Chapter 13
Sienna Luciano
I don’t know when Romeo sent my clothes for a cleaning, but the gesture may be the nicest thing anyone has done for me my entire adult life. I swallow the lump in my throat and fasten my jeans.
Sure, Romeo bought me a new dress yesterday, but that had elements of him peacocking and showing off his wealth. This is a silent, intimate, sweet, and completely unexpected show of care. There’s no reward for him.
Or at least, that’s what I think until he ushers me out of the hotel and parades me around half the city.
After a quick breakfast at the corner bistro, he drags me a few blocks over for a shopping spree.
First we visit several convenience, grocery, and home goods stores.
My head throbs by the time we make it into the car, but Romeo places a snack and drink in my hands.
They revive me enough to make it to the next stop.
I gape at the rows of refrigerated meal trays. My stomach growls even though I just had a snack. Romeo found a grab-and-go health food café where everything is preportioned and packaged. I’ve never been somewhere with so many safe options. My hands shake, and I struggle to decide.
Romeo pays for six different trays, spreads them out over the table in the corner, and sets sealed utensils next to each one before leaning back and focusing on his phone.
I open the nearest tray and try a bite from each compartment. My favorite gets a second bite, but the desert in the next tray grabs my attention so I peel the plastic off and try it.
In food heaven, I eat from two more trays before my manners kick in. I offer Romeo a utensil packet and gesture for him to join me then eat until it hurts to breathe. Romeo’s satisfied smirk when he thinks I’m not looking inspires dirty thoughts way too inappropriate for mealtime.
I ignore the blush creeping up from my chest as I replay the moment I tasted his release. I don’t know what madness came over me, but I don’t regret it. The taste wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but remembering his face in the throes of ecstasy made me want more.
When desire darkens Romeo’s chocolate irises, I set down my fork and announce I’m done eating.
He nods, gathers and tosses the trash, and leads me out to the car.
I groan when we pull up to a clothing store. He won’t take no for an answer, so I sigh and slip my hand into the crook of his elbow and follow him inside. The place has everything except intimates. I grit my teeth and mentally prepare for hours of trying on clothes.
A feminine voice calls my name. I can’t quite place where I heard it before, but when I turn around, recognition flows through me.
Romeo stiffens. His body language says he didn’t plan this meeting and isn’t thrilled by the interruption, but he doesn’t stop me from saying hello.
“Renata? Oh my god, it’s been forever,” I exclaim.
It really has. I met Renata at my last summer camp.
We were bunkmates since Valentina wasn’t there.
I slowly unraveled that summer as my dread grew.
My best friend had never missed an entire summer at camp, and I just knew something horrible had happened.
Renata sensed my despair and needed a confidante of her own, so we shared more about each other’s lives than we’d told anyone else.
Then I went home, learned what my father had done, lost my mother, and closed myself off from all friendships.
“I suppose it’s been ten years since we spoke, hasn’t it?” she says.
When the greeting flows into introductions then easy conversation and she learns I’m buying a whole new wardrobe, her eyes light up, and she asks if she can help.
I look to Romeo for permission. He nods and settles on the couch outside the dressing rooms.
Time blurs and outfits blend together. I give up trying to keep track of dollar amounts and the number of outfits. Romeo never once complains and I soak up every minute with a female friend.
Renata checks her watch and grimaces.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. Can we exchange numbers? I’d love to hang out more in the future,” she says.
“Oh. I don’t have a phone,” I answer.
Guilt wriggles up my spine as disappointment tugs at her lips.
Romeo saves the day.
“The front desk has a pad and paper. Write it there and you’ll be the second contact after me once she gets her own,” he says.
Part of me wonders why he doesn’t just save her as a contact in his phone, but he answers my unspoken question after she leaves.
He pulls me into his arms right outside the dressing rooms and wraps me in a tight embrace.
“Renata Bonnetti is mafia royalty. The Bonnetti family is one of the five founding mafia families of New York City,” he says.
