Chapter 8
LUCIA
Being locked away with the nuns for five years had been easier than this.
I didn’t have to face anything. I could think about it.
I could get angry about it. I could blame everyone and everything, but I didn’t have to face them.
Now I sat beside Salvatore in his car as he drove me to what should have been considered home to me.
Thing was, I didn’t know what was home anymore.
I didn’t know where I belonged, who I was. Who I was meant to be.
I looked at Salvatore, at his profile. At a glance, the set of his jaw told of power, of strength, while his eyes betrayed a depth beneath this outermost layer.
Gave a glimpse into the darkness there. He kept his attention on the road while I studied him, wondering who this man was. What was expected of him.
Wondering what the hell had happened between us yesterday.
They’d examined me on the day of the signing. His father had wanted to be certain I was intact. A virgin. Was it only to humiliate me? To break my father to the point he could no longer be repaired?
I shook my head, trying to erase the memory of my father’s face when I’d finally been able to look at him. How his hands had been fisted, his shoulders slumped. He’d been made to stand by and watch his daughter’s degradation. Why?
Yesterday, Salvatore hadn’t forced himself on me.
He hadn’t tried, and he’d had the opportunity.
Multiple opportunities. And, he might argue, the right.
He owned me. But he hadn’t taken anything I hadn’t given up.
And I’d given it. I’d lain there and let him bring me to orgasm.
I’d felt his cock pressing against me throughout both the punishment and the reward, but he hadn’t taken his pleasure from me.
I fumbled to turn up the AC, feeling too hot suddenly. Our fingers touched when Salvatore adjusted it for me, and it was like a bolt of electricity. Our gazes locked, but I quickly blinked and turned away.
“If you get off at this exit, I can show you a shortcut.”
He made his way over. Once we were off the exit, I gave him directions. We weaved our way through the narrow streets near my childhood home.
“Want to get a cup of coffee first?” I asked when we neared my favorite bakery, wanting to put off our inevitable arrival. Afraid Isabella would see right through me. Would I be a traitor then?
He seemed surprised by my offer. “Sure.”
“Right here, you can park at the curb. The parking lot is usually full.” And I wanted to walk through the streets, see the houses and neighborhood I didn’t realize I’d missed. “You don’t mind walking a few blocks, do you?” I asked once we climbed out.
“No, it’s fine.” Salvatore pushed a button to lock the car and looked around. “I’m curious where you grew up. This is very different from what I imagined.”
Wayne, Pennsylvania, was a pretty suburb. Quiet. Wealthy. And, apart from the mob family living there, safe.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and glanced up at the sky. Clouds collected thick and heavy with moisture. It had to be ninety degrees already. As much as I hated rain, I’d welcome it today to cool things down.
Salvatore came to my side, his attention still on the surroundings. He wore a navy T-shirt and jeans, and I had no idea how he wasn’t sweating his ass off. My tank top and shorts seemed stuck to me.
“What did you imagine?” I asked as I led the way, liking the fact that most of the houses looked just like they had five years ago.
Salvatore turned his blue eyes my way. Would I always become breathless when he looked at me?
“I don’t know. A castle with a moat.”
I chuckled. “That’s your family. We were more…
low-key.” I thought about it. “My father kept us out of things. He wasn’t meant to rule the family, my uncle was.
But when my grandfather and uncle were killed, he was forced to take over.
I remember it happening. Well, remember all the meetings, all the people who were suddenly in our house all the time.
I was maybe ten.” They’d told my sister and me that they’d had a car accident, but I knew better.
I’d snuck into my father’s study and had seen the photos of the bullet-riddled car.
Of them inside it. I shuddered. Some things you couldn’t un-see, no matter how much you wanted to.
“I remember not being allowed to play in the front yard or bike through the neighborhood anymore.”
“Your father didn’t have control of the family.”
I stopped.
Salvatore turned to me.
“He’s dead. Isn’t that enough? I thought that would have satisfied you, but I guess I was wrong.” Tears burned my eyes, but I didn’t feel sad. Confused and remorseful, yes, the need to defend my father fierce. The desperation to understand my muddled loyalties even more so.
Salvatore ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and glanced away. He nodded but didn’t speak.
