Chapter Five
It’s Friday morning, and I don’t think I’ve slept at all. No matter how much I’ve tried, I can’t stop thinking about what it will be like to see Remus today. I hate not knowing what he expects from me. Gail already knows I’m off work today to see him, and I can feel her looking at me as I sit at our kitchen table while she’s running around, getting ready for her day.
“Stop looking at me,” I huff into my bowl of cereal.
“But you’re so pretty when you scowl at your breakfast.” Her sing-song voice is calming, and her words make me laugh. “Don’t even think about canceling tonight. I won’t let you. And who knows, it might be fun to see your cousin for lunch—”
“It won’t be,” I grumble, once again regretting I told her about Remus visiting.
Gail rolls her eyes at me and sighs. “Well then, I guess you’ll have a miserable ol’ time. No matter. Do your duty to the family or whatever. And then tonight…” She pauses theatrically and waggles her eyebrows. “...We go out and party instead of staying in. You and me, babe, and a helluva lot of tequila.” With those words, she discards her bowl into the sink and turns back to look at me.
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. Then I let go of my spoon and give up on the drenched corn flakes that look anything but appetizing.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Well, can’t say I’m going to miss this version of you, Luce. So try to ditch it tonight, kay?”
“Okay,” I agree.
“Once more with feeling.”
I laugh at Gail’s over the top antics, which are clearly orchestrated to lighten my mood. “I promise I’ll be… more fun tonight.”
“That’s the spirit.” She shoots me a smile before pouring the rest of the coffee into her travel cup. “How are things going with Sawyer, by the way? He’s out now, right?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Yeah, he’s out,” I confirm. While I love Gail and trust her implicitly, we both know there are things I don’t tell her. As far as she’s aware, it’s only the finer details of my job I don’t share, and I’d like to keep it that way. After all these years, I don’t want her to know how dishonest I’ve been in our friendship. “We had a meeting the other night. The GM wanted us to come up with a strategy to make Sawyer more…” I swirl my hand in the air as I try to come up with a suitable word.
“Likable? Tame?” Gail asks, curious.
None of those words sounds right, but they’re not wrong. “I guess,” I say with a grimace. “Tom wants Sawyer to enter a fake relationship to make him seem more…” Pausing, I blow out some air. “Likable.”
Gail nods slowly, her eyebrows scrunching together in that way that tells me she’s concerned. “Well, you knew the shit with Sawyer would hit the fan after he punched that guy bloody. So now I have to ask, is your mood really about your cousin visiting?”
Fuck. I thought I’d done so well at acting annoyed rather than concerned, scared. Ugh, I really don’t want to make up more lies, but I also can’t have her knowing just how much I dread Remus being here.
When Gail clears her throat, I realize I haven’t answered her. Not that I’m going to, not in the way she wants. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, trying to sound convincing. I don’t want her to know that I might not be here for our tequila date tonight. If I’m called back to Rome, I’ll have no option but to obey the orders from the Mafia Don ruling my family.
“You’ll be okay with your cousin, right? Or do you need me to fake an emergency?” she asks, making it clear I’m doing a shit job at making it seem like nothing is wrong.
As tempting as that is, I shake my head. “It’ll be fine. I’m just tired. Too many long nights this week is making me dramatic,” I say, needing to convince her that it’s not all bad. Dammit, everything would be so much easier if I’d kept my mouth shut the night I got the first text from Remus. Jesus, has it really only been a week? It feels much longer.
“If you say so,” Gail says, and I let out a sigh of relief that she isn’t pushing the issue further.
I watch her as she goes to pick up her shoulder bag and coat while mumbling something about hating arts and crafts day as she leaves. Can’t say I envy her spending her days with the kids she teaches, but sometimes I am jealous that she’s always out of her workplace no later than 4pm.
A quick glance at the microwave clock tells me I have to hurry if I want to meet Remus on time, which I do. It’s not in my best interest to be late. My family is too disciplined to allow lateness, and Remus would read too much into it. He might even consider it a weakness, and I can’t afford that.
I sprint to the bathroom, indulging in a long shower, where I make sure to perfect every part of my body. Back in my room, I rummage through my closet until I find a suitcase I’ve hidden behind my shoes, and other things. I drag it onto my bed and carefully remove the clothing inside. I haven’t worn it since my uncle set me free, and I’d naively hoped I’d never have to.
During the years, I’ve made sure to clean it at least once a month so it’s fresh. Why? It’s a good fucking question. But I guess it’s because I knew that if the head of my family ever called upon me, I’d have no choice but to wear it.
