7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Mariella
I ’m jolted awake by a sudden impact. My eyes fly open.
Where am I?
But then I spot the wing of the plane through the window, and as the ground bounces with the landing, everything that happened today comes flooding back.
I take a deep breath and will myself to calm down.
I’m safe. And I’m in Rome.
In Rome!
This is, without question, the most memorable day of my life.
But damn, I missed most of my first flight.
I pinch my leg to make sure this is real and not some dream my mind conjured up to help me cope with being married to a monster.
Ouch! Definitely real.
I can’t believe this turn of events.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but for right now, I’ll enjoy being away from my overbearing father.
I glance around the cabin. Everyone is still seated as the jet rolls toward a nearby hangar. This is a small airport. Do the De Marcos own it?
My eyes land on the two brothers. They’re deep in conversation. Mateo’s finger glides over his lips as he listens.
Those lips. What I wouldn’t give to feel them on mine, just once.
Would his kiss be soft and sweet, or hard and demanding?
It’s never going to happen, but I bet it’s the latter. He’d leave no doubt in my mind who kissed me.
Mateo De Marco, like his brother, was born to be a man of power.
Just look at the duo! The way they hold themselves, tall with their broad shoulders always held back, it’s like they know they’re the most important people in the room.
And me?
Let’s not go there. I hate being nothing more than a commodity, something to be traded for maximum gain. Not my gain, obviously.
I wish I was powerful. Heck, it would be enough if I could live my life without others dictating my every move. But perhaps that’s for another lifetime.
Like always, my gaze fixes on Mateo, and my heart pitter-patters in excitement.
Argh.
He’s far too handsome.
He knows it, I know it, the entire female population knows it.
His expensive suit is tailored to perfection, but even that can’t hide the muscles beneath.
His dark hair is still slightly disheveled. I refuse to think about how it got that way. It was the wind, nothing else, right?
He must have had it cut recently. It’s shorter on the sides, with the top slightly longer, keeping the hint of curls.
Curls get the girls, isn’t that what they say? It most certainly works for him.
He turns his head, and our gazes collide.
My whole body jolts.
Acting like I was caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I drop my eyes immediately. My pulse drums erratically in my ear.
God, will this ever get better?
I fiddle with my seat belt and eventually manage to release it as the plane stops and everyone on board rises.
I stay where I am though and stare out the window, watching the men disperse into a fleet of cars. The two brothers and their right-hand men are standing huddled in a circle before splitting and jumping into separate vehicles. As soon as the doors shut behind them, they speed off, a convoy of cars right behind them.
Now what?
I scan the plane. Everyone seems to have left.
Standing up, I pick up my handbag and walk toward the exit. It’s then that I notice a man in his fifties waiting by the door, giving me a warm smile.
“Signorina Accardi, I’m going to take you to the De Marco estate. Giulia, the housekeeper, has been informed of your arrival and will help you settle in.”
Oh. I haven’t been forgotten then. I smile back at the man.
“Thank you…”
“Dario,” he fills in. “Your bags are already in the car. Are you ready?”
Taking a fortifying breath, I step onto the stairs. The sun has set, and the last wash of color has been swallowed by the encroaching night. The world is now bathed in dusky shadows, reminding me of my life.
But then I look up at the sky, and while the sun may have disappeared, it has given way to the first twinkling stars, as if to remind me of that ray of hope I felt earlier.
I turn to Dario and answer with unexpected confidence, “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
It’s a short drive to the De Marco mansion. Dario tells me that Mateo’s grandfather, the feared Carlo De Marco, had the small private airport built, so he didn’t have to drive through the city.
It’s a shame. I would have loved to see ancient monuments or famous landmarks.
Dario is a mine of information, and I’ve learned more about the De Marcos from him than I have in my entire life.
Carlo De Marco preferred residing in Rome, hence the airport and grand estate. Mateo inherited it eight years ago, when his father passed, and comes to stay a few times every month.
As we approach the De Marco land, my breath catches.
An enormous stone wall rises before us. It’s imposing, with a grand iron gate in the center. A gatehouse looms beside it, its lights casting long shadows across the cobblestones.
Four guards with guns slung over their shoulders are on watch, and Dario stops the car, lowering the window. He exchanges a few words with a guard who then shines a torch into the back. I give him a timid smile.
Let’s hope they won’t insist on patting me down. I must keep my phone. It’s my only lifeline to my sister.
After a minute, the gate opens, and the guard waves us through. With the window still open, the crisp October air sneaks in, carrying the earthy scent of fallen leaves.