“Why don’t you just drop me off at the house?” I asked, feeling betrayed after yesterday. But what did I expect? What did I think, that we were building a relationship?
“Which way to the coffee shop?” he asked, ignoring my request.
I pointed and walked just ahead of him. The coffee shop was small and exactly as I remembered it. And it was full.
The entire place quieted when we walked in. I looked around at the faces, not really recognizing anyone, but knowing they must recognize me. Or, more likely, Salvatore. Benedetti were not welcomed in this neighborhood for a long time. That hadn’t changed, even though now, they owned it.
“Let’s get a table,” Salvatore said when I walked up to the counter.
“We can just get a cup to go.” I hadn’t thought about how people might react to him. To me with him.
“No.”
He made a point of meeting every eye in the place, and I was sure he felt it too.
“There’s a couple leaving. We can take their table.”
I looked to where he pointed, and sure enough, the pair at the table left money on the check, gathered up their things, and walked out.
“We don’t have to stay,” I whispered, not sure if it was more for him or me. People would know who I was. They’d know either because of my father and the photos of the family after his death in the local paper or because of Salvatore.
“We’ll stay.”
He pulled out one of the chairs and waited for me to have a seat before he took the chair opposite. I saw how he’d chosen the seat where he could watch the whole of the café, especially the door. It was a subtle reminder of who he was. Who I was.
A waitress came to clear and wipe down the table.
“What would you like?” Salvatore asked me.
“Um, a cappuccino, please. Thanks.”
“I’ll have a double espresso and one of the éclairs if they’re fresh.”
“Baked just this morning,” the waitress said, her tone unfriendly.
Salvatore excused her with a nod.
Voices picked up as conversation began again, and I wondered how many of them were talking about us.
Salvatore leaned back in his seat and looked at me. “You came here a lot growing up?”
I knew he wasn’t oblivious to the stares or whispers, but he acted like he couldn’t have cared less.
I nodded, trying to stop from glancing around. “Izzy and I would come every Sunday morning after church. The éclairs were my favorite.”
“Why didn’t you order one?”
“I don’t feel very hungry.”
“Take one.” He raised his hand to get the waitress’s attention.
“No,” I reached out to make him take his arm down, to not draw any additional attention to us, but the waitress was already coming over.
“I don’t think I can eat anything, Salvatore,” I whispered.
He studied me, his eyes curious. Concerned? “Your niece will be there today, right?”
I nodded, glancing up at the waitress who stood quietly, clearly not happy about having to serve a Benedetti.
Did they see me as a traitor? Did they know I’d been made to do this?
To be with him? It was in that moment I realized they likely did not know about the contract. But even so, wasn’t I myself confused?
“Let’s get six of those éclairs boxed up to go too,” he said to the waitress, then turned to me. “She has a sweet tooth from what I saw.”
I smiled. “That’s nice. She’ll like that, and so will Izzy.”
The waitress returned and delivered the coffee and Salvatore’s pastry and set the additional box of eclairs up at the register. Salvatore took a big bite, and I chuckled.
“What?” he asked, looking for a napkin.
“You have some cream,” I pointed, then reached over to wipe it off when he missed. “Right there.” I pulled my hand away and without thinking, licked off the cream. He watched me, and as soon as I realized what I’d done, I pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and wiped off my finger.
“They’re very good,” Salvatore said, not commenting.
“You don’t care that no one wants you here, do you?”
He raised his eyebrows and picked up his espresso. “No. Why should I? Besides, I’m not even sure it’s true.” He looked around the café. “What happened, happened five years ago.”
That was when things had been at their worst. When fighting on the streets had turned this neighborhood from a quiet, safe place to a bloody one.
“And we’ve kept peace since.”
“By killing off most of your enemies.”
“Both sides lost people, Lucia. We just won the war your father started.” He drank the last of his espresso and stood, looking pissed. “You finished?”
I rose to my feet. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He nodded and took out his wallet as I made my way to the tiny bathroom.
Once inside, I locked the door and gripped the sink, looking at my reflection.
I had to find some way to be okay with all of this.
This was my life now. I belonged to a man whose name I hated, but who made me question everything I believed.
I needed to make sense of it all. To find some way to survive this.
I splashed water onto my face and patted it dry, taking a deep breath before walking back out to find him waiting for me, his expression hard.