Zipping up the dress I’m expected to wear, I’m relieved to see it still fits. Although it’s more snug than it was almost ten years ago, the zipper glides up the side easily enough, so I count that as a win. Ugh, I hate having to wear this, but the tradition is important. And I can’t afford any blunders.
While looking in my mirror, I adjust the halter neck and the belt so the white she-wolf’s head isn’t crooked. The skirt reaches me mid-thigh, making it shorter than I like for a family meeting. But then again, this isn’t really a family gathering. We may share blood, but it’s still the head of the family calling upon one of his subordinates. Me.
After towel-drying my long red hair, I braid a few random locks across my scalp. Then I brush it all back, leaving my shoulders free. I tilt my head to the side, narrowing my eyes as I try to imagine what I’ll look like to Remus. The only thing I’m not happy about is my bangs. They’re too long, but my busy work schedule hasn’t allowed any time off to make an appointment with my hairdresser. If only my cousin had given me more notice. Then again, maybe it’s better that he didn’t. This way there’s less time for me to stress and get lost in my head about it.
My makeup is the last thing I do, and I keep it in nude and light nuances. While I apply my mascara, I keep having to tell myself to breathe. My head is swimming with thoughts, and my heart is thundering in my chest. My breathing flits between being labored or… well, I hold it.
“Calm the fuck down,” I hiss at my reflection. “Don’t let him see your nerves.”
After that pep-talk, I reach for the charm bracelet with wolves dangling from it. It was delivered yesterday, so I assume Remus wants me to wear it. Then I sit down on the bed and put my black pumps on, meanwhile reciting facts about my family.
Bravery, loyalty, respect, and authority.
Discipline shows strength.
A wolf never attacks alone, it knows it’s stronger in a pack.
Senatus Populusque Romanus.
Fuck… okay… I can do this.
Before I can change my mind, I quickly gather my things and rush out of the apartment I share with Gail and into my beaten down Honda Civic. It’s not as luxurious as the cars I used to have access to before I bargained my way to freedom, but it’s mine. I bought it from a shady-looking guy who probably scammed me, and, too blinded by the prospect of my first big purchase, I happily let him. Though I could afford a newer or better car now, I’m too emotionally attached to the deathtrap.
During the drive, I again try my best to think up things to tell Remus. Or rather, reasons he needs to let me stay and continue my life. I like the life I’ve built for myself. It’s not much, but I like it this way because everything I have is mine, untainted by my sordid family. But I already know he didn’t make his way all the way from Rome to Minneapolis, Minnesota, to grant me my freedom.
Reaching the restaurant, I’m met by a valet that greets me with the words, “Senatus Populusque Romanus” before bowing deeply. I don’t know why I didn’t expect that Remus had bought and infiltrated the restaurant with his men, but I should have. Because of-fucking-course he has made himself a foothold in my world.
As I walk into the upscale restaurant where my cousin wants to meet me, I feel at least one presence at my back, silently moving closer. “Lucia Russo.” Spinning around, I come face-to-face with a handful of guards, and I immediately recognize one of them. I open my mouth to say hi, but close it again when he discreetly shakes his head and averts his gaze. Right. We don’t greet the guards. Shit, maybe I should have spent more time actually practicing for Remus instead of constantly pushing it out of my mind.
The guards lead me through the restaurant, shielding me from the people eating there. During the walk, I unbutton my black coat and throw it over my arm. It does nothing to cool me down. I still feel like I’m overheating as sweat trickles down my spine. My fucking cousin. Why couldn’t we just meet at a burger van or… I struggle to come up with other ideas because it’s not like they matter. We’re here, and I have a part to play.
When we finally come to a stop, the guard next to me knocks once on the door, which is opened from the inside by yet another member of my cousin’s entourage. I hesitate for a moment, doing my best to ignore my brain that’s screaming at me to get out of here, to flee. I guess this is a byproduct of being away from the fold for so long I no longer feel safe in the presence of my family.
After handing my coat to the guard, I turn around, ready to face my cousin. “Ahh, Lucia,” he croons, stepping out of the shadows where I already knew he was standing.
Remus looks exactly like he did the last time I saw him, at my uncle’s, his dad’s, funeral. His dark eyes are intense, his hair slicked back, and there’s a five o’clock shadow covering the hard lines of his jaw. Of course, he’s dressed impeccably in a suit that probably cost more than everything on the menu combined. He oozes power, it radiates off him in a way that’s almost suffocating.
I’ve known him all his life, which to me means that when you take away all the pomp and circumstance, he’s still the same little boy I babysat in what feels like a different lifetime. If I’m being completely honest with myself, none of that shit is true. It’s just what I have to tell myself to remain undaunted by his mere presence.
