Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Violetta
Several more days pass before Damiano finally returns to Florence. I've spent time working at the club, getting used to my new role and the altered hours that come with it. Giorgio agreed that creating content doesn't require me to work so late.
In fact, much of what I've worked with so far has been gathered before the club opens. I've done cute little videos introducing key staff members, showcased images of our most popular cocktails and worked up ideas to run competitions to gain access to the VIP area.
The response so far has been fantastic and Giorgio suggested I expand my content to highlight the other venues Damiano owns.
When I've not been working, I've enjoyed exploring the incredible palazzo Damiano calls home.
Though I love every inch of the building, my favorite places are the small sitting room overlooking the gardens and the glass-domed building on the east side of the house which houses an enormous swimming pool.
Featuring mosaic-tiled flooring and marble columns, it evokes the grandeur of Ancient Rome.
I'm sitting on the bed reading a thriller with a nonsensical plot when Gianni knocks at the door. It's easy to distinguish his sharp raps on the wood from Lina's gentler tapping.
"Come in, Gianni." Setting the book to one side, I get to my feet.
"Signore Volante requests the pleasure of your company for dinner in one hour."
Gianni is painfully formal. Over the past few days I've tried to thaw him out with warm smiles and friendly chatter, but it would be easier to melt a glacier.
"Oh, he's home then?"
"He will arrive imminently." Gianni casts a disparaging eye over the pajamas I threw on for comfort. "He will expect you to dress appropriately."
My shoulders stiffen. Being told how to dress makes me feel like a child.
"Appropriately for what? To be in his exalted presence?"
Gianni pointedly ignores my snark.
"One hour, Signorina. Do not keep him waiting."
I glance at the clock on my nightstand and see it's seven thirty. As petulant as it may be, I decide on the spot that I won't arrive on time. Damiano needs to learn I will not be dictated to.
However, I am going to put in some effort with my appearance. If I want to not only survive this world but bring one of its most dangerous men to his knees, I need to use every weapon at my disposal.
I search through the clothes Olivia helped me choose before she left and find a dress suitable for the occasion. The emerald silk strikes the balance between alluring and demure that I was looking for.
Skimming my curves rather than hugging them, it has a low enough neckline to hint at what lies beneath without showing too much skin. It falls to just above my knee and might appear modest if it didn't have a revealing slit up the side. When I put it on, I know I made the right choice.
I apply my makeup, ensuring my crimson lipstick creates the perfect pout.
For my hair, I keep things simple, brushing it out and letting it fall in loose waves down my back.
I check the clock and realize it only took me thirty minutes to get ready.
With time to kill, I pick up my book and read a few more chapters.
At eight fifty, I decide I'm late enough to have made my point. If I delay any longer, Gianni will probably come up and drag me to dinner.
I make my way down to the dining room, where Damiano is standing by the window, his back to me. His body language radiates tension. He turns when I enter. As always, he looks incredible in a charcoal gray suit, white shirt and black tie. For once, he isn't wearing a vest. I sort of miss it.
He holds my gaze for a moment. "I saw what happened in the club."
"What do you mean?"
"Vittorio Bardi." His voice is too calm, as if he's making an effort to control himself. "He touched you. It won't happen again."
I go still. "You were watching?" Suspecting it was one thing, having it confirmed is another.
His eyes meet mine and a shudder goes through me. "Always."
He crosses the room, brushing past me, and pulls out a chair on the left side for me. He, of course, will sit at the head As I sit, he bends low to murmur in my ear.
"You look. beautiful, Violetta."
"Thank you." I study him as he takes his seat. "You look tired."
He doesn't deny it. "I've had a few busy days."
"How was Olivia's wedding?" I've been dying for details. "Did she go through with it?"
"Of course," he says as if it was a foregone conclusion.
Given Olivia's obvious reluctance, I wouldn't have bet on it.
I guess yielding to the demands of the men around them is what women do in this world.
They push for autonomy but ultimately do as they're told.
I balk at the thought of becoming like that.
"Was the wedding nice?" I ask as I settle in my seat.
"Define nice."
"Pretty flowers, good music, delicious food, pleasant company."
He nods. "In that case it was nice."
He pours us each a glass of wine without checking whether I want one.
It's churlish of me to bristle at this since I'd have accepted if he asked.
The Barolo is one of the more expensive vintages we sell at the club.
It's not something I ever expected to try.
