Chapter Nine
Caterina
HE’S LOUNGING IN the chair opposite, his long, muscled body relaxed. Like a panther. He’s in black suit trousers and a black shirt with the first couple of buttons undone. He wears no jewellery except the heavy gold signet ring that he took off to give to me so I had a ring to put on his finger.
He’s almost monklike in the severity of his clothes, yet no monk looks like he does.
The candlelight loves his high carved cheek bones, the straight length of his nose, and that mouth of his that seemed so cruel before, isn’t now.
No, now it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful, with his silver-grey eyes and his intense stare.
My heart is beating so damn fast and it won’t slow down.
I hadn’t meant to tell him about my relationship with my father or to fling that confession like a vase at his head.
I didn’t want him to know how upset I was, but when he reminded me that his deadline for my father’s loyalty is sundown tonight, I couldn’t seem to find my nice, polite, well-bred Salvatore mask.
Because that sun is going down and if my father hasn’t given the Wolf his loyalty by now, he’s not going to give it. Which is only confirmation—as if my whole damn life wasn’t confirmation enough—that my father doesn’t care about me. Not one single iota.
I should have expected it, but expectations and reality seldom meet, and so my own reaction caught me by surprise.
The tears mainly, because I didn’t want to feel sad about it.
I wanted to be angry, since anger is so much more powerful.
Dad never had any patience with my anger, said it wasn’t becoming in a woman, yet anger is what I cling to, because he can go to hell.
Vincenzo Argenti can go to hell too, though I have to admit, he doesn’t seem to have an issue with my fury. No, he’s staring back at me as if I’ve fascinated him in some way.
You like it.
A part of me does. A part of me finds that very powerful.
‘He wasn’t pleased you survived?’ the Wolf asks, his voice cool and detached sounding.
It’s wrong to talk to him about my family and our relationships with each other, since technically he’s the enemy.
But over the years my family loyalty has been steadily worn away by my father’s contempt, and besides, this man is my husband now.
I’m going to give him my family history whether he wants it or not.
‘No,’ I say bluntly. ‘He wanted my mother and brother to be the ones who lived. My brother, because Alessio was his heir, and my mother because she could make more heirs. I was an afterthought child. A daughter as a sop to my mother.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ the Wolf murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate on what exactly sounds familiar. ‘He didn’t think to make you his heir?’
‘Of course not. I’m a woman. My only use was in making alliances.’
Out beyond the terrace, on the horizon, the sun flares as it readies itself to disappear into the sea.
My father won’t pledge his loyalty to the Wolf.
His dream of vengeance against the Argenti threat is more important to him than the life of his one remaining child, and despite myself and my fury, the little girl I used to be feels as if a knife has been plunged into her chest. My mother loved me and so did my brother, and when they died, I lost the only two people who thought I was important.
The only people to whom I mattered. And it makes me feel the ache of their loss all over again.
It’s his fault. His family’s fault.
It would be easy to blame him and the Argentis. That’s what my father did. But my father was also the one who ordered the killing of this man’s mother for some petty slight lost in the mists of time, so can the fault really lie with the Argentis?
I don’t know anymore, but perhaps there’s something to the Wolf’s aim of stopping the inter-family killings.
He’s studying me intently, something in his eyes I can’t name. Has my story affected him? It’s intrigued him, that’s for sure.
‘Well,’ he murmurs at last, a dark and heated note in his voice that makes me want to shiver. ‘Your father’s a fool then.’
Surprise ripples through me. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he missed an opportunity. You have a lot of courage, gattina, not to mention determination and spirit, and those are valuable qualities to have in the head of a family, regardless of gender.’
Praise from the Wolf shouldn’t make a wave of warmth roll through me, yet it does. I haven’t been called anything but disobedient, wilful and a damn nuisance for years, and so a part of me laps up his words like a flower starved of sunlight.
There’s a lump in my throat and I don’t want him to see how he’s touched me, so I reach for my glass and take a healthy sip of champagne instead.
The liquid is yeasty and cold, and delicious, so I take another, even though I shouldn’t drink it too fast. Getting tipsy here in this literal wolf’s den would not be a good idea.