“Remus,” I say, bowing deeply while placing my hand on the family saying and crest that’s burned into my skin. I hate having to do it, but since he’s now the Don of the Russo Mafia and our family, I can’t completely ignore tradition. No matter how much I want to, it’s too deeply ingrained in me. “It’s good to see you.”
To my surprise, he throws his head back and lets out a booming laugh. “Fuck off,” he hiccups through his laughter. “Seriously, Luce. I’m glad you’re not an actress because I would have to do some serious bribing to get you a job.” While I debate whether to be offended by the insult or happy my cousin is still himself, he pulls me in for a tight hug that I eagerly return.
The embrace we share feels almost symbolic. With a sigh, I pull back. “Aren’t you going to wine and dine me?” I ask, pointedly, looking at the table.
He chuckles. “How could I forget that the way to your heart is through your stomach? Sure, let’s eat before we get down to why I’m here.” The reminder that this isn’t merely a family reunion isn’t a welcome one.
One of the guards pulls my seat out for me, and I daintily sit down, even allowing him to push the chair in under me. I haven’t missed this. Not one bit. “Why don’t you just tell me why I’m here?” I ask, reaching for the water the guard poured before becoming one with the wall. “You know I don’t like waiting around.”
Remus raises an eyebrow. “I’ve missed you, Luce. We all have.” I grit my teeth, stopping myself from making a snarky comment about how I haven’t missed them. It wouldn’t go down well. Besides, it’s a lie. I have missed some of them, actually. Just not enough to go back to a place that was never more than a gilded cage. “Tell me about your life here,” he insists, breaking the silence that spread between us when I didn’t return the sentiment.
“There’s not much to tell,” I say, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “You already know everything, Remus. We both know it, so why pretend differently?”
Annoyance makes his smile disappear. “Reports only give me the facts. It doesn’t tell me what it’s like for you. So why don’t you humor me?” Even though he phrases it like a question, I know it’s not a request, it’s a demand.
“What is it you want to know? I graduated, I found a job, and I make my own money. I haven’t touched the family funds since I graduated. My job is…” Trailing off, I try to decide on the best way to describe how much I love my job. “It’s challenging and unpredictable. No two days are the same, and I love that about it.”
Remus snorts. “How ironic that you, of all people, have found a job that’s all about being dishonest and unethical. Isn’t that part of why you wanted to leave the family? Because you found us controlling and immoral?”
“That’s not it at all,” I volley. Feeling indignant, he’s making it sound like it’s a shady business. “People are people. They aren’t perfect, but I help people get what they want.”
“Explain.” The demand is sharp, his tone making it clear the niceties are over.
It takes everything in me not to react to the shift in his attitude, but I refuse to let him see how affected—scared—I am. “What I’m doing isn’t really for the players, Remus. I help shape their image and manage their social media accounts so the fans get what they want, what they expect. Some of them live for a reply, a like, or a share from their icon. What I do is for the fans. They believe in the players. Some even feel a connection to them, and I help strengthen that by giving them what it is they’re looking for.”
I know Remus wants to grill me further, and probably call me out for being such a dreamer—that’s what his dad called me when he agreed to let me move away. But luckily two servers join us, delivering the food and topping up our drinks. They don’t speak at all, barely even look at us.
During my years away, I’ve learned I suffer from a self-diagnosed disease that makes it damn near impossible to keep my mouth shut even when I know I should. So avoiding saying something I shouldn’t, I quickly dig into the food. On my plate is a green salad masterfully placed to look all fancy. The potato slices form a heart around the chicken breast, which is covered in bacon with cream cheese in the middle. My mouth salivates, and it feels like it’s taking forever to slice into the tender meat.
“Mhmm,” I moan as the herbs and spices the chicken has been marinated in wrap around my tongue. “That’s delicious.” Using my fork, I push the greens to the side because with how good this is, I need to prioritize. I’m not a salad eater on my best of days, and I’m definitely not one to choose it over meat and carbs.
I make it through three bites before Remus puts his cutlery down. “You need to come home, Luce. People are questioning why you’re still allowed to roam around free.” I nod to show him I’m listening, but I don’t stop eating. “Your deal with my dad was for ten years, which is coming up next month on your twenty-eighth birthday. Have you made preparations to leave yet?”
The food suddenly tastes like ash on my tongue, and I reach for my water to help it down. When I feel like I can breathe again, I say, “Romulus made it clear I could earn my freedom if—”
Remus makes an impatient sound. “I know what my dad said. The agreement is that you would be free if you got married. But Luce, you’re not even dating. So don’t insult me by giving me some elaborate lie about getting married.”
“How would you know?” I volley.
