Chapter 18
Imogen
Everyone knows in this world if you eavesdrop you might as well dig your own grave. But I can’t bring myself to sleep. Curiosity of the man who holds me prisoner strikes me harder than lightning.
And if I’m going to be digging my own grave you can best believe I’m taking him down with me.
“What were you thinking?” I hear a deep and smooth voice ask in a disbelieving angry tone. There’s no need to reveal his face to know who it is.
“I was thinking of keeping her alive,” Rico states matter of fact.
“Four of my men are dead,” Constantine says coolly.
“Si.”
A dark chortle passes Constantine’s lips. I can feel the chill in the air from here. “If you were any other man I would have you executed for what you’ve done. You committed an act of betrayal, Rico.”
“Si.”
“Dio mio,” he breathes thinly. “Do you have to be so flippant about it? Do you understand the severity of what you’ve done? This cannot happen again,” he stresses.
Taking a chance I peek from the doorway.
Drawn to only him all I see is Rico. He stands tall with his black button down tucked in his slacks, the sleeves cuffed up to his elbows and the first two buttons undone.
I see the slither of chest hair covering jagged reddish pink raised flesh.
He keeps his hands in his pockets, creating a nonchalant approach.
If I know one thing to be true it is this; Rico fears no man, not even The Devil of the East Coast.
“Carina had told me no harm was to come to her,” he tells him. My brows raise to my hairline. She did? Why on earth would she care how I’m being treated? God, she’s just as ruthless as her husband. “I’m holding my word to Donna Carina.”
Constantine’s head cocks to the side. His eyes scrutinize him. “And I respect you for following my wife’s orders. But we can not be killing our own for the enemy.”
“Is she?” He poses the question
Constantine’s voice drops to a menacing level. “Are you questioning me?”
“I’m finding it hypocritical, Constantine. If we are going by this line of thinking then wasn’t Carina the enemy?”
Holy. Shit.
I know if any man was brave enough to question my pa he would have them silenced. In fact, I know any man in power would do the same.
Rico isn’t just brave, I think he also might be a bit insane.
Constantine squares up with him and somehow his size becomes larger than life. By just a mere two inches it’s as if he’s towering over Rico. He sneers down at him, “Mention my wife and enemy in the same fucking sentence again and I will not hesitate to slit your throat.”
He stares at him bored. “Noted, Constantine.”
Expelling a breath that holds unbridled rage Constantine takes a healthy step away from him. Yet his hand shakes with anger, almost as if he can’t contain it.
I pity any man who dares to say one word against Carina Donati. I have to give it to him, he’ll shed blood in the name of love for his wife.
“Help me understand you, Rico.” I think back to what he said to me last night, how he doesn’t even understand himself. “Because your behavior surrounding the girl is contradictory to the man I know.”
I wait with bated breath for his response. A sick anticipation infects me. This is a man who doesn’t lie. This he told me.
“I said I would handle her and I’m handling her.”
Constantine’s brows pull together. “You’re evading the question. You never evade questions. What is happening between you and the girl?”
“I don’t know.”
He cocks his head to the side, pretending like he didn’t hear him right. “You don’t know?”
“I’ve tortured plenty of men and women before who were traitors to the famiglia. I’ve killed countless more.”
He grows impatient. “What are you getting at, Rico?”
“What Pietro did wasn’t justified.”
“He had those soldiers with blanks.”
“And how was I supposed to know that to be true?” Rico counters. “It wasn’t my plan. Pietro had an idea and he didn’t consult with me. There were guns pointed to her head and I had no possible way of knowing if they were in fact blanks.”
“Are you doubting Pietro now?”
“I doubt anything I myself do not plan. You know this better than anyone.” Constantine nods his head. “And treating her like a traitor isn’t justifiable. She’s done nothing to us except share the blood of her father.”
“So your broken nose, ribs and healing black eye are from a ghost?” He jokes with no humor.
“She was acting on instinct.”
“Are you defending her?”
Even to my own ears it sounds awfully like it. And I can’t even fathom to understand why.
“I’m simply stating a fact.”
Constantine shakes his head baffled and confused. “You were the one who came up with this plan. And now that it’s happening you want to back out?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then clear it with me, Rico. What are you saying?”
“I keep her as my captive until her pa caves. We give the illusion she’s being kept in dire circumstances. But I will not participate in hurting her. Nor should any other man in our Famiglia.”
A silence falls between them. Constantine blows out a breath before stringing curse words in Italian under his breath.
“You’re right.” All the tension leaves the room. “Carina had even told me before coming that you would have a perfectly reasonable explanation. But as a Don I have to question. Four of my men were killed by my consigliere. You understand, si?”
“Si,” Rico replies.
“Your loyalty remains to Carina and I and The Donati Famiglia?”
“Always, Don Constantine.”
“Bene.” He smiles easily. When he smiles I see how he has the people eating out of the palm of his hands. It’s charming and devilish. No wonder why so many adore him.
“Is that all?” Rico asks.
“For now. I told Gino and Pietro to keep extra pairs of eyes on the port and the streets. I’m expecting retaliation. The video didn’t work. I believe if anything it only fueled him more.”
“Give him time. He’ll concede.”
Constantine places a firm hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eye. “I trust you.”
“Would you like to stay for coffee?” Rico offers.
He chuckles and it’s genuine. “We both know you really don’t want me to. I have Carina in bed waiting for me.” He winks at him.
Rico doesn’t bother with the etiquette of walking him out. As Constantine is halfway through the door he warns him, “One more thing.” Rico inclines his head. “Don’t allow her to get too comfortable. Women have been and continue to be underestimated. She’s a clever girl. Be careful.”
I hear the door shut softly. My cue to return to my room as well.
