Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Gualtiero
We arrived in Monza on my jet in the early afternoon. Ella has fully latched onto this trip, most likely in an attempt to forget what she went through earlier this week.
Alonso is in a stable condition, though the doctors are keeping him in an induced coma for now.
Ella was relieved when she heard. I’ve known for a while she liked Alonso, only as a friend, of course. He’d never be stupid enough to cross that line. I value his service, and while I don’t encourage friendships with staff, I’m grateful he’s been there for her.
Still, his rapport with her could interfere with his ability to do his job… if he makes a full recovery. That’s far from certain.
Ella’s kindness reaches everyone around her. She’s incapable of keeping her distance, and people respond to it. I’ve seen it time and again with anyone who spends more than a few hours in her company. Everyone except Oriana.
Ella has a way of getting under people’s skin, putting them at ease without even trying. It’s her gift. Even Santino has a soft spot for her.
The lead we received on Molinaro turned into a cold chase. The bastard slipped through our fingers, his mole warning him just in time.
It enrages me. But Santino and I are already setting a trap to flush them both out. And when I find them, God help them.
For now, though, my focus is here with my angel. The next few days are hers. Her happiness is all that matters, and nothing will interfere with that.
We’ve taken up residence in a fifteenth-century mansion on the outskirts of town. While the house might be old, it has been updated with every modern comfort while retaining its original character.
It’s even larger than my place in Sicily. It’s excessive, for sure, but it was the only property in the area that met my security requirements, including a ten-foot perimeter wall.
The estate is laid out in a horseshoe shape. The central building spans two stories, with the upper level prepared for Ella and me. The left wing houses security, the right is reserved for guests. Mateo plans to join us, curious about the whole motor racing spectacle.
Ella’s reaction when she first saw the place was… memorable. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open as the house came into view, and for once she had nothing to say.
Even I have to admit, the property is impressive. If things continue as they are, I’ll buy it for her. We can return here every year for the race.
There are still a few hours of daylight left, and we spend them exploring the house and grounds. Ella is completely taken with it all, her smile wide and genuine.
With every passing minute, the idea of giving it to her becomes less of a possibility and more of a certainty.
The estate is surrounded by sprawling parkland, dotted with ancient statues and a lake. She tells me it reminds her of a castle park in Austria where she grew up.
When we reach the lake, Ella takes one look at the cool water, kicks off her shoes, strips out of her dress, and runs straight in.
“You know, there’s a perfectly fine swimming pool in the courtyard,” I call after her.
She turns, rolling her eyes. “This is much better. Why don’t you join me?”
The invitation is more than I can take. Seeing her in black lace, wet, droplets of water tracing over her body… my trousers tighten instantly.
I rip off my shirt, about to take off my shoes, when Ella’s high-pitched squeal puts me on high alert.
Has she been stung by something?
She rushes toward the rocks by the shore, clearly distressed.
“What is it? Are you okay?” I ask, moving quickly to her side.
She doesn’t answer. Her attention is fixed on something at the water’s edge.
God, I hope it’s not a body.
It is a body.
Just not a human one.
She crouches over what looks like a duck, torn open, likely by a dog. It’s still alive, writhing weakly as Ella murmurs to it, her voice soft and soothing.
She looks up at me. “I need your shirt… or my dress. Quickly.”
I don’t move. I just stare at the creature, keeping my distance.
“Tiero,” she says more urgently. “Your shirt.”
My gaze drops to its feet, and I shudder.
“Why are you just standing there? Will you please get your shirt?”
I meet her eyes. She raises her brows at me expectantly.
Reluctantly, I retrieve our clothes and hand her my shirt, careful not to get too close.
“We need to get it to a vet,” she says, already wrapping the bird to keep it still… and to contain what’s spilling out of it. She’s remarkably composed, efficient in the way she handles the situation.
She rises, the bundle cradled in her arms, ready to head back.
“Here, you carry it. I need to get dressed,” she says, holding it out to me.
I take a step back.
Ella stares at me.
“What the hell? Do mob bosses not carry injured wildlife? For heaven’s sake, Gualtiero,” she snaps, stepping toward me, still holding the bird out.
I take another step back, hands raised slightly. “Get it away from me.”
She exhales sharply. “Fine.”
Turning away, she cradles the bird against her body and grabs her dress, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Ella, wait. You can’t walk back half-naked.”
