Chapter 52 – Penelope
T he late afternoon sun beat down on my back. Laney’s hooves clopped along the hard-packed earth as we wound around the bend in the field. Leaning back in the saddle, I tipped my head to the sunlight. Heavens, I’d missed this.
There was nothing better than being outdoors in such incredible weather with an animal I’d bottle-raised, trained, and nurtured. But….
My heart wasn’t in this. Not all of it.
It was too quiet out here. Granted, the breeze whistled over the plains, and an occasional pickup rattled down the dirt road. The cows lowed in the distance while a bird cackled in the trees along the pasture’s edge. Those sounds didn’t add up to enough noise to create the distraction I desperately needed, though.
I was home and homesick at the same time.
“Mother of god, I miss him,” I whispered.
It’d been a week since we brought Mom home. There was enough to do at the ranch, cooking, cleaning, and caretaking, to keep me busy. The nights were the worst. It wasn’t that my room was too small—it wasn’t right!
I angled the mare toward the mailbox. Dad asked me to check it on my way back, otherwise I’d already be up at the house prepping dinner. Stopping Laney, who immediately began to nibble at the grass, I slid from her back and went to the large metal box. There were enough letters and Amazon packages to fill the drawstring bag. I dropped them unceremoniously into it until my name caught my eye.
Frowning, I opened the bubble mailer, knowing full well I hadn’t ordered anything. A colorful box of aromatherapy shower steamers stared back at me.
“I definitely didn’t order these,” I muttered.
A white slip of paper fluttered to the ground.
I stooped, plucked it, and gasped softly.
Vespina, I don’t know if you have a tub to soak in, but I figured these would be a safe bet. Enjoy your next shower.
There was no signature, nor was there a name on the gift slip, the slot was blank.
My heart skipped a beat. It was so simple. So…perfect. I placed it in the bag with a smile and mounted Laney, kicking her into a gallop down the half-mile driveway to the house.
Mikey met me at the barn, taking the reins. “I’ve got her; you get supper ready.”
I laughed. “Famished?”
“You know it.” He grinned. “With Mom down and you gone, we’d been eating nothing but frozen dinners and beans.”
I shuddered. “Living like the cowpoke you are.”
He shook his head. “Karen doesn’t have your inclination for cooking.”
Translation: my younger sister was lazy. Not that she didn’t want to help, but because I did everything when Mom wasn’t doing it, there was no room for another chef in the kitchen.
“Poppy tried cooking for us once,” Mikey quipped, leading Laney away. “She’s eager, but damn, she needs to learn what an oven does.”
At the mention of my cousin, I slid my phone from my pocket and checked the messages. She’d said she was coming for dinner tonight. There were no new messages.
As I began to prep the meal, Dad sauntered into the kitchen. He took the drawstring bag and sorted the mail. My hands were covered in flour, egg, and breading when he came up behind me.
“Say, Pen, what’s your favorite flower?”
His abrupt question made me drop the chicken breast back into the bowl of eggs. My brows drew together, and I gave him a quizzical look.
“That’s not a random question at all,” I countered. “Where’d that come from?”
Suspicion flickered through my mind.
“I’m growing your mom a garden, in here, and I wanted to add some of your favorites, since you’re back home,” he explained with a breezy air that felt rehearsed.
“Uh-huh, well, Mom and I both have a thing for wildflowers. So just go down to the tractor store, get a variety pack, and you’ll be set.” I turned back to my chicken.
The tap-tap of his fingers against the phone screen made me sneak a glance. Dad concentrated on the screen for a moment longer before clicking his phone off and putting it in his back pocket. For a man who rarely texted, that was even stranger than the question.
“Where are you putting the flower bed?” I demanded.
“The living room. That way the light from the south windows will keep it warm through the fall, and I can hopefully keep the blooms going all winter.” Dad leaned against the counter. “It’s good to have you back, Pen. You know that, right?”
I sighed under my breath. This conversation was long overdue.
“Are you mad?” I laid the chicken in the cast iron skillet full of sizzling bacon grease.
“That you made a deal with your uncle, the mob boss?” Dad snorted. “Furious.”
Grease popped, and I jumped back, but not before my wrist caught a healthy drop.
“Shit,” I hissed, running cool water over the angry red mark.
Dad handed me a dish towel. “But I understand why you did it.”
I patted my wrist dry, surprised by his admission. “You do?”
“Your mother needed that treatment. I was too proud to ask Tito for help.” He leaned against the counter, his weathered face softening. “I’ve never liked your uncle’s business, but he’s still family. And so is that man of yours, I suppose. You can’t escape family, baby girl.”
My heart stuttered. He was my family. I couldn’t cut Alessandro out of my life if I tried. The ache in my chest bloomed fresh.