He lets out a mirthless laugh. “Because if you truly were about to get married, you would have asked me for a divorce.”
My blood runs cold at his words. “A divorce?” I croak. “But I thought…” Trailing off, I try to recall my uncle’s exact words. He set me free from my marriage, but… did he ever say divorce? Shit, I can’t remember.
“I see you’re finally getting it,” Remus says. “Giving you ten years of freedom isn’t the same as granting you a divorce. Your marriage might only be a technicality, but it still exists on paper, Luce.”
Scoffing, I ask, “Don’t tell me Fabian has spent ten years being a faithful husband missing his wife.”
“Of course not,” Remus snorts. “Your time away gave you both a temporary separation—”
“But then why—”
“Stop fucking interrupting me,” he roars, slamming his fist down on the table. The cutlery and glasses shake on the table at the impact, and it’s making the hairs on my neck rise as a sliver of cold runs down my spine. “Once your time is up, you revert to your marital status.”
Giving up on the food, I push the plate away and fold my arms over my chest to hide my trembling hands. “Whatever’s going on or not going on in my life is none of your business, Remus. At least not for the next month,” I say, getting us back to the beginning since I don’t know how to feel about this, any of it.
This can’t be fucking happening. Married… hell fucking no. I’ll slit my own throat before I ever return to my husband’s side.
Remus rakes a hand through his hair and down his neck. The movement and the heaviness in his eyes make him look much older than the twenty-two years he is, and I can’t help feeling bad for him. It’s not my cousin I’m fighting. I mean, it is, but it isn’t. It’s the fact he wants to control me I have an issue with. But I also know that isn’t who he is, it’s just who he had to become when his dad died and he took over.
“Is this really how you want to do this?” he asks, giving me a look I can’t decipher.
Rather than answering him, I repeat my previous statement. “I have one more month of freedom. What I do with it is up to me.” Maybe I’m wrong, but I could have sworn I see begrudging respect in the way he’s looking at me. I hope I’m reading him correctly, because if not… nope, can’t think about that. I have to stand my ground.
Remus picks his knife and fork back up and resumes eating. He chews slowly, like he’s thinking too hard to focus on his food. Since I don’t have that problem, I dive back into the chicken. Like my cousin, I chew slower than normal. But it’s not because my head is full of important thoughts. Or maybe that’s the exact reason, I can no longer tell as my thoughts run rampant.
I probably should think of ways to get out of my deal. Make suggestions or cut another deal, but I know it wouldn’t help. The only reason he isn’t hauling my ass back to Rome at this very moment is because he’s honoring the deal I made with his dad.
“You know,” I say as soon as I’m done eating and the servers have cleared the table. “I don’t hate all the family, Remus. You know I love you. Some of my life in Rome was good, but the bad parts overshadowed that.”
Remus opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything, the servers come back with dessert and coffee. Once they’re gone, my cousin arches an eyebrow and casually leans back in his chair while swirling his wine. “Why are you telling me this?”
Eyeing the elaborate dessert in front of me, I pick up my spoon. It’s a chocolate bowl filled with fresh fruit and what looks like sorbet. Wasting no time, I eagerly dive in. All the flavors explode on my tongue immediately, and damn, it’s good.
“Luce,” Remus says. His tone makes it sound like a warning, but when I look at him he’s smiling.
Oh, right. He asked me why I was telling him I don’t hate the entire family. It”s a good question, but the answer isn’t. The reason I’m telling him is that I want him to know I’m not coming home. Not now, not ever. “Because you’re wrong. Because you’re not all-knowing.”
“Meaning?”
I force my shoulders to relax and a smile to splay across my lips. “I need a divorce, because I’m getting married.”
Much to my dismay, he starts laughing. This time it isn’t good-naturedly and infectious. It’s cruel and calculated. “Is that so? Then tell me this, Luce. Where’s your engagement ring?”
Fueled by anger at his reaction and fear of having to return to Rome, I hiss, “It’s on a part of my body that you’ll never see.”
Remus chuckles, and it pisses me off that he’s seeing through my lies so easily. “For your sake, I hope you’re being honest.”
“Remus—” I begin, but he interrupts me.
“There’s no point in lying to me, Lucia. I know you’re not dating. I know your job and your friend Abigail are your entire life—”
My breath hitches as a surge of panic flows through me. “Keep her out of it,” I demand.
He carries on, completely ignoring what I just said. “And that’s fine. You don’t need to make up elaborate stories. Your deal doesn’t hinge on a relationship already existing. So let me give you a friendly piece of advice—”
“You’re not my friend,” I grumble, unable to stop myself.
