Chapter 28
ROSALIE
The last crunch of toast was the only sound interrupting the silence that had settled after Max walked out the door. But then the front door swung open with a bang, shattering the quiet like a gunshot.
Enter Dimitri, the careless klutz, built like a Russian nesting doll of intimidation. He waltzed in—which was impressive considering the amount of my things he was carrying in his arms—a deep scowl marring his usually stoic face.
“No. Not you,” I started.
“Boss’s orders,” he rumbled, his voice lacking any warmth. He dumped the pile of stuff on the coffee table with a clatter that made me flinch. A chipped mug teetered dangerously on the edge, threatening to join the mess of clothes, books, and who knows what else that had spilled out.
“Great,” I muttered, scrambling to catch the mug before it met its demise. “What exactly are his orders?”
“Said to keep your heart beating, or he’ll take mine.”
That didn’t surprise me.
“That’s a tough job. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
He leaned in slightly. “That depends,” he drawled. “Are you feeling particularly cooperative today?”
I smiled, shrugging my shoulders. “I plan on unpacking and exploring—will that be a problem?”
“Not a problem at all. Max would want you to settle in.”
“Okay, great. Did he also tell you to move everything else inside? I think I heard him say that . . .” I tapped my finger against my lips.
“Right. Let me get right on that.”
“Perfect,” I replied. I strode toward the nearest doorway, casting a final look back at Dimitri, who forced a smile. “Well, in that case, I’ll take this moment to explore the house a bit, see where everything is.”
He gave me a nod as I turned on my heel.
The house was larger than I expected. For some reason, I’d thought Max would have a penthouse in the city, not a house on the beach—not that I was complaining. It just didn’t seem like his style. It was more like mine.
It was a two-story structure, with sunlight filtering through the heavy drapes. There were five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, and a creepy attic I told myself I’d find time to explore later.
Before I knew it, I’d spent most of my day exploring the massive house. Time seemed to slip away as I moved from room to room, my curiosity driving me to explore every nook and cranny.
The last room I wanted to check out was at the end of the hall on the first floor.
The library.
Through the window, there was a clear view of the pool. Sunlight glared off the surface of the water. The walls in here were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that held hundreds of leather-bound volumes. I stepped closer, reading a spine labeled “Romano.”
I pulled out a book and flipped through the pages. It looked like a record of every exchange Max’s family had made in the past. The pages were filled with details about the meeting spot and who was involved. He had his entire back catalog of crimes lined up, ready for anyone to take.
Maybe he wasn’t hiding it at all.
With a heavy sigh, I put the book back and turned away from the shelves.
A massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, a single yellowed sheet of paper with spidery handwriting lying abandoned on its surface. It was addressed to “Bianca,” in the same writing. It was a simple list, but something caught my attention at the bottom: “Sleeping pills (extra strength).”
Who was Bianca, and why did she need sleeping pills? I suppose it was none of my business. What Max did in his free time had nothing to do with me.
Then my gaze landed on a familiar set of papers on Max’s desk—another copy of the rules he’d demanded I read.
With a heavy sigh mirroring the one that had escaped me moments before, I pulled the file closer and opened the first page.
1. No phone during meals.
2. No wine.
3. No kissing.
4. No sex.
5. No revealing clothing.
6. No late-night visitors.
Note: This list is subject to change.
A list of restrictions; a list of prohibitions. His rules. Max’s rules. Stupid, arbitrary, and utterly suffocating. But my rules? Those were different. Simple. Reasonable, yet essential. They consisted of a single principle: Avoid entanglement with ridiculously controlling mobsters at all costs.
Yet here I was, in a house with monogrammed towels and high ceilings.
I spent the rest of the day carefully reading through the documents Max had given me. The wedding contract took me the longest to read, just because of the legal jargon. I found myself reaching for my phone to look up terms every few seconds, which made an hour’s worth of reading take several more.
Max made himself scarce all weekend. He worked a lot, it seemed. So be it. I had this house all to myself for the most part.
The last bit of my weekend was spent doing the mundane. Unpacking. A task that seemed trivial yet needed to be done. Dimitri had brought all my boxes inside, most of which my things had just been thrown into.
I carefully positioned the souvenirs from my momma’s childhood. I even managed to find a place for all my magazines. Each item, carefully placed and arranged, felt like a tiny act of defiance. I found a spot for every single one of my plants, their green leaves a splash of life in this hell.
But no matter how many things I had, nothing could hide the fact Max lived here. Not my flimsy curtains, and certainly not my nana’s broken dishes.
She would rue the day she met Dimitri.