“Oh. So having her number in your phone is gravely inappropriate and dangerous for you both. Got it. Why is she friends with me, then? I never would have guessed she was mafia royalty,” I say.
He shrugs and cups the back of my head.
“I don’t know much more about her, but being around you is probably a breath of fresh air for her. I’m sure everyone else around her has an ulterior motive,” he responds.
I nod.
He brushes his nose side to side over mine.
“I’ve been hard ever since you started trying on clothes. I almost joined you in the dressing room half a dozen times. Reward me with a kiss, bambolina,” he demands.
I rise onto tiptoe and tilt my head but close my mouth over his Adam’s apple instead of aiming for his mouth. With an experimental flick and swirl of my tongue, I smile at his groan and kiss a trail down to his tie.
He growls. My stomach rumbles.
I cringe with embarrassment. After eating so much not long ago, I thought I’d be full for days.
His sigh ruffles my hair.
After a chaste kiss to my temple, he grabs my wrist and starts for the door.
“Wait, my clothes,” I protest.
“They’ll deliver them with the rest. What you’re wearing is perfect,” he responds.
I roll my eyes and follow him to the car.
When we stop in front of what must be a historic warehouse converted into modern living on the cleanest street I’ve seen since arriving in New York City, unease prickles in my gut.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Home.”
His simple reply both terrifies and excites me. Not his home. Home.
Does he mean to include me? Just yesterday he intended to ruin me as part of his revenge. Not even part of, I was his entire plan.
Before I can respond, he exits the vehicle and opens my door. I accept his help and appreciate him not calling out my clammy hand.
Not expecting the front door to be right off the street, I blink in confusion when he inputs his code and steps into a receiving room instead of a front office.
“You have the whole building to yourself?” I ask.
“Not quite,” he says.
“Ai ya, who comes into my house now? I said no more today,” a woman says from deeper in the house. Her thick accent and loud voice carry so clearly I expect her to round the corner within seconds, but Romeo guides me onto the bench beside him, and we both remove our shoes before she arrives.
With her back bent from years of hard labor and hair white with age, a lady of Asian descent shuffles into view.
“Gran, I told you to check the monitors instead of walking all the way across the house,” Romeo says.
She humphs and swats away his gentle scolding.
“No need. My legs work fine. But you? Your phone don’t work? You forget how to call?” she quips.
I bite back a smile at Romeo’s contrite expression.
“Ai ya, and you bring a girl home? Where are your manners, young man?”
Romeo tucks his feet into house slippers and reaches under the bench before kneeling in front of me.
Gran crosses her arms over her chest but stops her tirade as a way of showing her approval as he fits a pair of slippers onto my feet.
He rises, pulls me to standing, and guides me a few steps closer to the matron of the house.
“Come here and let me look at you,” Gran demands.
My heart threatens to pound out of my chest as Romeo pushes me forward by the small of my back.
She grabs my hand with surprising force, lifts my wrist, and stares into my eyes. The knowledge and strength in her gaze nearly knocks me over.
“Did you do this?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Did he do this?” she asks with a glance at Romeo.
I shrug. She scowls.
“I forgive him,” I say.
She narrows her wizened eyes and says, “I do not.” After dropping my wrist, she lifts my arms out to my sides and pokes my stomach.
“Honey, you are too skinny, ai ya. You need to eat more meat. I know good recipe. You come with me.”
She grabs my elbow and hauls me deeper into the house without a backward glance. I look over my shoulder to confirm Romeo hasn’t abandoned me, but although he follows us, his closed-off expression doesn’t build confidence.
Is he mad he got scolded because of me? I couldn’t lie to her. We both know she wouldn’t let me.
The house is huge, with tall ceilings and entire walls made out of windows. A stunning mix of modern and old, the furnishings, décor, and lighting all work together somehow when the individual pieces do not.
Gran tugs me into a massive kitchen and plops me down on a barstool at the island.
“You sit and tell me your name, girl,” she commands.
“Sienna Luciano,” I respond.
“I only have tea. You drink?”
Sweat gathers on my brow.
“Yes, you drink,” she answers for me.