Shrugging, Remus amends, “Then consider it unfriendly advice. But if you want to stay here, you have to get a ring on your finger. And you have to find a husband that can stand before the Senate in the Vatican City. Your current husband will demand the involvement of the Senate, and you know I can’t stop him from evoking them.”
I gape at Remus, unsure of whether or not I’m reading him correctly. Gulping, I play the words on repeat in my head. It sounds like he just told me how to win my freedom. Is… is Remus on my side? “Why are you telling me that?” I ask, needing to know if I’m understanding him correctly.
Remus shrugs again, the motion warring with the intense look in his eyes. “We all have a role to play, Lucia. And when… if you come home, the Senate wants you back with Fabian.”
“But you’re the head of the family,” I argue. “Can’t you just let me go?”
Ignoring my question, he shoots me a toothy smile. “You can make it happen, Luce. If it helps, the only one I’m worried about is the poor guy you set your eyes on. You’re too conniving for anyone to know what’s happening if you really put your mind to it.”
“Remus,” I hiss, not amused by the way he’s describing me. When he narrows his eyes, I shake my head and instead repeat the question. “Why can’t you just let me go? You could pretend you didn’t find me or something.”
He sighs audibly. “You know that’s not how it works. Nothing worth having is given for free, Lucia. So if you really want your freedom, you have to make it happen.”
The Senate… I don’t know much about it, only what I’ve heard whispered. If the rumors are to be believed, the Senate is made up of the heads of the most important members of our family, and they do their shady dealings amongst the ancient bones in the Vatican City. At least, that’s what I heard as a kid. I don’t know how much is real. Hell, up until now, I didn’t even know they actually existed. So I suppose the part about them only answering to our Don, Remus, is true. But from the way he’s talking, it doesn’t sound like he can control them.
“Does the Senate have to approve my new husband?” I ask softly.
“Not necessarily,” Remus says. “The only stipulation my dad wrote was that you had to be married. He didn’t specify that anyone had to approve the man you marry. But they do have to approve that you’ve satisfied the terms of the deal.”
“What?”
Remus rolls his eyes like I’m being dense, which irks me so much I have to swallow down the retort I want to throw at him. “They have to agree you’ve successfully fulfilled your duty, and that they’re satisfied with the result. Call it approval or blessing, either way, it’s the same.”
“So they do have to approve,” I grumble, feeling like he’s talking in a circle.
He shrugs. “Not of your husband. You can marry whomever you want, Luce. But they do have to be okay with it.”
I nod, unable to speak. My head is too busy trying to form an idea or a plan to do something. Knowing that Remus doesn’t care what I do and isn’t personally going to stand in my way should make it easier for me. Yet, it feels even harder now that I know he isn’t the only one keeping an eye on me. Okay, technically, I don’t know if the Senate is watching me, but I feel like they are if they’re asking him to bring me home.
“How long do I have to be married?” I ask. Remus arches an eyebrow and gives me an unimpressed look. “I mean, what if my new husband dies or wants a divorce? What’s the timeframe for my marriage, Remus?”
He cups his chin and runs his thumb thoughtfully up and down his cheek. “I’d say at least a year,” he answers thoughtfully. “But I’d also caution you that exactly three hundred and sixty-five days would look odd if that’s when your husband mysteriously dies or divorces you.”
I should be repulsed that Remus obviously doesn’t care if I kill my husband, not as long as it doesn’t look suspicious. Yet all I can think about is when it won’t look off anymore. Is that at the thirteen month mark? Fourteen? Who can really tell.
“What happens if I run?” I ask, immediately slapping my hand over my mouth. That wasn’t even a real question. Just an errant thought my stupid brain decided to give voice.
“Don’t test me, and you won’t have to find out,” Remus answers darkly without missing a beat. “Oh, and before I forget, Fabian wanted me to give you a present.” Snapping his fingers, Remus waits for his guard to step closer, holding a small box in his hand.
“What is it?” I ask, physically flinching as he pushes the box toward me.
“Open it and find out.”
I vehemently shake my head. “No, I’m good.”
“Open it, Lucia,” he growls, making it clear I don’t have a choice.
Sighing, I remove the lid with shaky fingers, and to my horror, nested inside the box is my wedding band. “Nope!” I whisper-yell in horror. “Take it back or throw it away. I don’t want it.”
I look around the table, and at the candlesticks that are almost burned all the way down, making the room darker. I don’t know what time it is or how long I’ve been here. All I know is that I want to get as far away as possible. Even though I haven’t been excused, I stand on trembling legs, gather my things, and leave. Only slightly surprised none of the guards or Remus stop me.
“One month, Lucia,” my cousin calls after me.