Chapter 15 – Penelope
E verything after that kiss was a blur. The story I told myself was that it was the lack of breakfast, the extra cup of that dangerous coffee my cousin’s housekeeper made, and the stifling press of strangers in the church. My senses were overwhelmed, and that was why I couldn’t think straight.
It wasn’t the kiss.
The tingle in my lips was from dehydration.
When the back door of the town car closed, I dropped my head back against the seat. Silence caressed my tortured ears. I pushed every unnecessary thought from my mind and focused on drawing deep breaths.
The opposite door opened, and Mancini slid into the back beside me. The moment a delicious woodsy scent tickled my nostrils, I changed to inhale through my mouth.
His presence was stifling! There was no escape.
If the driver felt the tension, he didn’t comment. He did his job as a professional, not jabbering to fill the void as I would have done. But I was keenly aware of Mancini’s proximity. I refused to open my eyes. To engage with him. But I couldn’t stop being aware of him.
That was the very reason I lost track of time and when the car finally slowed, I prepared to bolt. The lock popped as I opened the door, not waiting for the driver or my husband to escort me. Tires squealed as a car rushed by, and then a horrible metal screeching tore through the air.
Mancini grabbed my waist with a growl. “Are you trying to get run over?”
Horns blared. Drivers shouted, and the door hung askew from its hinges.
I gaped at the chaos. “Why was he going so fast?”
“While that is a very good question, it’s not what concerns me right now.” Mancini gently gripped my chin and turned my face to look at him. “I’m going to ask you this, Penelope, and I’m going to need you to be honest with me.”
I felt myself fall into those inky depths. His tone was deadly serious, but there wasn’t any anger or threat behind the words.
I gave him a small nod. “Okay.”
“Are you considering harming yourself to escape this situation?” he pressed.
The way his thumb slid over my jaw delayed my brain processing his question. When I finally did, I jerked back.
“No! Why would I—no!” I shook my head.
But he held his grip, continued to brush that rough pad back and forth. “You just tried to jump in front of a moving vehicle.”
I blew out a long breath. “I can’t say that I’ll never have depression so bad that I consider harming myself. But know this, mobster, I’m a fighter. I love being alive. So I would rather battle you to the end of time than give up.”
He continued to look at me for a moment before he was convinced of the truth of my words. “That’s good to hear.”
“Do you plan to be so horrible that I’d choose death rather than life with you?” I bit back in turn, following him out his door.
“No, in fact, I plan to make your life comfortable. You’ll have whatever your little heart desires…my little wife.” Whatever else he was going to say was cut off when his phone rang.
A jet roared overhead.
I snapped my gaze upward and stumbled.
Mancini caught me, and this time, he didn’t let me go. That firm touch slid around my back and guided me over the walkway. The driver passed a piece of luggage to an attendant, who we followed through private security.
“Why are we at the airport?” I hissed.
Mancini continued to chat on his phone, but the amused look he threw me showed that he’d heard my query. He didn’t even put the device down for the TSA. I glared at him the whole way to the private lounge.
The scene was all too familiar.
“Mrs. Mancini, may I offer you a beverage?” the receptionist, who hadn’t been there just a few days ago, asked.
Mrs. Mancini.
Tearing my eyes away from the fountain and the haunting memory of our first meeting, I croaked, “Water, please.”
She left without asking the monster in a tux about a refreshment.
I stared at my husband, who was doing more listening than speaking into the phone.
Enough was enough.
I marched over, jumped because of the height difference, and plucked the phone from his hands. “He’ll call you back!” I shouted into the receiver, before holding the device over the pool of water and sliding my thumb over the red button to end the call. “Start talking, lupo.”
The surprise on his features was worth everything. I doubted very many individuals were bold enough to stand up to him. Well…that was something he was going to have to get very used to if he planned to keep me around.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he ground out. “We’re at the airport.”
“There was a wedding reception, or did you forget about this?” I held up my hand to show the teeny, tiny pinky ring.
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I didn’t realize you were so eager to be trotted in front of Tito’s friends.”
I wasn’t.
“Does my uncle even know we’re skipping town?”
“Does it matter?” he countered.
Touche. “And…where are we flying to?”
He grinned. Those pearly, lupine teeth flashed sharp. “Home.”
Which was…I scrambled to remember. He’s the don of where? I narrowed my eyes.
“Chicago,” he drawled and held out his hand. “Any more questions or may I continue my conversation?”
There was no reason to drop his phone in the fountain. No good reason. I slammed the device against his palm. As I turned on my heel the world suddenly tilted from a violent push. I swayed. The dress tangled about my legs, and my heels lost their grip.