I sit with dread building in my chest as she moves around the kitchen. She places a cup of tea in front of me. I wrap my hands around the warmth but can’t bring myself to drink it even though the steam nearly burns my face.
Romeo accepts a cup from his grandmother and follows her commands as she rules the kitchen with an iron fist. I watch in fascination as my mystery mafia man shows me a completely unexpected side of himself.
The hair on my nape rises half a second before a shadow falls over me from behind. I turn and meet hazel eyes. My marrow freezes as the man glares at me. Taller and thinner than Romeo, with a much lighter complexion but more scars, he oozes hatred and menace.
He shifts his glare to Romeo.
“You brought her here?” he accuses.
Romeo wipes his hands on a kitchen towel. With his suit coat hanging over the back of the barstool beside me, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, and a red-and-white checkered apron tied around his neck, the cold, unyielding set of his features seems out of place.
But there’s no denying his resolution.
“Sienna, this is Alan Everett. He’s my brother.”
There’s no way these two men share a single drop of blood between them, so I take his introduction for what it must mean and not in the literal sense.
Alan Everett is Romeo’s lifelong friend and most likely his consigliere, or at the very least a savvy business partner.
And his anger can mean only one thing; he knows who I am and what Romeo intends to do with me and doesn’t approve of my presence in the family home.
A lump forms in my throat, but I turn and focus on my tea. Being unwanted isn’t new to me, but it still hurts.
Gran interrupts their staring contest and puts Alan to work too. Despite the anger simmering between them, the men work side by side without a word.
“Ai ya, you did not drink. It is cold,” Gran scolds.
“I’m not feeling well. I—”
“Nonsense. My food will fix you. Come to the table. All of you.”
I stand on rubbery legs and sit where Romeo indicates at the small table in the breakfast nook instead of the massive dining room table.
Gran heaps several spoonfuls of the aromatic rice dish onto my plate. My mouth waters even as terror seizes my stomach. After a quick chant—which I suppose is Gran’s prayer—the others dig in.
I clench my fist on my thigh and gather food onto my fork but can’t bring it to my mouth no matter how much I try. Envy washes over me. The others eat a delicious home-cooked meal while I fight a panic attack. It’s not fair. I set my fork down as quietly as I can, but it rattles against the plate.
Alan slams his fist down on the table and shouts, “She’s disrespecting Gran!”
Panic joins the vibrating in my bones.
“I’m sorry, I’ll eat,” I vow and stick a forkful in my mouth.
It comes right back up. So does everything else in my stomach. I turn away from the table just in time to avoid spewing all over everything. I heave until tears drip off my lashes and pain lances through my abdomen.
Romeo holds my hair and strokes my back. Masculine voices yell. The anger and hatred reach deep inside me and yank the words from my soul.
“My stepmother poisoned me. She poisoned me in my own home for years, and my father never cared.”
The room falls silent aside from my gasping. My head throbs.
If only that were the worst of my secrets, but it isn’t, and I can’t handle the truth, so I ignore it and lie to myself a little longer.
This is all I can take right now.
Romeo becomes my savior one more time. He curses, scoops me into his arms, and stalks out of the room.
I fall into numbness and just simply exist as he swaps my shoes, carries me to the car, and takes me back to the hotel room.
I become a mindless little doll as he undresses me, tends to my wounds, and settles me under the blankets.
Nothing exists until he joins me an indeterminate amount of time later.
I cry in the arms of the man who swore to break, humiliate, and hurt me. I cry until my head feels stuffed with cotton and my chest hurts from sobbing. The bite marks on my shoulder ooze through the bandage from the jostling.
I made a complete fool of both of us tonight. I must have looked so pathetic and gross while I insulted Gran, disgusted Alan, and undermined Romeo.
Even though he has every right to push me away, Romeo holds me just as tightly as I hold him.
As my body slowly gives in to exhaustion, I scramble for ways to salvage this, but only one thought repeats in my head.
He’s mine. My tormentor, lover, savior, and future.
I need Romeo Yovanni.