5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Mariella
T he car ride to the private airport in Catania blurs as we speed down the winding roads. My thoughts are as scattered as the scenery.
For the first time today, I’m all by myself. Well, sort of, if you ignore the guy driving the car, which is easy given he doesn’t talk to me.
Leaning my head against the window, I close my eyes. I’m so tired. The adrenaline high from earlier is fading, leaving me exhausted. All I want to do is sleep.
Yet, my mind won’t rest. The events of today cling to me, looping in endless circles.I’ve heard nothing about my fate with the Contis. I’m grateful for that, though I doubt I’m out of the woods.
This morning when I woke up, the world looked bleak.
I was set to marry a man I didn’t care for and enter a marriage built for his convenience. I had resigned myself to leaving my family and the life I’d always known, uncertain of what he would expect of me.
Now, the world still looks bleak.
But perhaps a ray of sunshine is breaking through the clouds.
I’m still leaving my family behind, still walking into uncertainty. But at least there’s no ring on my finger, binding me to a stranger.
Wow, I really got out of marrying Renaldo Conti!
Truth be told, I’d intended to faint before saying ‘I do’, but my stomach had other plans. I felt nauseous all morning, but the final lurch caught me off guard. It was humiliating and unstoppable.
I’m grateful for it, though!
It was my ticket out of this marriage.
When the car drives over a speed bump, I open my eyes. We’re at the airport already.
Am I ready for what comes next?
Not really.
But this is the only path forward.
I’ve never left Sicily before. Father never took us anywhere, not even to visit our grandmother in Bolzano, up in the Alto Adige region.
Not that it mattered much. That part of Italy is so close to Austria that German is one of the dominant languages there, and none of us understand it.
Instead of bringing us to her, Father flies his mother to Sicily once a year. They only speak German, and it always feels like they have a secret language.
He never bothered to teach us. That would have required interest in his daughters and spending time with us.
Our grandmother never offered, either. Not that we wanted her to. We avoid her as much as possible. She’s as warm as a snowman’s handshake.
Though I’ve never seen snow. I hope I will one day.
The car slows to a stop in front of a sleek jet, its polished exterior gleaming under the setting sun.
As I step out, I pull my cardigan tighter around my body as a chilly breeze sweeps across the pavement. With the sun about to set, the temperature is dropping.
Still, I don’t rush to get inside the plane, instead taking my time to admire the sheer size and elegance of the aircraft.
‘Corporazione De Marco’ is printed in large letters on the plane, along with the De Marco crest, a laurel wreath with a fierce-looking lion in its center.
Il leone, that’s what Gualtiero De Marco is known as everywhere, every Don of la famiglia is.
Wow, I’ll be flying in their private jet.
A flutter of nerves bubbles in my stomach. The thought of being airborne, soaring above the clouds, and leaving all the drama in Sicily behind is exhilarating.
I’m excited about going to Rome. Isa and I have always wanted to see the ancient sites and visit Via dei Condotti, the prestigious shopping street with all the big designers.
Isa dreams of shopping at Gucci, Prada, and Valentino, while I just want to study their designs, learn how they cut high-end fabric, and see how they combine colors and textures, even if I could only admire them through the windows.
Will I get a chance to do that? What am I expected to do all day?
Am I going to work in Mateo De Marco’s household now? How long am I staying? Will Father come for me? Will Renaldo?
A myriad of questions swirls in my mind, and I’m not sure how to get answers. But it all has to become clear, right?
I have no money, and technically no phone. Having been cooped up at the Accardi estate, I never had a need for either.
I pat my small handbag, making sure the phone Isa gave me is still safely tucked inside. Knowing I’m able to talk to her eases some of the tension that’s curled tight in my body. At least I’ve got that.
With that comforting thought, I take a step toward the jet, toward an entirely new future.
Before I can get too far, another car pulls up beside the plane.
Mateo De Marco steps out, buttoning up his suit jacket and running his hand through his disheveled hair. With a beaming smile, he turns to whoever is still inside.
God, that smile!
It could turn the most stoic of nuns into a hedonist. And if his smile doesn’t do it, then his fine ass definitely would. I can’t tear my eyes off it. Who knew it was possible suit pants could fit so perfectly?
I catch a glimpse of long blonde hair as Mateo bends lower, leaning into the car to kiss the woman it belongs to.
Consuming jealousy bubbles up inside me, leaving a burning sensation in my chest. I hug my arms around my front as I watch his open and casual display of affection.
I should look away, but I don’t, torturing myself with hearing them laugh.
Keep moving. Get on the plane.
He doesn’t know I exist, I remind myself.
But my feet seem to have grown roots, and my gaze remains fixed on Mateo’s very fine backside.
I try to reassure myself that the girl, whoever she is, won’t be more than a plaything. No girl ever is.
Mateo De Marco is known for many things, but most of all for his dislike of anything messy, including relationships.
It’s rumored he’s never been in one. They’re too complicated for him. He’s a playboy.
He’s also known for bloodless killing. Again, why make a mess when you have to clean it up? Apparently, he finds the slow torturous deaths so popular in our circles a waste of time. Efficiency is his motto, and I’m told he’s good at it.
He’s straightening up again, seemingly finished with the girl, and swings the door shut. He taps the top of the roof and the car whisks her away.
He turns, his gaze falling on me.
My heartbeat stumbles, and instant heat colors my cheeks. Feeling caught staring, I drop my eyes to the ground and hastily turn, nearly tripping over my feet.
My stomach somersaults as I walk toward the stairs. They’re lined with plush red carpet up to the open door where a flight attendant is waiting.
I stop at the bottom, looking up at the plane.
Here we go.
Taking a deep breath, I place my hand on the railing, hesitating for just a second before climbing up.
This is the moment I never dared to dream of. I’m leaving Sicily.
“Is everything okay, Mariella?” Mateo’s rich, deep voice comes from right behind me.
How did he get here so fast?
A tremor runs through my body at the sound of my name on his lips. I love and hate how good it sounds.
Oh god, he’s talking to me.
This hasn’t happened in over four years. It’s what started my crush on him.
My pulse races like a speeding bullet.
My voice is stuck somewhere in my throat. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, and the knot only tightens.
Everything is not okay, or perhaps it is perfect.
I don’t know anymore.