Chapter 22 – Penelope
T he three maids scurried from the kitchen as I entered. Their quiet movements made this mausoleum feel haunted. I knew they were there, that they cooked and cleaned, but the fact that they didn’t speak to me or even stay in the same space long enough to wave was truly disheartening.
I rubbed my opposite arm, shaking off the eerie feelings left in their wake. What would they say if I started cleaning toilets next to them? Would they respect me for my former employment?
Setting my new, leatherbound journal on the counter, I reached for the filters and grounds. I needed to figure out my next moves, and fast! As the pot coughed and spluttered, I opened my journal. Thoughts from last night stared back at me.
What do I want?
My fingers drummed against the countertop. This pampered life had its perks. My skin hadn’t felt dish soap or cleaner in weeks. The backs of my hands were no longer red and chapped. But if I went any longer without working, the callouses would fade.
“I won’t turn into a spoilt princess,” I reaffirmed.
That declaration was underlined, but I scribbled an arrow next to it once again.
The truth was, I could fill my days however I wanted. I was Mrs. Mancini. The name had started to hold potential instead of dread. There was opportunity to do something good, something worthwhile, with my time.
One idea continued to draw my attention. When my kid sister wanted to be a nurse, she crammed classes and worked long hours at the hospital. I helped her pay for school so she could focus on gaining experience. Now she was an RN in Bismarck and made a reliable income. I was delighted she had the chance to pursue her dreams, and I would do it again! Work those long hours and help her achieve her goal.
What if this was my turn?
Mancini had money. There were no responsibilities clouding my day.
But….
“What do I want to be when I grow up?” I laughed as I wrote those same words at the top of a new page.
It might seem silly, but now that I was faced with endless possibilities, none jumped up and down for my consideration. The present was all about me, and while the future was unknown, I could seize the day. Pouring the beautiful medium brown liquid into a clear drinking glass, because it was the only thing big enough to sate my caffeine addiction, I stopped by the fridge for a splash of milk.
A tut of disgust sounded behind me.
“Good morning, Shepherd,” I sang out, putting the milk back and scooping up the loaf of bread.
“Ma’am, may I assist you?” the petrified piece of wood asked.
“No, I’m just going to make a quick peanut butter toast. Don’t go to any trouble over me,” I assured him with a smile.
The old geezer was looking down his nose.
“What is it?” I asked, refusing to tiptoe around the elephant in the room.
The butler sighed dramatically. “Perhaps no one told you, but a lady never makes her own coffee.”
Oh, good grief. “Well, good thing I’m not a lady then.”
I took the weird nut spread that wasn’t peanut butter from the fridge door, found a knife, and waited for the bread to toast.
“On that, we can agree,” the butler muttered as he left the room.
That jab hurt. I didn’t know why, normally my skin was thick. Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried—and failed—to let the old man’s words roll off.
It didn’t work.
The toaster tinged in warning, then popped my toast out. I smeared it, took a bite, and then cleaned up after myself. There was no way in hell I was giving these people cause to complain. They might not like how a self-sufficient girl like me did things, but I wasn’t going to create messes and extra work for them.
Gathering my things, I ventured into the breakfast room. “Oh, crap.”
The butler could have said something.
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling in supplication for patience with the old man before sitting down in my seat where a covered breakfast tray sat warming. He was probably insulted I wasn’t in here, eating the food prepared for me. Normally, the maids brought the food to me. I figured my appearance in the kitchen would make them avoid the stuffy formality of waiting on me.
“I’ll check tomorrow before I make toast,” I muttered, sinking into my chair.
Bringing the drinking glass of coffee to my lips, I glanced to the head of the table. At least Mancini didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t the perfectly behaved mob wife. In fact, my oddities seemed to intrigue him. Not that I was sure that was a good thing. Drumming my fingers into the table, I flicked a glance at my notebook.
I was going to do it.
I would use this time, chained to this monster, to invest in myself at his expense. When I came out of this marriage, I would be a butterfly.
Lifting my mug at Mancini’s empty seat, I saluted him. The mobster was opening doors a poor girl like me would never think possible. The least I could do was be nice to him.
“Come in!” I called in response to the knock on the door.
When a dark head of hair ducked through, I started. Looking between the time on my phone and the head of the Chicago Famiglia, confusion flickered through me.
“I brought you something.” Mancini held out a square box. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday.”
Words failed me.
While my first reaction upon entering the house in tears had been to smother the bastard in his sleep, by the time I soaked in the tub, I calmed down enough to see the foolishness behind that action. I might hate him for forcing me into this marriage, but the smart thing to do was use his position to my advantage.
Which was exactly what I’d spent the day plotting.
This gesture, however, was unexpected. I took the box from him, running my fingers over the soft velvet.
“You can wear them to the benefit this weekend,” he intoned.
A sinking feeling pulled my gut down as I unclasped the box. The lid sprang up, and thousands of dollars glittered back at me.
My chest rose and fell rapidly as I battled down dark emotions. This wasn’t a thoughtful gesture. The necklace and matching earrings were his way of adorning his prisoner. I snapped the lid closed and tossed the box onto the coffee table, bumping my glass of Joe.
“If that’s what you want, sounds good,” I said coolly as I plucked my glass and drained the coffee. Not only was I fueled by two and a half pots of caffeine, but hot spite filled my veins. “What are you doing home from work? It’s the middle of the day.”
Mancini frowned down at me. I tried and failed not to notice how good he smelled this close. “I’m afraid I’ll have to work late tonight and won’t be home for dinner.”