I taste it immediately, loving the combination of rich cherry flavor and earthier tones.
"Was it a good flight from New York?" I ask when Damiano doesn't speak for a long time.
"Yes, but we didn't come from New York. We stopped in Paris for business first."
"Oh, I'd love to visit Paris."
"You've never been?" he asks as Lina brings in the antipasti, laying the plates in front of us.
It's figs wrapped in prosciutto with a drizzle of honey. In the short time I've been at Damiano's house, I've sampled some of the finest food I've ever tasted.
"Uh, no. I've never been to Paris." My mother couldn't afford holidays when I was growing up. "My friends and I went to Ibiza once."
Considering this man jets around the world at the drop of a hat, I realize how pathetic that sounds.
Damiano doesn't ask any follow-up questions. Obviously he doesn't feel the need to make polite conversation. Silence sits more easily with him than it does with me.
Ignoring the awkwardness in the room, I concentrate on eating, enjoying the interplay of sweet and salty in the dish.
When we're both finished, Lina comes and clears the plates, returning moments later with shallow bowls filled with Rigatoni all'Amatriciana. The sauce is rich and fragrant and when I take my first bite I realize just how hungry I am.
"Paolo isn't working at the club anymore." I attempt to make conversation again.
"No."
"Giorgio promoted me."
Damiano nods. "He told me."
Of course he did. Giorgio reports everything to his boss.
"I'm creating posts for social media now."
"I know."
My fingers tighten around my fork as I resist the urge to plunge it into Damiano's chest just to see if I can get a more animated reaction out of him. Speaking to this man is like pulling teeth sometimes.
"Is that all you have to say? Don't you want to know how I feel about it?" I don't try to conceal my anger, even though it may provoke a response I don't like. "Don't you fucking care?"
Damiano flashes me a warning look.
"Watch how you speak to me, Violetta."
"What do you want from me, Damiano? I don't understand why you invited me down for dinner if you're not even going to talk to me."
He sets his fork down and gives me his full attention.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"My future, of course."
"We've discussed this. You'll be my wife."
I blow out a breath. "I didn't agree to that."
He smiles tightly. "It's not up for debate." He holds a hand up to silence me as I open my mouth to protest. "But I am willing to address your concerns."
"Okay." It's better than nothing. "If I agree to marry you, what happens to my life? My work, my ambitions, university? Do those things simply cease to exist for me?"
"You will marry me whether you agree or not." He regards me carefully. "But as for the rest, do you want to continue to work?"
"Yes."
"And you'd like to study theater also?"
I shouldn't be so pleased he remembers that.
"Yes."
Damiano nods. "Fine, but you will study here in Florence or online. You will have access to whatever resources you need."
Taken aback, I blink. I'd braced myself for an argument, but he's quick to give me exactly what I want.
"And the marriage you envision, would it be real?"
"In every sense of the word. We already fucked. We know we're compatible."
"How romantic!"
Damiano shakes his head. "Don't look for romance, Violetta. You won't get it from me."
"Understood." I steel myself for the next issue. "You mentioned before that you wanted children."
He looks at me with a degree of exasperation. We've been over all of this before. I know that. But we didn't resolve anything.
"I do, but not until you're ready." He glances at my abdomen as if I might already be carrying his child. "Are you on the pill? My men didn't find anything when they collected your things."
My mouth falls open as outrage surges through me. Damiano's tone is so matter-of-fact. He doesn't even realize what a violation of my privacy that was.
"Violetta?" he prompts.
"I get an injection," I say through gritted teeth.
Damiano watches me carefully. "I know I'm asking you to accept a great deal."
"Do you expect a medal for that?" I snipe. When he doesn't react, I let out a dramatic sigh. "And if I don't agree to this?"
"Well, Lorenzo will use other means to force your grandfather to sell the land.
" He pauses to let me feel the weight of the threat.
Though I don't know my grandfather, he is my flesh and blood and I don't want to be responsible for harm coming to him.
"And you will return to the cell in the basement until you see sense. "
I shake my head. "You can't possibly want me that much."
"Oh, but I do, Violetta." He reaches across the table and curves his hand around my cheek. "Now I've had a taste, I want more."
For a moment, as he stares into my eyes, it's as if everything else fades away. We're the only two people who exist. Then he pulls his hand away, leaving me bereft of his touch.
"So, what do you say? Will you accept our marriage or face the consequences?"