Mancini held me, dangling me over the pool of water. “Watch yourself, vespina. I’m not the kind of man who can be easily coerced.”
He dropped me an inch.
It was just a little water. I’d fallen into the cows’ water trough before. But the thought of sitting in the lounge soaked—and who knew how long the plane ride was—didn’t sound fun.
“Are you looking for an apology?” I snapped.
He chuckled. “You won’t give that to me. But I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Outrage burst from my lips. “As if!” I scoffed.
He dropped me again.
I squeaked. “Fine. Fine!”
He pulled me up and wrapped an arm around me. This time, he didn’t bother closing the distance. He patiently waited, looming above me. I stared up at him, too aware of how tall he was. He expected me to bridge the distance. Well, good thing I was resourceful.
I’m only doing this so I don’t get wet.
The muscles in my stomach tightened as I stepped onto the edge of the fountain, bracing myself on his broad shoulders for a moment, and then clapped both hands on his cheeks. This wasn’t romantic, and he needed to know that. I wasn’t here to pleasure him whenever he demanded it. This whole situation was messed up. The sooner he understood that, the better.
I gave him a loud, sloppy smooch.
When I pulled back, he was smirking. “You are going to make life a hell of a lot more interesting than your cousin would have.”
How dare he!
I was tempted to slap him. I even raised my hand. But he caught it.
“Don’t insult her,” I hissed. “She would have made you a good wife.”
Mancini shook his head. “Maybe divine intervention knew I didn’t need a good wife.”
With that he moved away. And I had to jump off the edge to avoid tipping into the fountain.
The receptionist came at that moment with my water. Snatching it violently off the tray, I saluted her. If only I’d eaten something this morning, then I could be drinking something stronger. But I wasn’t about to get sloppy and lose my edge around the mobster.
By the time we loaded onto the private jet, I was fidgeting. Badly. Mancini disappeared through a door at the end of the cabin. The chairs in this main area were sprawled out, some with tables between them and others set by themselves for maximum leg room. The space reeked of comfort and wealth.
The plush seats were cozy. I slipped my strappy shoes off, tucked my feet under my dress, and stared out the window, my fingers drumming against my thigh. Soon, the runway began to speed by, and the metal can we were trapped in gained speed. I slapped the blind shut.
But just because the world rushing by was invisible, didn’t mean I stopped feeling it.
The moment of weightlessness when the metal bird proved it could fly had me digging my fingers into the armrests.
Booze would’ve helped, but I would never like this feeling.
Keenly aware that we were climbing higher and higher into the sky, I pushed long gusts of air from my lungs one after the other.
“Miss, can I get you anything?” the flight attendant asked, a slight sneer marking her voice.
Screw it. Empty stomach be damned. I squinted at her. “Bourbon. Neat.”
She shook her head. “Mr. Mancini said you needed to eat something first.”
Anger spiked deep inside. Oh, he did not just do that.
Of all the controlling, rotten things to do! It didn’t matter that in principle I agreed with him. My fingers curled tight, creating little half-moons in my palm. If he thought I shouldn’t have any, that was between us. He shouldn’t be telling this—this—
Smirking wench with big tits!
“What’s your name, honey?” I smiled tightly.
“Chelsey, miss.”
Of course it was. A typical 90’s it-girl name, right up there with Ashley and Britney.
I drummed my fingers into the armrest. “Okay, Chelsey, here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to bring me three of those little bottles of booze. I would prefer bourbon, but I’ll take what you’ve got. If you don’t, or if you tattle to my husband, I will hog-tie and brand you in three minutes flat.”
The threat held no weight with her. Condescension dripped from her eyes. “Mr. Mancini gave his orders, and—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Mr. Mancini or his orders.” I launched out of my seat, brushing past her.
“Miss, miss! Where are you going?” she called.
But I was already marching down the aisle of the small cabin. The gallery had a second attendant, who was preparing a pot of coffee.
I gave the man a clipped nod and began to rummage through the boxed compartments. There were better treats in here than peanuts and pretzels. I grabbed a few that looked appetizing. The writing on the chocolates weren’t in English, so they had to be good.
“Stop. What are you doing?” the blonde bimbo hissed from behind me.
“Chelsey, don’t,” the man warned. “She has every right to be back here.”
I hid my laughter. The anger wafting off the woman was tangible. It made me dig even harder through the stores. Cracker-like breadsticks from Italy, dried organic fruits, and a little tin of nuts that I would pick through added to my pile.
Her reaching out to touch me was a mistake.
I gripped her wrist, spun her around, and wrenched her arm up her back. The treats in my other hand tumbled to the floor. Like any barnyard animal, she squawked helplessly.
“Where’s the mini bottles?” I asked the male attendant.