“I did what I had to do,” I said, turning enough to look him in the eye. “And I would do it again to save any one of you.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to,” he said quietly.
My cousin saved me from answering that loaded statement. Poppy came into the house with the dogs at her heels. She slipped into the kitchen and gave my dad a side hug.
“Wash up and come help,” I offered her with a smile.
Poppy peered at the mess on the counter. “Is that…healthy?”
Dad laughed. “Bacon grease? Super! They’ve debunked fats being harmful.”
“Although, pigs aren’t the cleanest,” I countered. “Beef tallow would be better, dad.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t taste the same.”
I laughed. It didn’t.
“Alright, I’ll leave you ladies to it. Oh, and here, Pen.” Dad held out a letter. “Where do you want this?”
A quick glance at the tilted handwriting sent my poor heart skittering yet again. I spoke past the sudden lump in my throat. “In my back pocket, I’ll read it later.”
Poppy grabbed a chicken breast and held it gingerly. Sarge and Gunner watched her eagerly from where they sat at the edge of the kitchen. Sarge was drooling. They knew better than to sneak in here, but if anything dropped, their training went out the window.
The weight of the letter in my back pocket felt like a stone. It was all I could think about as I breaded chicken alongside Poppy. His handwriting, those elegant slants and curves—I'd recognize it anywhere. My fingers itched to tear it open, to devour every word. But I couldn't, not with an audience.
“You’re a million miles away,” Poppy observed, her voice low enough that Dad couldn’t hear from the living room. “Is it him?”
I nearly dropped the spatula. “What?”
The grease crackled, and another pop sent more splashing onto my skin. I hadn’t burned myself this badly in ages.
“The letter.” She nodded toward my pocket. “The one you're dying to read. Is it from the don?”
My cheeks burned. “How did you—”
“Please.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “I’m not blind. When you came back, you were...different. And not just because of what happened with Aunt Rosa’s surgery.” She paused, studying me.
“It’s not the first he’s sent,” I confided.
“And?”
I placed the golden-brown chicken on a plate covered with paper towels. “He hasn’t ordered me back.”
“That’s…good.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” I put a fresh lump of creamy bacon fat in the skillet.
“You want to go to him.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know what I want,” I whispered, but the lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
Poppy gave me a knowing look, one that saw right through me. “You’re a terrible liar, Pen. Always have been.”
I turned away, focusing on the sizzling chicken. My cousin was right. I knew exactly what I wanted, who I wanted. The problem was reconciling that desire with the life I’d once known here—the safety of the ranch, the simplicity, the quiet rhythms that had once been enough.
“It’s complicated,” I finally said.
“Love usually is.” Poppy bumped my hip with hers. “Especially when it involves a man who has bodies buried somewhere.”
I shot her a warning glance, but my denial never made it past my lips. The truth was, I knew what kind of monster Alessandro was. What he did. And lord help me, I wanted to rush back to that world.
“I think,” I began and stopped.
Poppy dropped a chicken breast into the skillet, but her lack of technique sent grease spewing up. She shrieked and jumped back.
Laughing, I shook my head. “You’re going to burn yourself.”
“Then I guess I’m doing it right.” She gestured to the angry red marks on my skin.
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off.
“Stop making excuses, what do you think? Spit it out.”
Summoning the rush of courage, I let the cards fall. “I think he’s changed. But is it enough? Is it permanent? Or will I go back to the same disaster I saved you from?”
Poppy dredged another piece. Her lips pressed tight, moving as she considered her response. Her half-focus meant the piece wasn’t fully coated, and then she dropped it into the pan, not having learned from the first time.
“Here’s the thing: I wouldn’t have thrived there. You saw that. You saved me.” She moved close, attempting to give me a hug.
“Chicken! Raw meat!” I squeaked.
“Sorry.” She laughed. “But I’m serious. I can never repay you what you did for me, Penny.”
“You don’t have to,” I rushed to say.
“Thanks, but let me help you with this.” She took a deep breath. “From what I’ve gathered, you fell for Don Mancini. You two are good together. You tamed him, but he brought out something in you. And you need to go back and see what life set free looks like.”
She’s right. It wasn’t about loving the man; I adored the beast equally as much.
“I didn’t tame him,” I whispered, turning the chicken with more force than necessary. “I just...saw him.”
The truth of it ached in my chest. I’d seen Alessandro—all of him. The ruthless don who commanded an empire with blood-soaked hands. The man who dealt with nightmares he wouldn’t speak of. The lover who’d traced my body with reverent fingertips, as if touching something sacred.
“And he saw you,” Poppy said, her voice soft. “That’s rare, Pen. To be truly seen.”
My chest tightened.
“You two were meant for each other, no matter the twisted circumstances of your coming together. If I had that, I wouldn’t throw it away—I’d run back to it as fast as my feet could carry me,” Poppy whispered, flipping a chicken breast with surprising dexterity.