‘My father would disagree.’ I make myself put down the champagne glass. ‘Clearly he’s not going to give you his loyalty tonight. Which puts you in the difficult position of having to kill your new wife.’ I lift my gaze to his and hold it. ‘Good thing we didn’t have a proper wedding.’
His handsome features are enigmatic, his gaze glittering.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s been saying he wouldn’t kill me all this time, and so far, he hasn’t.
Perhaps he won’t. Still, I can’t take his word for anything, can I?
He’s not only the enemy, he’s been my personal nightmare ever since I was a child, and regardless that his bullets didn’t kill my mother and brother, he was still sent to our family’s door to kill us.
Also, he did say to me up in his bedroom that he was a killer.
Fear is a cold snake in my gut, but I don’t let it out. I pile anger on instead. Anger is strong and powerful. Let him try and do it, I think. I’ll go down fighting him every step of the way.
‘Gattina,’ he murmurs eventually, putting down his wine glass. ‘How many times must I tell you? I am not going to hurt you. I didn’t save you only to kill you twenty years later. What would be the point in that?’
‘Why should I believe you?’ I try to make it sound like a question yet it comes out sounding like a demand instead. ‘Your father wanted my entire family dead.’
‘That is true,’ he concedes. ‘But I am not my father. And it’s this inter-family violence that I’m trying to stop.’ He pauses a moment, his gaze on me intensifying. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Caterina. I give you my word.’
I shouldn’t believe him. I shouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, not when he hasn’t given me any reason to. Yet… I see the truth in his eyes now. He means it. He means every word. This is a solemn vow, as binding as an oath.
The tightly coiled snake in my gut relaxes a little, and I let out a breath. ‘But you told my father you would. Not following through on a threat isn’t going to make you look good.’
‘Oh, I’m going to follow through on it.’ The corner of his mouth curves. ‘At least as far as your father is concerned.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve “killed” who then turns up later with a new identity.’
At first I don’t understand and then his meaning penetrates. ‘You mean you’ll…what? Fake my death?’
He lifts one powerful shoulder. ‘Yes. And I can usually produce some very convincing evidence, too.’
‘So you’ve done it before?’
He gives a quiet laugh that feels as if it’s rolling over my skin like soft, dark velvet.
‘Many times. I want to stop the violence, the killing of innocents, but sometimes the so-called deaths of innocents must be staged in order to ensure compliance. Some of those innocents did not appreciate their new lives, but since it’s better than actual death, they somehow survived. ’
The Wolf of Sicily has had many deaths laid at his door in his ruthless grab for power, that’s well-known. Women, children. He’s supposed to have no boundaries, which makes this confession so surprising I don’t know what to say.
He smiles, a warm and genuine one this time. ‘Look at that,’ he murmurs. ‘I’ve finally shocked you.’
‘But…’ I manage. ‘Why?’
‘I might be many things, gattina, but one thing I’m not is a hypocrite.’ That beautiful smile slowly fades, the intensity in his eyes burning bright. ‘The killing will end if it’s the last thing I do.’
The force of his conviction and the almost palpable nature of his will should be frightening, yet I’m not frightened. I’m fascinated by why the head of the most powerful cosa nostra family in Europe has suddenly come to value human lives when he never has before, at least not on the face of it.
‘Why?’ I’m probably too blunt, but who cares? I want to know. ‘I mean, that’s not what everyone says about you. You’re famous for having—’
‘No morals or boundaries?’ he finishes for me.
‘A carefully cultivated lie, once again propagated to ensure compliance.’ He shifts in his chair, a wolf settling into his den, studying me from across the white tablecloth.
‘Though, once it was true. At least it was until I saw you with your terrified eyes.’ Impossibly, his gaze gets even more intense, holding me captive as surely as iron chains.
‘Because of you, Caterina, I found my line in the sand. And because of your mother and brother’s deaths, I decided that I could not let the pointless killing of people go on.
It has to end somewhere and I decided it would end with me. ’
I thought I could not possibly get any more shocked, but apparently, I’m wrong.
He can’t mean that, can he? It seemed ridiculous in the car back in Rome and it seems just as ridiculous here on the terrace now.