He gulped, stooping to pick up my snacks, and placed them on a tray. “What would you like, Mrs. Mancini?”
That name crawled down my spine. “Something strong—and a bottle of water.”
He plucked a cut glass from a shelf, dropped ice in it, and pulled out something clear with weird letters. “Vodka, ma’am?”
“Sounds great!” It really did.
“Anything to cut the taste?” the attendant asked.
“Cranberry juice.” I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry for Chelsey’s behavior. She’s new.”
“Well, let this be a lesson to her.” I shoved the attendant, plucked the glass with swirling red tendrils, and returned to the main part of the cabin. The man followed with my treats.
“What’s your name?” I asked, dropping back into my seat.
“Alec, ma’am.” He set the tray on the table before me.
“Thank you, Alec, I appreciate it.”
Now that the victory had been won, there wasn’t as strong a need to lose myself to the pull of forgetfulness. I slowly nursed the cranberry vodka and made sure to finish the entire bottle of water. Chelsey didn’t make a reappearance.
To occupy the time and avoid going to find the mobster through the partition, I scrolled through the book on my phone. Even the dragon-riding warriors weren’t able to hold my attention. So I logged into the WIFI and began to binge short videos about recipes. Thirty minutes into the flight, Alec brought a fancy board of crackers, meat, and cheese.
“Do you have any Sunny D?” I asked, flicking a glance at him.
He cleared his throat. “I have fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
“You know why my generation is obsessed with these charcuterie boards?” I took the last sip of my cranberry drink and handed him the empty cup.
“Not sure, ma’am.”
“Because we grew up on Lunchables and Sunny D.” I plucked a piece of cheese and popped it in my mouth. “I’ll have the orange juice, but just plain please. And some more water.”
“Still or sparkling?”
I blinked. “Regular?”
He smiled. “Coming right up.”
The far door unlatched and Mancini ducked through it. His presence suddenly filled the interior of the cabin. One look at me, and a frown tugged at his lips.
I refused to squirm under his gaze.
“Hungry?” he asked, folding into the seat across from me. “They do have more than snacks on here.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
This time it was Chelsey who brought the beverages. There was a teeny, tiny coffee for the force of nature sitting across from me. If the attendant leaned over a little too far and bent a little too low, I refused to notice.
Only, I did see it.
And it made me want to take her to the floor.
Damn, what is wrong with me? I might not have wanted anything to do with this marriage, but that was my husband this flight attendant was flashing her cleavage in front of.
Mancini didn’t look up from his phone at her.
It shouldn’t impress me. But dammit, it did. I needed to hate this man, and something as simple as looking at another woman, on this our wedding day, would have helped!
I hate him plenty. Nothing was going to change that.
The orange juice sloshed as Chelsey dropped it in front of me. A splash bounced out and landed in my lap.
“Oops! I’m so sorry, miss,” she gasped, her cheeks reddening.
I curled my fingers tightly in my lap. She was trying to provoke a reaction from me. “It’s fine, honey. Why don’t you bring me a wet towel, and I’ll dab at it.”
Not playing into her hand made her fume.
Mancini clicked off his phone, lifted his tiny cup, and pinned me with a look. “We’ll be in Chicago soon.”
He didn’t look back at big boobs.
I cocked my head, studying every minute detail of this man. “What happens then?”
One broad shoulder lifted in a small shrug. “They’ll have a meal prepared for us at the house.”
“And then?” I pressed. “What happens tomorrow, or the morning after?”
Chelsey appeared and held out the tea towel with the edge wet like it was a dirty diaper. But I was done with her and the petty display of dominance. There were bigger problems to deal with. My life as I knew it was changed.
When we didn’t ask her for anything else, the attendant disappeared.
Stabbing a finger into the table, I leaned forward. “What am I supposed to do with my life?”
Mancini popped an olive in his mouth. “Whatever you want.”
That simple? I frowned. “Alright, I’m leaving.”
His chuckle was dark and rich. I hated that it felt better than the fancy chocolate. “You don’t want to do that.” He rose and tugged on the cuffs of his dress shirt. “Besides, I just caught you, Penelope. I don’t intend to let you slip away anytime soon.”
I picked up the cut glass and hurled it at his retreating figure. The orange juice splattered on the wall, but the crash didn’t make him pause as he slipped back into the far cabin.
Mother of god, what do I want more than leaving him? But maybe, through the twisted tangle of my thoughts, I already knew the truth. There were other things I wanted way more than not being this man’s wife.
“And maybe he’s my ticket to having them,” I mused, pushing around the bottle of water. I lifted it and chugged. I really needed a clearer head to think through this new turn of events.