Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
T he Romano estate sprawls over slopes and in clearings through the forest. I’m guessing it covers the whole top of this hill.
When we reach the very top, hidden far from the road, by the side of the river, a sprawling modern house sits in front of a much taller, older building. The newer house looks like it’s been parked in front of the older one.
They’re surrounded by smaller buildings. Some could be sheds for farming machinery, or hangars for small aircraft. Some are clearly residential, houses, gathered around like a small but extremely wealthy village.
At the heart of all the houses and gardens, is a wide, low structure in mottled greens and grays with high, dark windows and sleek metal doors. It couldn’t look more like the lair of a super-villain if it was surrounded by an army of ninjas.
The fortress is light and huge inside. Minimal and austere, with plain walls and concealed lighting. Once we’re inside, the Romano brothers exchange a look. then they pull off their ski masks.
“Dario,” one twin extends a hand with all the manners of a European aristocrat. With a droop of his heavy eyelids, he says, “Apologies for the performance.”
His brother offers his hand, too. “Ettore. Ed.” His head dips. I take his hand first, then Dario’s. Big, strong hands. But their size and strength don’t explain the crackling bolts of lightning that flash through me their skin comes in contact with mine.
Is it part of my curse to have chemistry that ignites on contact with all the most dangerous men? Nothing would induce me to act on it, but I wish I didn’t have to fight with my own nature. It feels like my body is working against me.
In easier moments, I try to convince myself that it’s just a way of building character and strength. A way of keeping my emotions fit and exercised. That in times of stress, my antennae, my whiskers extend.
At moments like this, I fear the distraction when I need all my wits about me. But it’s part of me. My instincts got me this far. I have to trust them.
Here, I’m practically in the lion’s den and I have very little else to rely on.
A burly henchman stands as still as a statue in the far corner, in the uniform dress of a head waiter. What next, a WWF champ who’s a butler in tails? A special forces chef?
Okay, I have not intention of letting it show, but I am impressed.
Double doors swing open in the middle of what seemed to be a plain wall. The dark and heavy figure of Don Romano strides through in outdoor gear, carrying heavy gloves.
For a man of his age and such great bulk, he moves like a young athlete.
He strides up to me, extends a hand and spreads a bright smile that could eat me in three or four bites.
“Donna Fortuna. Welcome to my little hideaway. I hope your journey here wasn’t too unpleasant.”
He squeezes my hand, then pulls me to him for a kiss on each cheek. His lips don’t touch my flesh, but it feels like they brush the air a paper thickness away.
“Let us find you some appropriate outdoor gear. I want to show you something.”
“Am I here for a fashion parade? “
“I’ll show you why you came here. I promise you you’re not going to regret it.”
“I don’t really have the option of regret, do I?” I look him in the eye. I stand straight, the dancers pose of power. Crown, high, neck long. Hands away from my sides, feet apart, but tall.
“Maybe I should regret the fact that I let your boys kidnap me. Is that what you’re thinking, Dan Romano?”
“It was a matter of urgency. Don’t take it too hard.”
“Sending me an urgent text might have done the job. If you think that bringing me here, taking me by surprise, off my guard, if you think that is going to put me in your power…”
“Nobody would make that mistake with you, Donna. Please. Time is pressing. Let me show you some hospitality while I describe something I think you will see is in your interests just as much as it is in mine.”
A man in a butler’s penguin suit has brought a long pair of hunting boots. High leather, folded at the top like pirates boots. He inclines his head and holds them in one hand, with a long leather coat over his other arm.
“You only need protection from our impressive weather, and maybe from some bushes or tree branches. We won’t be going anywhere dangerous or crossing difficult terrain.”
I pull on the boots, leaving my running shoes aside.
The boots are a perfect fit. They don’t seem like they’ve been worn.
The Don told me this was all arranged at short notice. It’s surprising that he has footwear of such a particular kind in my size. I have to decide right now; is he dumb and arrogant enough to think I wouldn’t notice or I wouldn’t make the connection?
Or is he smart enough to realize that I would see through his story anyway? The black coat is big enough to slip over my jacket. It hangs low below, my knees and it too, is a perfect fit.
He tells me we will be outside and asks if I would like something to drink first. “Coffee? A spirit?”
I decline. Whatever this is, I want to get to it and get it done. Don Romano leads me through the house, out at the rear and across some expansive grounds. We pass a large, ornamental lake. Kitchen gardens are laid out on one side, stables and what look like hangers on the other side.
To the side, on the downhill slope, agricultural equipment is working between fields of crops in land cleared from the forest. The spread is huge spread, yet it’s almost completely hidden from view. Like a secret kingdom.
I stride alongside the Don, matching his energetic pace. We’re followed uphill by a line of four men, all in waxed tactical jackets, possibly padded with body armor.
The trees clear ahead and the sky expands. A distant horizon rises before us. He’s keeping a fast pace and speeding up, but he expects me to keep up with him. Is he showing respect, or contempt?
Not for the first time, I wish I had Carlo with me. One look in his eye, and I would know whether my advantage was better played by letting the Don know that I’m onto him, or by holding back waiting for him to reveal what he really wants.
With a man like the Don, it’s often hard to tell the two apart. Plus, I have to make the usual allowance in calculation for a man who doesn’t know how to talk to a woman, except when he’s in charge of her, or unless telling her what he wants.
Dark, treacherous corridors of my mind are lit with speculation. What would it be like, if the Don told me what to do. If he instructed me. Told me what he wanted. Would I be able to control my urges?
I’ve been brought up to do what a man tells me. I have to fight it every day. And men tell women what to do so naturally, half the time they don’t even know they’re doing it.
In that instant, I hear Carlo’s voice in my head. He would tell me, He’ll tell you what he wants, Lucia. Hold back. Don’t react. Not to the first thing he says he wants. Probably not to the second, either. Those two will be him testing you out.
Wait for the third thing.