That me, a five-year-old girl, could change the entire course of a man’s life just by looking up at him in fear?
‘B-but…’ I break off, not able to think of a word to say.
Again, that fascinating mouth of his curves in amusement. He does seem to like shocking me. ‘It’s true,’ he says simply, correctly reading my disbelief. ‘My father was very unhappy with me.’
I blink. Oh, of course. There would have been repercussions for him, wouldn’t there? Stefano Argenti was not a merciful man, by all accounts.
‘What did he do to you?’ I ask point-blank.
The Wolf’s smile changes, bitterness entering into it now. ‘He punished me quite severely for my failure to kill you and your father. But don’t worry, I got my own back.’ His voice has deepened, roughened and again I can hear the darkness in it. ‘My father died as he lived. By the sword.’
A cold shiver ripples over my skin. Even though he hasn’t said anything explicitly, I know that somehow he had a hand in his father’s death.
And all at once, I’m aware that this is a very dangerous conversation to be having and with a very dangerous man.
A man who has said he won’t kill me, but no matter what he said about staging the deaths of innocents, he’s certainly killed others.
The sun has now vanished below the horizon, lighting the sky on fire, and it’s beautiful. And here I am on my wedding night, sitting and drinking champagne with my new husband, who perhaps won’t kill me after all. Having just been given up by my father who indeed didn’t care if I lived or died.
The pain in my heart aches as the light fades, the child in me hurting at the abandonment even as the adult woman is furious for having even a shred of hope that he might care. That the only people who ever loved me are dead and have been dead for years.
‘Don’t cry for him, gattina,’ the Wolf says quietly and unexpectedly. ‘He’s not worth your tears. This isn’t abandonment. This is the moment you’re set free.’
There’s a lump in my throat and I have to swallow more champagne to get rid of it, but he’s not wrong. My father doesn’t want me. I’m dead to him. Which means I finally have what I’ve always craved, which is to be free of him.
I look across the table at my husband. ‘So, where does that leave you?’
‘It leaves me with staging your death and perhaps organising you a new identity.’ He shrugs. ‘I’d hoped to avoid more bloodshed, but your father has chosen his path. He will come to regret it, I assure you.’
I should feel regret myself at this, but regret is hard to come by now my father has decided my life isn’t worth as much as his pride. ‘You’ll have to find yourself another wife,’ I say.
He tilts his head. ‘Do I? A pity. You’re starting to grow on me.’
Another wave of warmth rushes through me, and my cheeks heat. I’m not sure why I’m blushing. What do I care if I’m starting to grow on him or not? He kidnapped me and forced me to marry him, and regardless of that strange electricity between us, I shouldn’t like that he likes me, right?
Except he’s beautiful and powerful, and very dangerous, and something wild in me is pleased I’ve managed to affect him. The girl even her own father abandoned has somehow managed to make this powerful head of a cosa nostra family like her.
The air around us thickens, tension gathering, the force of his gaze like a hurricane wind, and my mind blanks. All I can see are his eyes and the silver flames in them, and all I can hear is my heart beating faster and faster.
I remember the light touch of his fingers as he straightened my tiara at our wedding ceremony, and the brush of his fingertip on my ear as he pushed a strand of hair behind it.
The prickle of electricity that chased over my skin.
The press of his mouth on my forehead, a feather-light kiss that I can still feel burning even now.
And I’m looking at his mouth and the fullness of his bottom lip, and how it curves. Cruel and beautiful at the same time.
What would a real kiss from him be like?
The thought blazes in my head and now it’s occurred to me, I can’t stop thinking about it.
That mouth not on my forehead, but on my lips.
My first kiss. Would it feel as hot? What would he taste like?
I remember the way he picked me up in the church earlier, throwing me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
He was so hard, like stone, and yet warm, too.
Yet more heat steals through my cheeks, and I can’t stop it, and suddenly this all feels too much. The danger in our conversation, my own honesty, the tears in my eyes that I know he saw, and him, sitting there, seeing my blush and knowing why. Because of course he’d know why.
I can’t deal with it, not now, so I push myself to my feet, say ‘excuse me’ in a breathless voice, then I flee the terrace.