“Well, I don’t have my hands free to get dressed…”
My staff cannot see her like this. I’d have to blind the entire lot of them.
Come on. Get over yourself.
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple as I reluctantly take the bird, holding it as far away from me as possible.
Ella watches me as she pulls on her dress. “I’ve never seen you like this. What is it?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, grimacing as I keep the creature at arm’s length.
“Doesn’t look like nothing. You’ve got sweat running down your face.”
“Drop it, Ella,” I say, but when has she ever listened?
“Tell me what’s going on,” she insists, slipping back into her shoes.
I hesitate. I can’t admit this. It sounds ridiculous.
“Tiero,” she says more softly now. “You can tell me.”
I hold her gaze. Her irritation has softened into concern.
“It’s the feet,” I mutter.
She blinks. “The feet?”
“Yes. It has palmates… they freak me out.”
“Palmates?” she repeats, clearly lost.
“Webbed feet,” I clarify.
“What? Why would webbed—”
She doesn’t get to finish. Out of nowhere, an angry black swan charges across the water.
For a second, we’re both frozen.
The bundle I’m holding isn’t a duck. It’s a swan’s chick.
As soon as it reaches land, the swan comes straight for us, hissing, its wings beating aggressively.
We take off toward the house, but the movement jostles the injured bird, and it cries out for its parent.
I glance back over my shoulder. We’ve gained some distance, but the swan is relentless.
Its wings are fully extended, its neck arched back, ready to strike. The hissing alone is enough to make most people think twice. Even me.
I’m still holding the cygnet at arm’s length, which makes running awkward as hell.
This is absurd.
I’m the head of one of the largest crime syndicates in Italy, and I’m running from a swan.
Cursing under my breath, I shift the bird against my body and come to an abrupt stop. Turning, I pull my gun from its holster and aim straight at the advancing bird.
Ella shrieks behind me.
“Tiero. Don’t!” she shouts, rushing forward and planting herself between me and the swan, arms stretched wide.
“You are not shooting an innocent animal. I won’t allow it.”
“Merda,” I mutter. She means it.
The noise intensifies, getting closer.
Shit. There’s another one.
The second swan barrels toward us from the side.
Where the hell did it come from?
We start running again, putting distance between us and the birds, but they’re not backing off.
What must we look like? Two adults sprinting from a pair of furious birds. The big, bad mafioso fleeing from an oversized duck.
This can never get out.
The thought has barely formed when a sharp pain shoots through my chest.
What the?
I look down.
The cygnet has latched onto my right nipple. And it’s not letting go.
For something that small, it has a vicious bite.
I stop dead.
“Ella,” I hiss. When she turns, her eyes go wide. “Get this thing off me.”
Instead of helping, she doubles over laughing.
I try to pry it loose, but its grip is iron, and I can’t get a finger between its beak.
Fuck, that hurts.
The parent swans are almost on us again, and I start moving, forced into an awkward jog with a panicked bird still attached to my nipple.
Ella is still laughing, barely able to move, until one of the swans lunges at her. With a yelp, she bolts.
The house finally comes into view. The commotion draws Santino and two guards outside.
They stop dead, their eyes wide.
Marcello reaches for his weapon, ready to shoot, but Ella yells, “Don’t you dare. What is it with you guys?”
She throws herself in front of the birds, arms wide, shielding them.
“Put the gun away!”
And promptly gets her backside nipped.
We reach the group, and suddenly we’re all running… a pack of grown men sprinting like idiots, glancing over our shoulders.
This is beyond ridiculous.
If Mateo hears about this, I will never hear the end of it.
We finally make it inside. Marcello slams the door shut behind us.
The bird is still attached to me, but the pain has dulled. My nipple has gone completely numb.
“Get this fucking thing off me,” I bark.
Ella tells Marcello to call a vet, then turns back to me, clearly enjoying this far too much.
She bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Its foot has come out of the wrapping,” she says, stepping closer. “Wow… those toe things really are joined together, huh?”
“Don’t let it touch me,” I snap.
She takes the bundle and gently strokes its neck. The bird releases me instantly.
I fix my crew with a look. “Not a word.”
They nod, trying very hard to keep straight faces.
They were running from the birds too, so their silence is guaranteed. Still, I see the amusement in their eyes.
They’re wondering what this woman has turned me into.
And for the most part… I don’t care.