Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Alessia
Well, this is it. I’m in. Part one of my mission was executed. Now, all I have to do is keep my wits about me, and I can be out of here and back home, hopefully on the same helicopter that brought me here.
The room, of course, is pure luxury. My gosh. The furniture is all antique and probably priceless. The same can be said for everything else in this mansion.
There’s an old-world charm to it, as if some things were updated to modern times, but the rest has been preserved. Despite having floor-to-ceiling windows capturing the most stunning view of white-capped mountains amidst the suddenly heavy falling snow, the room itself is so warm and cozy that if I allowed myself, I’d be able to take a very long nap. I guess that’s what it feels like to be rich enough to afford seamless central heating with no budget or worries.
Okay, enough of that. I glance at the white gown laid out on the bed for me. Did they really expect me to wear that? It only dawns on me now that if I were to follow Eileen’s instructions about no underwear, that fabric is so sheer I might as well walk around naked.
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m going in the clothes I’m wearing. A long, woolen skirt, two shades too faded. Two pairs of tights. An extra-thick sweater Gianna knitted for me, which is lopsided because she really can’t knit, but she tried. The trusted winter coat that belonged to my mother. And my best pair of boots, which have seen much better days.
I remove my coat and sit quietly on the bed, then go over my strategy. It isn’t long before Eileen returns with a trolley laden with food covered with gleaming stainless-steel cloches.
“You’re going to need your strength, Lady Alessia,” she says, smiling happily at me. I’m too nervous to eat even though I know I should. Since my aunt dropped their insane, diabolical scheme on us, I barely had anything to eat. I uncover a few of the cloches, and my mouth waters at the sight of food I’ve only ever seen pictures of online and will never be served to me again in my life.
The steak looks divine. The side vegetables deserve a round of applause for perfection. And the dessert, a rich caramel masterpiece, is probably something my sweet tooth would die for. When all this is over and they send me back home, I’ll be smuggling that dessert with me.
I know this is going to work. I have to believe it. I’ve got this. Then, finally, we’ll be free of my uncle and his family. As for Gianna, I know it won’t be long before Manny professes his love for her and asks her to marry him. She’ll say yes, and they’ll share a life so full of love and laughter that it’ll last until eternity.
Then it’ll just be me. I already have plans to move into the barn once that happens. They deserve their privacy, and I don’t want to be a third wheel. Maybe I’ll take up painting or something. Who knows? And when they have kids, I’m going to be the best freaking aunt in the universe. Nothing is going to make me happier than seeing my sister flourish. My parents will be damn proud of me. I’m proud of me.
Right on cue, Eileen knocks on the door at exactly seven o’clock.
Showtime.
“Oh, Lady Alessia,” she says, taking in my attire. Without my coat, Eileen gets a full view of my orange sweater and dull-colored skirt.
Oh, right, I was supposed to change into my virgin sacrifice attire.
“It’s okay,” I say, brushing aside her confusion. “May I see them now?” I add sweetly. She stutters for a moment, then smiles.
“Of course. The Masters are eagerly awaiting your presence.”
“And I theirs.”
Again, I’m astonished by the enormity of the cabin. No one needs this much space or art, which looks priceless to my unworldly eyes. I hate to think how much they pay for heating. The temperature is perfect all around, in every room, and the contrast with the snowstorm outside creates a cocoon of luxury.
Eileen leads me into what seems to be another wing of the cabin, except it’s just one gigantic bedroom. The ambiance here is different, subtle but insidious, and the entire room is lit by flames from a hearth that resembles a falcon in flight, its mouth opened as if it’s consuming the fire below. On the other side of the fireplace, is a structure of sorts covered in a white sheet.
Instinctively, I know everything in this room is old, ancient, with not a single thing changed, moved, or replaced.
The furniture is thick, heavy, opulent, and fit for kings, each piece bearing some variation of a trio of falcons. The bed is so big that ten people could easily fit in it.
And then I see them.
I don’t know what I expected, but they were not it—at all.
From everything I know about the world of the mafia, the men in charge are usually middle-aged, and while well-dressed and groomed, they often bear the signs of their nefarious lifestyle: bags under their eyes, wide paunches, thinning hair, and heavy shoulders. Those were the kinds of men I expected.
The men before me—Nico Santoro, Luca Armano, and Vincenzo Rosso—are anything but middle-aged.
The sheer vastness of the room diminishes as my eyes fall on them, filling my entire vision to the point where nothing seems to exist outside of them. For a moment, I’m sure I’ve been taken to the wrong cabin and shown the wrong masters of the Falcon Mafia.
Their dark gazes slide over me, creating a vortex of tremors inside me as they peruse me from the top of my head to the tips of my well-worn boots, then back up again.
Dear God, I used to read about this in those romance books Gianna is addicted to, but now I’m experiencing it in real life. Their attention on me makes me feel… naked, as if they’ve stripped off my less-than-fashionable clothes, leaving me in my once-white bra and panty set, which is now off-white due to diligent washing. But soon, even those meager items of clothing are gone, and I’m naked before them.
My breath falters, forcing me to play catch-up in a losing battle. What is going on? A strange, brutal heat rushes through me, and now I can barely inhale enough air to function properly. An uncanny ache develops in my nipples, and their hardness pokes at the flimsy material of my bra under my sweater.
The tingling feeling is not coming from my thighs, which I press together to stall the sensation, but rather from between them. I’m not sure, but I think my panties are wet, and I struggle with the need not to check them right then and there. How insane is this?
Am I okay?
Yes, I’m fine.
The only reason they’re looking at me so intensely is because they expected me to arrive in that white see-through gown with the print of the gold falcons on it. They were expecting a docile woman whose virginity they were going to pay for once she bled for them. Not me. Not this farm girl with questionable fashion tastes and a mission on her mind.