Lush greenery spreads out on either side of the drive, perfectly manicured and vibrant even in the soft, dim light of the lantern-style lights lining the driveway.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we slowly approach the house. I rub the top of my thighs, nerves fluttering in my stomach.
The manor is massive, U-shaped, with the front standing an extra story taller, like a guardian watching over the rest. The sandstone walls are bathed in golden light from spotlights, giving the entire structure a warm, inviting glow.
Wow!
I thought Father’s estate was grand, but this makes it look like a modest little villa by the sea.
Dario unloads my luggage as I climb out from the back and guides me up the few stairs to the entrance.
Leaving my suitcases by the door, he ushers me through rooms and corridors until we reach the kitchen.
I can hear someone humming, and as we enter, an old woman turns toward us.
Her light gray hair is twisted up on top of her head, and a few tendrils have escaped her bun and frame her kind face. The creases that accentuate her features make her smile full and warm. She is the most motherly woman I have ever seen and I instantly like her.
“Ah, there you are, mia cara ,” she says, sweeping me up in a hug.
Okayyyy.
I awkwardly return her embrace, not used to such friendliness from strangers.
“It’s nice to meet you, Giulia,” I reply as she steps back, cupping my face and taking me in with her warm brown eyes.
“I’m happy to have you here.”
I’m overwhelmed by her friendly welcome. It’s not at all what I expected or am used to.
Our housekeeper, Eleonora, while lovely, isn’t warm or overly welcoming. She runs a tight ship, showing the respect due to our family.
Giulia, though?
I can tell that she must be more like family to the De Marcos.
When the Don informed me I’d be going with his brother to help out at the Rome house, I expected to be shown to the servants’ quarters, and for the housekeeper to dictate everyone’s comings and goings.
But the atmosphere here is homey, and part of the tension holding my body hostage eases. I can breathe easier.
Giulia is back behind the stove, stirring what smells like a rich, aromatic risotto. The smell makes my mouth water and my stomach rumbles loudly. I cover it with my hands, embarrassed to draw attention to myself.
“ Mia cara , you are hungry?” Giulia asks.
Starving, I want to say, but settle for, “Yes. I’ve not eaten since lunch.”
And even that I had to force down my throat, my guts already churning then. Well, and we all know what happened at the church. Now my stomach is as empty as can be.
“The risotto is nearly done. And then I need to take that food to the other side of the house.” She points to the other side of the island where a tray with a covered dish is sitting.
“I can help,” I offer. “I can stir the risotto or take the tray.”
Please let her pick the first option. I love to cook.
Giulia stops stirring, her face turning serious as she mulls it over. She doesn’t answer right away, and I wonder why Dario or one of the guards can’t take the food to whoever it’s for.
I wait patiently until Giulia comes to a decision.
“Okay. You take the tray. I need to stay with the risotto. It needs my special seasoning, you see?”
Merda.
Not what I was hoping for.
I force a smile. “No problem. Where do I take it?”
“Dario will show you.” She nods at the man who’s now sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper.
He folds it in half and tucks it under his arm as he rises and walks to the door. With tingling fingers, I pick up the tray holding a covered plate of food and two water bottles.
“Please don’t speak to the girl,” Giulia says before I get too far.
Huh?
“It’s why I usually take food to her. Signor De Marco doesn’t want any men near her.”
What?
My stomach drops, and I sway on my feet.
Is this his girlfriend?
But he doesn’t do relationships!
I take a step back, looking at her, frowning.
“You’ll see why,” is all she says.
Okay.
With a quivering stomach, I follow Dario down a long corridor until we step outside into a courtyard. We’re in the center of the U-shape, walking across the paved area, decorated with large pots of olive and citrus trees, to the other side of the mansion.
Security is tighter here. There are more guards, more cameras and palm readers to access the building.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, why does he have her under guard and hidden away?
Is he that possessive?
I watch as Dario places his palm on the scanner.
“We’ll add your print if you’re going to come back to this part of the house,” he tells me as the pad lights up green.
He gestures for me to walk through when the door opens.
“It’s at the end of the corridor.” He points down the hallway and walks ahead.
When we get there, he enters a pin code, opens the door, and then leans against the wall.
I look at him as he unfolds his paper.
“Go on. Just leave the tray on the table inside and pick up the old one,” he says with a small smile.
Ah, that’s right, he’s not coming in with me. No men allowed!
My heart hammers in my chest. Clutching the tray in my hands tighter, I lift my chin to appear more confident and step over the threshold.