We are, and it’s time to go home.
The screen door slammed, and Mikey’s boots thudded across the floor.
“Smells amazing in here,” he called out, rounding the corner.
The conversation mercifully ended, and I lost myself in the routine, ignoring the letter burning a hole in my back pocket. I just had to figure out how to leave my family in a sustainable way. That would give me time to figure out how to go back—and make sure that was what I really wanted.
After spending the evening teaching my cousin the fine art of frying chicken, baking biscuits, and sauteing veggies, I didn’t have time to look at my letter until the boys were washing the dishes. I should have been spending time with them, because there was no knowing how long I would be allowed to stay.
But the letter pulsed in my pocket the entire time, consuming my thoughts and distracting me enough that three chicken breasts were hopelessly burnt.
At least the dogs were happy.
Wandering out to the back porch, I curled up on a wicker chair, tucking my legs under me. I hated how my fingers trembled as I popped the seal, the edge of the envelope tearing slightly. A sheet of plain white legal paper fell into my lap.
I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever was written on the page.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m coming back,” I whispered, testing the words.
They felt…right.
Unfolding the page, I scanned the contents. Like the other three letters, this one had a block of text from a book. I laughed softly. Alessandro copied the passages from fiction, crossing out words and improving with his own thoughts to tailor the reading to our situation.
This one was from a fantasy novel, a profession from a wing leader to another dragon rider.
Vespina,
I’m sorry if you expect me to do the noble thing. I warned you. I’m not sweet or soft or kind, and you fell anyway you chose to be with me anyway. This is what you get, Violet Vespina— me. The good, the bad, the unforgivable. All of it. I am yours. You want to know something true? Something real? I love you. I’m in love with you, Penelope. I have been since the night the snow fell in your hair and you kissed me for the first time the day you pushed me into the fountain. You have bewitched me, and I’m grateful my life is tied to yours. I can’t bear the thought of facing a day without you in it. But I will be brave, I’ll wait for you, even if it takes years. Because it means I won’t have to face a future without you in it. My heart only beats as long as yours does, and when you die, I’ll meet Malek St. Pete at your side. My only prayer is that you love me, too, because you’re stuck with me in this life and every other that could possibly follow. I’m not giving up on us. And if you have, I’ll carry the weight of that for both until you change your mind.
Yes, I’m the fool who stole another’s words; I can’t find a better way to say this, to convey what I feel, but the confession is all the same. It comes from me, as if he’s speaking what I feel. This story rang true for me. It made me see us in a different light. If you can bring it on yourself to embrace the darkness in which you were sacrificed, then I have hope of a brighter future.
With all my heart,
Alessandro
Another tear dropped to the page.
“Ah, crap.” I pressed my fingers to my lips, stifling a sob. The words swam before my eyes as tears threatened to spill over. Alessandro—my beautiful, dangerous don—had laid his heart bare in these crossed-out lines of someone else’s story. There was something so vulnerable, so honest about the way he’d marked up the text, using another’s words to express the truth of us. That was the beauty of fiction. The ink on the pages captured our feelings in a tangible way.
“Dammit,” I whispered, clutching the letter to my chest.
The screen door creaked open behind me. I hurriedly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, but not quickly enough.
“Penny?” My mother’s voice was soft, concerned. Somewhat shaky. I hadn’t heard her come down the stairs.
“Mom, you should be resting,” I said, folding the letter and tucking it back into the envelope.
She eased herself into the chair beside me, her movements stiff.
“I could feel your heart bleeding from the bedroom,” she murmured, brushing my hair back into the braid. “Talk to me.”
I looked over the fields. “I want to go back. I…belong there.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” she asked gently.
“I don’t know if he’s changed permanently.”
Mom’s hand stilled in my hair, and I could feel her studying my profile in the fading light of dusk. The crickets had started their evening concert, a familiar soundtrack to our quiet conversations on this porch.
“People don’t change,” she said finally, her voice carrying the weight of her years. “Not completely. They just...reveal more of themselves.”
I turned to look at her, surprised by the wisdom in her words. “What do you mean?”
“Your Alessandro.” She said his name without judgment, which surprised me. “He was always capable of tenderness, of love. Just as he’s always been capable of violence. The question isn’t whether he’s changed, but which parts of himself he chooses to nurture.”
A breeze lifted the corner of the envelope in my lap. I smoothed it down, tracing the edge with my fingertip.
“And that’s why you love the mob. It brings out a part of you that is stifled here.” My mother gave my fingers a squeeze. “That’s why you feel like you belong.”
We sat there in silence, her words hanging between us. The path back home suddenly seemed clear. If I went back, it would be to embrace the dark, but to also bring Alessandro the light he swore he needed.