Chapter 3 Sora
SORA
As our limo follows the winding drive past the front gates of the Chiaroscuro estate, I can’t help but peer out at the open beauty of their land.
Like a small kingdom on the outskirts of Chicago, it has enough space to get lost in, and the mansion standing at the end of the long driveway looks more like a castle than a home.
I suppose they would need that much room if all five adult brothers and their father share the same location.
Each could have a separate floor of the house—maybe even an entire wing.
And while my family home is lavish by ordinary standards, it’s nothing compared to the opulence of the Chiaroscuro home.
The facade is made up of cream-colored stone with wide-paned windows stretching across the upper floors to let in the light.
And amid the steep eaves of the towering roof are bay windows fashioned into turrets that make it look even more castle-esque.
The tall, circular fountain at the end of the drive shoots water from the center point into the air before cascading down into the crystal-clear pool below, finishing off the lavish look.
It’s a perfect blend of modern style and a classic European display of power.
“Gaudy, isn’t it?” Kenji asks, leaning across the middle seat between us to look out my window as the driver pulls around.
“Yes, gaudy,” I say, but the breathless sound of my voice fails to hide my true opinion. It’s awe inspiring.
“Let’s get this over with,” my father says as the car rolls to a stop at the foot of the stairs and one of the Chiaroscuros’ black-suited staff opens the door.
He offers a gloved hand, and since my white satin mock neck dress has a snug hem around the knees, which could make getting out of the car tricky, I accept it, unfolding from the limo as I keep my eyes fixed on the Chiaroscuro home.
Soft music filters from the house and the distant sound of chatter that would indicate the party has already started.
Cringing internally, I try not to think about the insult of our showing up “fashionably” late, as my brother calls it.
“Signor Tanaka, Signora Tanaka, welcome,” the Chiaroscuro butler greets my parents with a subtle bend of the hips as we reach the top of the sandstone steps, then he acknowledges me and my brother with a glance and tilt of the head. “If you’ll follow me…”
Several uniformed staff members occupy the main floor of the house, practically fading into the scenery as they blend with the lavish decor while they go about their business.
Suspended from the ceiling of the vaulted entryway is a chandelier dripping with crystals that cast colorful rainbows across the cream-colored walls.
The open archway at the far end of the foyer leads into a great room with glass doors that would enclose the space, but today, they’ve been folded back to join the expansive terrace overlooking the far side of the Chiaroscuro estate.
Guests in garden party attire mingle about the space.
It’s not hard to find the host of the party as Don Augusta converses with the patriarch of the Caprinelli family, who must have traveled all the way from New York for the occasion.
Behind him, his five towering sons loom like silent shadows.
It would appear that all the Chiaroscuro brothers are present for today’s festivities, and for the first time, I get a glimpse of them together.
It’s easy to see the resemblance. All look polished and quite civilized in their fine Italian suits, despite the impressive amounts of muscle that make the fabric strain and the tattoos that peek out above their collars and beneath their sleeve cuffs.
They take after their father with their dark hair and distinct facial features—all except Michelangelo, who still seems to resemble his adopted brothers despite his lighter eyes and pale complexion.
The two brothers to Michelangelo’s left must be the twins. Aside from a small nautical star tattoo adorning the cheek of one twin just beneath the outside corner of his eye, they’re identical.
And they both have the roguish smirk of someone capable of stirring up trouble with the Irish, which they’re infamous for.
The fifth brother, who I can only assume is the middle child I’ve heard almost nothing about, stands back slightly from the pack, his expression vague as he stares off into the distance, like his mind is miles away.
When my eyes finally land on Leonardo, my heart somersaults anxiously.
Our first meeting several weeks ago did not go well at all, and I don’t imagine today will be any better.
I never told my father about Leonardo’s threat to make my life miserable unless I called off the wedding.
Regardless of what my fiancé might believe, it wouldn’t matter what my reasons might be to end the engagement.
I know my father well enough to be confident that he would insist I go through with it anyway. And the last thing I want is to give my father a reason to blame me if this falls apart.
“Sir, the Tanakas have arrived,” our escort announces as we reach the don and his entourage.