Just as I’m about to retreat Rico calls out, “You can come out now.”
I stand stunned, holding my breath. There’s no possible way he knows.
It’s confirmed when he turns his head and stares directly at me. That damn ghost of a smile returns on his lips. I know he doesn’t even realize it. And I hate that it warms me in places it shouldn’t.
“I didn’t hear anything.” I try to convince him.
“Right,” he says dryly. “I’m about to cook breakfast if you’d like to join. Or you can continue to lurk.” Is it sad that I find his dry humor amusing?
I want to decline his offer but my stomach rumbles. Begrudgingly, I set forth down the hallway and join him in the kitchen.
I really don’t know what to expect. He is, after all, a bachelor living in New York City. A Made Man at that too.
I expect gaudy gold decorations and accents. Hideous and outrageous paintings that scream wealth more than artistic integrity.
People with money tend to flaunt it.
Rico Maroni is the exception.
His kitchen is simple yet elegant. Everything about it screams efficiency. From the clear pathway, allowing space between the island and the cooking area. A prepping zone to a cleaning one. There’s a flow specifically designed for him. It’s all thought out. Very much so like him.
I hop onto the high chair located at the island and watch him.
I notice how he washes his hands after doing each task. Cuts fruit, washes his hands. Breaks an egg, washes his hands. Adding the all-purpose flour, baking powder, so on and so on. Washes his hands.
He also has a specific dish for each part of the meal. A small bowl for the cut fruit. A medium sized plate for the homemade pancake. The ramekin is filled with syrup. Each dish has its purpose. None of it touching the other foods.
When he’s done placing everything he washes his hands for the final time and stands opposite of me with his own breakfast.
“Thank you for making me breakfast,” I say to him.
“Well, I didn’t just make you breakfast,” he points out.
I roll my eyes. “You know what I meant.” I pop a strawberry in my mouth. The juices spill and I lick my bottom lip to collect it. I catch him watching before he begins to eat himself. “So, what got you into cooking?”
“Not starving,” he deadpans.
“Ha. Ha,” I laugh dryly. Once he’s finished with his fruit he adds all of the syrup from the ramekin to his pancake. It’s saturated in sweetness. “You eating a pancake or syrup?” I joke.
The syrup spills over onto the plate more as he cuts the pancake in slices. “I tend to seek sweetness with foods.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for being a sweet tooth.” I add a healthy amount of syrup to mine. A light glaze over the entirety of the pancake.
“Sweet, spicy, bitter,” he lists them, “It heightens the meal.”
“Almost like you seek the thrill of flooding your tastebuds.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that - but yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“But the food can’t touch?” I inquire.
“It’s not that they can’t touch. I just have a certain way of eating.”
“And that is?”
He pauses mid slice of his pancake. “Are my eating habits really this fascinating?”
“Maybe I’m just getting to know my captor. You know, understand you like you’re trying to understand me,” I say genuinely.
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”
“I’m not,” I assure him.
“Certain foods belong to certain dishes. Fruit belongs in a bowl. Dipping sauces and condiments should be served in a ramekin. Mugs should only be used to drink hot beverages like coffee or hot chocolate and tea. Who would ever drink water or juice out of a mug and think that’s okay?”
“According to you a mad man.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” he says. Suddenly, understanding the man who is Rico Maroni isn’t as much of a mystery anymore. All the tidbits of information he’s shared begin to click into place.
“Can I ask another question?”
“You just did.”
I roll my eyes at that and continue on. “You told me that if my pa doesn’t adhere to your famiglia’s demands I’m yours to keep. Did you mean that or are you just going to kill me?”
He sets down his cutlery and moves his dishes to the side. “I’d give you the mercy of a choice.”
“Choice?” I echo, perplexed.
“Be mine alive or be mine in death.” If I were any other woman I would believe that statement to be oddly romantic.
“But what if Constantine orders my death?”
“He won’t.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I promised you that your death belongs to me. I’m a man of my word. So, when I tell you that Constantine will not kill you I mean it.”
Those seeds of doubt are difficult to un-plant. And while Rico has been the honest man he claims I know I can’t trust him on this. Just like I know when it comes down to it, it’s the famiglia above all else.
Even my own pa proved that.
“You and Constantine close?”
“Close as in what?”
I rephrase, adapting to his literal thinking. “Do you and Constantine have a tight friendship? Do you consider him like an older sibling?”
He sets down his food and softly pushes his plate to the side. “Constantine and I have known one another for over a decade. Even if I had not joined his Famiglia I would still be loyal to him.”
Curiosity strikes me hard. “Why is that?”
“It’s a story I prefer not sharing,” he says, eyes cast aside.
I don’t continue to pry. Not when it’s the first time he’s deliberately not given me eye contact. “So,” I say to help eliminate the tension in the air, “what’s your plan with me now?”
“I’m not sure,” he breathes. There’s a knot between his brows. I refrain from wanting to smooth it out. “You’ve become quite the problem, haven’t you?”
I shrug my shoulder. “You could always just let me go. Problem solved.”
“If that was your attempt at a joke it was a terrible one.” Yet he still seems amused.
Noticing my plates are finished he collects them and begins to wash.
Once the dishes are placed on the drying rack he pins me with his signature gaze and says, “You’re a problem I don’t mind, gazzella.
And that. . .that’s the biggest problem about you. ”
His dilemma and mine are the same.
Because as much as I want to kill him and make my escape I know there’s a part of me that pauses in following through.
But I know I have to. I need the life I promised ma I would have for myself. One free of men controlling me. One where I can decide for myself.
If that means I have to kill Rico Maroni to get it, I will.
And maybe, maybe tonight’s the night it must happen. It has to before my empathy gets the best of me.