Chapter 25 #2
I nodded. “I don’t know much about her or her family.
As children, we never spoke of Catarina, and I don’t—” A huge yawn interrupted my thought, and the wild need settling between my thighs.
“I don’t know why. Nothing of hers was allowed in our home.
No mementos, other than the photo Dante carries in his wallet. ”
His fingers danced over my flesh that he’d lit on fire with his mouth. “And what did they ask of you?”
“The same thing Stefano and Vigo demand—information I don’t have. Now someone else wants it too.”
“You have answers, whether you’re willing to speak of them or not. Even with me.”
A stab of unease struck my heart. There was more, so much more. I lied, and he knew it, but he still placed a soothing peck on my cheek.
“Grazie,” he said.
“For what?”
“For trusting me with what you have.”
A slash of hair fell on his forehead, and I brushed it away.
“And you, my Wolfe. I’d like to know everything—” Another yawn, another indication that sleep would come before anything else.
“But can it wait until tomorrow? Right now, I really just want to sleep with you. I mean sleep, as in rest, slumber, doze, and recover. Will you stay with me?”
I followed his eyes to the pillow next to mine.
The indented pillow, and I knew he’d slept beside me for the last four days.
Rather than admit he’d never left my side, Luca climbed over me and sank beneath the covers.
He was close enough that we could’ve easily tangled together.
A rush of breath left my lungs—not at all platonic, but this was also not the right time.
He faced me, lying with his cheek under his palm. I mirrored his pose, blinked, and prayed he wasn’t a beautiful dream. The warm press of his lips on my forehead said he wasn’t. I liked them there. I didn’t like the sharp pain stabbing into my lungs after my next inhale or why everything hurt.
“Luca?”
“Hmm?”
“How do you know there isn’t a spot untouched? On my body.”
His mouth morphed into a smile on my skin. “Close your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up, and we’ll finish talking in the morning.”
I did as he asked, then I cursed him when a new day dawned, and my bed was empty.
?
I WORE A man’s T-shirt, the hem hitting midthigh when I stood.
The worn cotton smelled enticingly like Luca, which is how he knew the location of my bruises.
And there were a lot of them. I cataloged the number in the bathroom mirror, remembering each strike that led to the purple-and-blue welts mapping the trek of Stefano’s wild temper.
Physical abuse wasn’t frequent, but not unheard of either.
Mama protected me as much as she could, yet there were times Vigo overpowered her will, and he and my brother tag-teamed with fists and feet.
A demand for my trust.
The command for my loyalty.
When I returned from the Cantina, I wouldn’t give it with words, so they hammered the truth from my body and stole four days of my life.
Five now that I slept another almost to completion.
In the shower, I washed away their filth and thought of how I could burn Vigo’s fortress to the ground.
I was ready for my new future to begin, and I wanted Luca by my side when it did.
There was no doubt he would protect me, but would he drop everything and run away with me? Which, in essence, is what I’d have to do unless Raphael was about to unleash Pandora’s box. It was Tuesday, and his appointment in the city would take him to the bank tomorrow.
I needed to talk to my friend. At the same time, I wasn’t sure who had access to my phone or even my email.
Someone other than Luca and Sam knew we’d be at that restaurant for lunch.
That meant either the cameras had returned, or my phone conversations were taped.
I had to be smarter, and I vowed to start thinking like a Cabello.
As I left my room, I wrapped my wet hair in a bun. The sweet, yeasty aroma of baking bread and oregano met me as I walked the short hall. Raised masculine voices did too—an argument I overlooked because my stomach grumbled.
Francesca finished placing silverware on the table and looked up. Her eyes widened and pooled with tears. “There you are,” she said as she rushed to me.
I was in her arms a moment later, clinging to her familiar comfort. “I’m fine.”
“You’re alive. Thank God, and not your father, for that. May he rot in hell,” she whispered so the two men sitting on the sectional didn’t overhear. They weren’t listening. Dante and Luca’s conversation was a quick back-and-forth of sharp words and angry gestures.
“From your lips to His ears,” I said, then sighed. “I’m always praying for his demise. A case in point that I’m not a very obedient child, which is the lesson he constantly reinforces.”
“What can I do?” Francesca withdrew from my embrace, her lips pulled into a thin line.
“Nothing.” I patted the hand that took mine. “This too shall pass, as it always does. The family’s work comes first. I know this, yet I continue to test him.”
“That’s Vigo getting inside your head.”
“True, but I put myself in that situation. I dragged Luca out of the house, even after he told me it was a bad idea.”
“You were living your life,” she hissed. “The attack was not your fault, and you shouldn’t be punished for it. This isn’t your war.”
“Whose is it then?” Names ping-ponged in my head. Bruno Angelini, drowned in the Hudson. Vigo and his quest for power. My mother, hiding a deadly secret. Now someone who lived in the past. “Francesca, will you tell me about Catarina?”