I nodded. “Okay then.”
“So—” Mancini swept his hand through the air “—I cleared my afternoon to take you shopping.”
I gaped at him. Unbelievable. Un-freaking-believable. “You what?”
“I cleared my afternoon—”
“No, no, I heard you.” I held up my hand, shaking my head. That was a whole separate issue, one I didn’t want to think about. He cleared time for me? Who did that? I shook my head again. “Let me rephrase: Why the hell do I need to go shopping again?”
Mancini shrugged. “It’s what women do.”
“Hold up, mister.” I shot to my feet, not liking the height difference. While I wasn’t anywhere close to as tall as he was, sitting on the sofa in front of him made it all the worse. “I’m not some pampered Real Housewife. I don’t need hordes of consumer goods to fill my days.”
The don nodded slowly, as if he were really taking that information into account, and it was reforming the opinion he had of me.
“I bought enough crap two days ago to last a lifetime,” I insisted.
“While you did find some nice clothes, I’m afraid you’re still missing some key things.” The corner of his mouth smirked. He was enjoying how much I didn’t like this.
Which was a very odd thing to find entertaining.
I bristled, but he cut my protest off. “I looked over your choices, and you don’t have any dresses appropriate for some upcoming events we’ll be attending.”
Play his game. There was more at stake here than simply shopping. If I gave in to this simple request, it could forge the groundwork when I made my own demand.
I groaned. He wasn’t going to stop pushing, and I might as well have the things he needed me to have. “I don’t know, I’m not the fancy type.”
“Have you ever tried?” he countered matter-of-factly.
No, I guess I hadn’t. If this was the price for a lifestyle where I could pursue a degree, which my morning of research and goal setting was pointing toward, paying the piper might not be so bad.
He needs someone classy and elegant. I was no My Fair Lady.
But if Audrey could do it, if Julia could do it, and granted those were films, there wasn’t anything stopping me from trying.
“Let me put my cup in the kitchen, and then I’ll be ready,” I agreed reluctantly.
The don gave me a strange look but nodded. I hurried into the cold, sterile room and shivered. This spot was in desperate need of a makeover. Housewives decorated, right? Maybe I would add that as a minor project. If I was going to spend a significant amount of time in this house, I would need to be in the kitchen.
Squirting a dollop of soap into the glass, I scrubbed it with my fingers, since there wasn’t a brush or sponge readily available. It felt good to have the suds on my skin again.
The nerves along my spine prickled a moment before two arms caged me against the sink. Heat radiated off his large frame, and while we weren’t touching, I felt Alessandro from the back down to my toes.
“You didn’t say anything about the jewels,” he murmured, hot breath brushing the side of my neck. “Don’t you like them?”
My pulse picked up a notch. “I’m sure they’re nice.”
“Hmm.” The sound rumbled deep in his chest. “You hate them.”
“I do,” I bit out before I could stop myself. “But if you require it, I’ll wear them.”
“Fucking hell, woman,” he laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Mhmm,” I muttered, but only because I didn’t trust myself to speak.
He leaned forward, making my heart hammer against my ribs. His lips connected with my skin. Sparks shot through my veins as he pressed a kiss against my throat—as if tasting my heartbeat. “What would you prefer, Penelope? Pearls? Gemstones? It doesn’t have to be diamonds.”
Spinning around, I held my damp, dripping hands upright, and pinned him with a look. He was so close. His presence dominated my senses, overwhelmed my decisions. I needed air. I needed space!
“What the hell made you think they were a good apology?” I challenged, trying to force my voice to sound normal.
Those black eyes stared hard at me. He seemed confused, and there was a genuine desperation to understand me. This close, I stared into the abyss. His eyes weren’t as cruel and cold as I initially thought.
No, they had sparkles deep in the inky darkness.
But I doubted few were brave enough to be in this proximity to him. He was overwhelming. My lips parted slightly as I tried to catch my breath.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “I am sorry for the way things happened. When I was informed you jumped the gate, I panicked.”
“You panicked?” I repeated, not able to fathom this wolfish beast as anything but in control.
He nodded. “I did.”
“I like to exercise, Mancini.”
“Say my name,” he whispered, a small plea attaching itself to the request.
“Okay. I hate running, but I enjoy being outside…Alessandro.” I gave him the truth.
“Take the guards next time,” he insisted.
I narrowed my eyes.
“They could use the exercise.” He smirked. “You have a fast mile. It will be good for them.”
That sounded like a compliment, and my traitorous body warmed. It had to be why my chin dipped in a small nod.
The wolf grinned.
I struggled not to squirm under his gaze.
“To hell with it,” he rasped in Italian.
His lips crashed on mine before my brain fully computed the meaning.
The kiss was hungry and desperate. And my body lost no time responding with as much desperation.
I closed the distance, pulling him to me. It felt good.
Really damn good.
I moaned a little, enjoying the way his hand snaked up my body to cup my cheek. I was at his mercy, bent over the sink, pinned in place.
And yet, what I wanted was to be closer to him.
The kiss was nothing but fire and wanting. His body was hard and hot against me.
Need pulsed between my legs.
He was really hot. As if his skin radiated like a damn furnace. I slid my hands over his dress shirt, feeling the heat and wanting it against my body.
Heaven help me! I wanted this man.
The carnal drive wasn’t something I would be able to fight for much longer.
Mancini pulled back with a groan. He cleared his throat.
And then cleared it again.
“We should get going,” he finally choked out.
I pursed my lips. “Fine, I’ll go put on some jeans.”