“Ah, the guests of honor,” Don Augusta says, turning to greet us with a saccharine smile. “I was starting to wonder if Leonardo’s young bride would miss her own engagement party.”
I follow my mother’s lead, laughing lightly at the don’s underhanded joke, and heat blossoms in my cheeks as Leonardo’s molten chocolate gaze lands on me, that same fire making my stomach quiver.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Don Chiaroscuro-sama,” I assure him. “I’m sorry for arriving late.”
“No apologies necessary. It’s your day, my dear. You should enjoy it. Leo, why don’t you find your beautiful young bride a drink and introduce her to our guests?”
“Of course.”
Again Leonardo offers me his elbow, a polite smile touching the corners of his lips, and a fresh thrill races through my chest.
He shouldn’t affect me the way he does, especially when he’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want this marriage, but something about him draws me in even when, logically, I know how dangerous that could be.
Still, his cypress and lemon cologne makes my heart quicken when I pull in a deep breath to calm my nerves, creating the opposite effect.
“Getting cold feet?” Leonardo asks as he guides me to the outdoor bar built along the back railing of the terrace.
“Not at all,” I say sweetly.
“Then why were you late?” he presses, stopping in front of the self-serve lemonade and pouring me a clear plastic glass of the yellow-tinted liquid that looks like hand-made juice squeezed from actual lemons.
Accepting the glass, I take a small sip and relish the tart, refreshing drink. “This is wonderful. Thank you,” I say, lifting the glass to indicate what I’m referring to. “And we were late because I wanted to ensure I was presentable enough to be worthy of my husband-to-be.”
I glance sidelong at Leonardo, wondering if he’ll pick up on my sarcasm. It was a bit heavy-handed.
By the quirk of his eyebrow, I would say he heard it just fine. But as we near a couple standing by the newel of the balustrade at the top of the terrace steps, his face softens into the look of a charming man who just spotted a favorite person.
“Signor and Signora Lombardi, it’s wonderful to see you. Thank you for coming,” Leonardo says, his voice low and warm in a way that makes me realize just how little regard he must have for me. “Have you met my fiancée? This is Signorina Sora Tanaka.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Signorina,” Signor Lombardi says, his broad smile toothy and white against his tan skin.
“And we’re honored to have been invited to such a special occasion, Signor Chiaroscuro.
We had hoped our own daughter, Evelina, might be lucky enough to become your bride when she comes of age this summer, but I can see why you would be taken with such a beauty as Miss Sora and simply couldn’t resist.”
Leonardo releases a low chuckle that awakens butterflies in my stomach, and my throat tightens as I wonder if he might not have preferred to marry the Lombardi girl as well.
But when he speaks next, his voice is more tense than before, some of its warmth having bled away.
“I’m sure your Evelina will make a wonderful wife.
And who knows? The Lombardis have always been such a loyal family to ours.
With three of my brothers still on the market, she might become a Chiaroscuro yet.
Now if you’ll excuse us. We have more guests to greet than minutes in the day.
” Placing his palm over the button of his suit jacket and resting the other against the small of my back, Leonardo respectfully inclines his head as he steers me away.
“Of course,” Signor Lombardi says. “And congratulations to you both. We wish you a lifetime of happiness.”
Pressing my lips together to stay silent as we descend the steps and reach the garden pathway, I sense the irritation rolling off Leonardo in waves.
Whether that frustration is over the recent conversation or having to stay by my side for the day, I can’t quite tell, but I want to get to the bottom of it.
“Wishing you could have had a young Italian bride instead?” I offer when we have a moment of privacy between guests.
An inexplicable stab of jealousy lances through me at the thought, even though I don’t want this marriage any more than Leonardo does.
He scoffs, his glance from the corner of his eye incredulous.
“If one good thing could come out of marrying you, it would be the pleasure of never having to endure another conversation like that—parents descending upon me like a flock of geese during every public event to parade their daughters in front of me because one would make the perfect Mafia bride.”
It’s oddly reassuring to hear that I’m not the only wife he’s less than interested in acquiring, and the start of a laugh rushes past my lips before I can stop it.
Covering my mouth with my fingertips, I look down at the path to hide my amusement until I can pull myself together.