Her head cocked as she studied me. “Why are you interested in Vigo’s first wife?”
I shrugged. “Because of Stefano. I think maybe her death caused his emotional detachment.”
“It could be, I suppose. He was at an impressionable age when Catarina died, but really, Dante suffered more after witnessing her death.”
“Wait—” Stunned, I exhaled a breath while she signed the cross. “—Dante was with Catarina?”
“He was.” She nodded. “It’s a miracle he survived.
From what I heard, there was little left of the car.
Catarina’s death was devastating to everyone.
Even Vigo to an extent. It’s hard to imagine him caring about anyone, but he really devoted himself to his boys since they were motherless.
Stefano especially. But I don’t understand the connection.
What does Catarina have to do with the Angelinis’ attack on you? ”
“Nothing, I’m sure. I was just curious,” I whispered, as my attention narrowed in on Luca when his eyes caught mine.
Death was a business. There was a responsibility to look the part, so he wore a fierce expression and a tie.
Luca Mancini would send you to your maker wearing Gucci and a devilish smirk—but he was more than an angel of mercy.
He was sharp, angular lines and unforgiving power.
His jaw was set with a terrifying and cruel control that stole the beauty from his features.
I’d seen it before at the Cantina when a man had his hands around my throat.
“Let her go.” The echo of his words filled my mind as he stalked toward me with a hard stare.
“I’m only thinking aloud, Vivi,” Francesca murmured. “Just an old woman who wishes she could punish the people who hurt her family. If I could seek revenge on your behalf, I would.”
“I know.” I broke from Luca’s scrutiny long enough to capture hers. “And I love you for your loyalty.”
She squeezed my hand, then released it when Luca reached my side. “Eat now, all of you,” she said. “And let our girl regain her strength.”
My heart thrummed. Luca’s gaze slipped to my neck, the intensity touching me as if his fingers rested on my rioting pulse. Finally, he bent down to ask in a low, rough whisper, “Sleep well, little bird?”
I blinked my eyes to his, blue and smoldering, then back to the steaming lasagna, piles of fresh bread, and the antipasto platter spread in a true feast. “Like the dead, and all alone in my coffin when I was promised company.”
His silence drew my focus to the jagged scar stretching into his hairline.
I held back from tracing the line, curling my fingers into a fist at my side.
If it was possible, his features became more fearsome as he stepped even closer, pressing his mouth behind my ear so I couldn’t see his emotion.
I felt it as each word moved fallen strands of hair across my shoulders.
“You’re never alone, not while blood moves through my veins. I won’t lose you again, Vivienne. I take care of what’s mine. I will fight for you, uccello, and I will always find you. Sei il mio tesoro.”
You are my treasure.
“Luca,” I breathed, my forehead falling onto his chest, where I inhaled the sun, fresh air, and him.
He’d just given another vow. A promise that wasn’t for my father or the Cosa Nostra, but for little, fragile Vivienne Cabello, who was nothing. Except the heat in his voice said I was everything. A shiver erupted beneath my skin.
“Are we going to eat, or are the two of you going to eye fuck and churn my stomach until the pasta magnifica is cold, huh? Come on.” Dante sat at the head of the table, motioning to his right.
Reluctantly, I sat, grimacing against the strain on my aching muscles.
Luca found his place across from me, and our eyes held firm as Dante continued, “We have much to discuss.”
Francesca served the table and excused herself.
Dinner was silent except for the scraping and clinking of silverware on plates.
The food was good, and with wine, pain meds, and Luca coursing through my veins, I was high on life.
My head spun by the time Dante wiped his mouth, tossing his cloth napkin onto the fine china.
“You’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, sorella. I’m sorry for this.”
I nodded, squeezing the fingers he offered with his apology. “It’s not your fault. Thanks for bringing Luca to me and to Father, so he could set the situation straight. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I have nothing to say, and it’s confusing that everyone believes I do.”
He took the wine bottle and refilled our glasses before continuing. “The real issue, Vivi, is trust. You haven’t given yours to the family. Father doesn’t believe you, and you’ve seen what happens when he’s suspicious.”
Bruno Angelini. Jimmy DeMarco.
A tremor shook my shoulders, and I nodded.
“The retaliation against the Angelinis was his right after this latest disrespect. But from that act came the idea of a truce. An agreement to blend the families. An olive branch of goodwill where the capo dei capi would truly lead one army toward one goal.”
A contract.
Unease churned the wine in my stomach. “I’m your sister, Dante. I’m a Cabello, and Mama promised that I could choose my husband.”
A bitter sound scraped his throat. Hatred flared in his bright diamond eyes in a flash that was extinguished before he flicked his gaze back to mine. “What you are, sorella, is Vigo’s greatest bargaining chip, and he’ll offer it to Bruno’s son. You’ll be an Angelini in less than two weeks’ time.”