Chapter 27 – Sienna
SIENNA
Roman pulls away, Rebecca twisting in her seat to wave until they round the corner and disappear from view.
Hurrying back up the front steps, I lock the huge door and wander through the rooms, trailing my fingers along marble surfaces and expensive fabrics, still not quite believing this is my life now.
"It is beautiful, yes?" Carmella appears from the kitchen.
"Nicer than anywhere I've ever lived," I agree, embarrassed to have been caught so obviously awestruck by the wealth and luxury of Luca's life.
A swimming pool, guest bedrooms, staff, and cars. It's like nothing I ever imagined. Even when he told me his family came from money, I still couldn't comprehend just how much.
"Enjoy it," she advises. "Luca wants you to be here. What good is all the work he does with nobody to share it with?"
With a small smile, she asks if I need anything before retreating quietly and leaving me alone with my thoughts when I decline.
Grabbing my glass of wine, I saunter down the quiet hallway to Luca's room, my room now, I guess, and decide a hot bath will help me recover from spilling all my secrets to Rebecca today.
Well, not quite all.
Pushing open the door to the bathroom in Luca's suite, I laugh. It's ridiculous, all white marble and brushed copper fixtures, with a freestanding tub big enough for two positioned beneath a window overlooking the gardens.
Who lives like this? I fill it with water hot enough to sting and add some of the expensive bath oils that have never been opened, letting the scented steam fill my nose and calm my mind.
Stepping in carefully, I sink into the water, sighing in pleasure as it reaches my neck, feeling lighter than I have done in years.
I told her. For the first time in ten years, I told someone the truth about what happened, and the sky didn't tumble down around me.
Maybe I should tell Luca. What if I tell him later, and he's angry I kept it from him?
Immediately, I dismiss the idea, sinking lower in the bath as dread makes my toes curl. No way. Not until after the wedding. If I were to tell him the extent of his father's actions against me, who knows what he'd do. I won't let him ruin his chances of taking over by acting impulsively.
Once he's taken over, and I've fulfilled that part of our deal, then I'll help him fill in some of the blanks. After I've had some fun watching Alfonso squirm, waiting to see how much I've told his son about what he did to my family.
When Luca takes over, Alfonso won't be quite as untouchable.
The water cools, and I add more, not ready to leave the cocoon of warmth and silence. Eventually, when my fingers prune and my wine glass empties, I force myself to climb out, wrapping myself in a soft, fluffy towel from the heated rail that makes me sigh with pleasure.
The house is still quiet as I pad through the bedroom, enjoying the plush carpet beneath my bare feet.
I need to move my things from the guest room to make this official, so I don't have to keep traipsing back and forth in Luca's shirts to get my things.
It doesn't take long to gather my meager belongings and the outfits Carmella ordered for me.
For now, I change into one of the short silk nightgowns, brush my teeth, slather moisturizer all over my freshly shaved legs, and climb into Luca's bed.
The sheets smell like him, and I burrow into the pillows with a small smile.
He'll be home soon. He'll climb into bed beside me and tell me it’s all over.
I pull out my book, knowing I'll never be able to fall asleep, and settle back against the sumptuous pillows, ready to kill some time until he returns.
Eventually, my eyelids grow heavy, and my eyes droop.
Jerking awake as my book hits my leg, the creak of the door startles me, and I look up, expecting Luca.
Vito saunters in, tail high, looking extremely pleased with himself for gaining access to the forbidden territory of Luca's bedroom.
"You," I say, setting my book aside. "Luca's going to lose his mind if he finds you in here. Out."
Vito ignores me, as is his way, padding across the plush white carpet toward the bed, as I push back the covers and swing my feet to the floor, preparing to chase him back out.
Pushing to my feet, I stoop over to pick him up just as he darts away, and that's when I see them. Paw prints, bright red ones, trailing behind him like a grotesque bread crumb trail from the bedroom door.
Biting back the urge to cry out, I bend slowly and touch the wet prints, bringing my fingers to my nose, my heart beginning to pound as the unmistakable coppery tang hits my nose.
It's not paint. It's definitely blood.
And judging from how much crimson liquid coats his paws when I scoop him up and cling to him, there's a lot of it.