loss is loss.”
“Why is her family trying to kill you?”
He pauses. Finally, he says softly, “She died because of me. The doctor said it was a pregnancy complication, that no one could have seen it coming.” After a beat he adds, “They both died.”
“You loved her,” I say.
He smiles. “Yes, but probably not the way you think. It was an arranged marriage. The agreement was made when we were children. Most mafia marriages are.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“Both our fathers were dons of their families, and our marriage would have been a powerful alliance, our children a blood bond that could never be broken. We spent many summers together. We both knew what the arrangement was.” He refills both of our now empty glasses.
“But you still loved each other?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around it.
“Yes, in our own way.” He pauses for a second, watching the wine cling to the edges of the glass as it circles around. Finally, he says simply, “My wife was gay.”
“What?” I say, shocked.
“We were friends as children. When she told me, she was a teenager, full of rebellious spirit. She said if her family found out, her father and brother would kill her, or just marry her off to some old bastard that wouldn’t give a damn so long as he could fuck a pretty girl, whether she agreed or not. My father was a vicious man. He would have considered it an insult and cancelled the contract.” He pauses to sip his wine. “So we made a plan. We would be married and keep each other’s secrets, and try to live our lives the best we could.”
“The baby?”
He smiles. “With enough money, anything is possible. Including certain alternative means of conception. And silence from the OB-GYN and his nurse.”
“And they never found out?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“And now they blame you for her death? So they want to kill you? As revenge?”
Vincent nods.
Jesus. I sip on my wine.
“It was a long time ago,” he tells me.
“Loss is loss,” I remind him. “Have you told anyone else?”
“My brothers know. My mother probably knows. She always seemed to know everything anyway. You?”
I shake my head. “No. Though I have a feeling one of the other guys my dad worked with had a suspicion. Somehow I got sent to ballet boarding school instead of normal foster care.”
We sit for a minute, the silence comfortable rather than awkward.
Finally, I ask, “Do you ever think that the universe has some sort of plan? That things aren’t just random? Like maybe stuff happens the way it has to, good and bad?”
Vincent stares into his glass for a long pause. “I don’t know. Fate, God, whatever—is Alessandro’s department.”
“Ah yes, the mafia priest.”
Vincent laughs. “The one and only, I’m sure.”
“Your mother speaks highly of you all. She’s quite proud of his charity work.”
“He has some more events coming up, you know. He would probably appreciate the help.”
“Hmm, I’ll consider that.”
“When is the first performance going to be?” he asks.
“Friday. It’s a special All Hallows Eve event. Nothing different for the dancers, but it’s black tie for the audience and everyone will be wearing masques, for the masquerade theme.”
Vincent smiles. “That sounds entertaining.”
“Meh, yes and no. It’s a great concept, but it always turns into the company directors trying to squeeze more money from the donors.” I sigh. “I do get it though. Sponsorship and even attendance is down, so the company needs the donations.”
Vincent nods. “Money talks.”
“Indeed it does.”
He has a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
“Why do you look like you’re plotting something?” I ask.
“I’m always plotting something, kitten.”