Chapter 15 Sora
SORA
If I had hoped familiarity with the Chiaroscuro family might help break the ice, I was sorely mistaken.
During my first week as Leo’s wife, my expectations of my new life have plummeted—which is impressive, considering they were so low to begin with.
While I don’t mind the responsibilities Don Augusta has passed on to me about running the household, I’ve never felt lonelier.
The don is a cold, unwelcoming sort who seems to consider women—or at least me—more of a servant who needs to be kept busy than an asset or member of the family.
Not that I mind. It’s better than sitting around, waiting for Leo to give me some sign of affection.
Which I now realize is never going to happen.
Leo’s brothers are fractionally more welcoming.
So far, they ignore me for the most part, and as I sit in the library, where I’ve set up shop to take care of planning Leo’s succession dinner, I give a violent shiver when I think about the alternative.
While meals are the only time my path really crosses with the twins, and Leo’s middle brother, Gio, seems inclined to keep to himself, I did have a very brief encounter with Miko on one of the first few days of living in my new home, and it still gives me goosebumps when I think about it.
I’d gone looking for Leo to ask him a question about the succession dinner I’ve been tasked with planning.
But when I checked in their massive garage, I stumbled upon Miko working on a beautiful classic sports car.
Dressed casually in a white wife beater and low-slung jeans, Miko had his tattoos with a devil motif on full display coloring every inch of his exposed arms and chest. He looked half wild, his dark curls in disarray, his muscles shining with sweat and smudged black with motor oil.
Something about Leo’s behemoth of an adopted brother has intimidated me from day one.
Maybe it’s the cold calculation in his electric-blue eyes or the fact that he looks as deadly as I’ve heard he is with knives.
Maybe it’s just his sheer size, since he towers over everyone, even Leo by several inches.
Whatever the reason for my instinctual intimidation, I hadn’t found the courage to speak to him directly before I saw him in the garage that day.
I almost didn’t then, either, though it felt rude to leave without at least acknowledging him—despite the fact that he was doing an impressive job of ignoring me.
Biting my lip, I considered slipping away before he noticed. Then, without warning, he straightened, his hand slipping into the front pocket of his jeans, and with lightning speed, he turned, launching whatever he held in my direction.
I gasped, unable to react in any useful way, and I clapped my hands over my mouth to stop a full-on scream as I stared at the switchblade vibrating in the doorframe less than a foot from my face.
Miko grunted. “You were quiet enough, I thought you were Sandro,” was all he said.
“S–Sorry,” I stuttered, though why I should feel the need to apologize when he just threw a knife at me, I don’t know. “I was just looking for Leo. Do you know where he is?”
Giving me half a glance as he turned back to the inner workings of his car, Miko shook his head. “No.” That seemed to be the only response I would get.
“I’ll just… leave you to it, then,” I said breathlessly, retreating as quickly as I could.
Since that day, I haven’t been brave enough to even look Miko in the eye at breakfast.
Genevieve, Raf’s wife, seems to be the only one who’s willing to acknowledge my presence, and it’s nice to have one friendly female face in the bizarrely hostile house.
She offered to help me with planning the dinner party, though she doesn’t seem to know the first thing about hosting such an event.
But I’m grateful for the support—and the company.
Even Genevieve, though, seems hesitant to let her guard down completely around me.
Leo is the worst of all, running hot and cold, changing temperatures in an instant.
I never know what to expect around him. During the day, he fluctuates between pretending I don’t exist to exchanging polite communications that make me feel more like a secretary than his wife.
But at night, when the lights are off—or sometimes unexpectedly if he catches me in the shower or tub—it’s like he can’t keep his hands off me.
It’s nothing like our first night together.
On our wedding night, he was patient and intimate, almost like a teacher educating me on the heights my pleasure could reach.
Now, when he takes me to bed, it’s with a ravenous passion that borders on angry.
That soft edge from the night he took my virginity is gone, replaced with a blazing heat that threatens to consume me.
Still, I can’t deny I like it. Even the simplest touch makes me want him, and when he’s done with me for the night, I’m always satisfied.
But our lack of a deeper emotional connection has left a hollow pit in my stomach.
Sighing, I slump against the back of my chair in the library, staring down at the spreadsheet I’ve drawn up for Leo’s succession party.
The plans are nearly all in place, which means I’ll need to find another way to occupy my time.
I like planning events. It’s a creative challenge I’ve always excelled at—incorporating the politics of whom to invite with the hosting details of food, drinks, decor, and entertainment that might appeal to the specific guest list. This one was a bit trickier, since I’m less familiar with Italian traditions, but Leo gave me enough groundwork that I’m at least confident I won’t make any massive blunders, and I’ve included all the necessary traditions.
I just need to figure out a centerpiece for the meal that will be well received.
The library door swings open unexpectedly, making me jump as it hits the wall behind it. It lands with enough force to bounce back, which is impressive, considering the weight of the solid oak.
To my surprise, Leo’s brother Giovanni steps into the room, his brow furrowed as he glowers at the heavy-looking book that’s open in one hand.
It’s a thick tome, probably something to do with tax law, if I had to guess, based on its leather binding, the gold print on the spine, and my very basic understanding of what Gio does for the Chiaroscuro family.
He’s halfway across the room before he seems to realize he’s not alone, and when his eyes lift to meet mine, his footsteps slow.
My cheeks warm as I realize I’ve been watching him for longer than would be polite, but it’s the first time I’ve had a chance to take a good look at the middle Chiaroscuro brother.
In a lot of ways, Gio looks enough like Leo to be his twin. They’re both tall, dark-haired, and muscular, with proud Roman noses. Gio wears the same kind of perfectly tailored Italian suits that make him look both professional and stylish.
But unlike Leo’s dark-chocolate eyes, Gio’s are a light, almost golden hazel.
He wears his hair just a bit longer and more haphazard, like he lets it pick how it wants to fall for the day and doesn’t use product to tame it.
While not quite as wild as Miko’s curls, it’s not styled to perfection like Leo’s—it’s natural and makes him seem a bit softer.
Actually, everything about Gio looks just a bit softer than his older brothers.
Not weaker, by any means, just… gentler.
His gaze, the set of his jaw, the way he holds his shoulders—he’s by far the least intimidating of Leo’s brothers.
I might even go so far as to call him welcoming, though he keeps to himself a lot.
Even his lips seem to maintain a hint of a smile, like he doesn’t know they’re doing it.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” He glances around, as if to see if he’s missed anyone else.
“It’s fine. I was just finishing up some details for the dinner announcing Leo’s succession,” I assure him, closing my laptop.
Gio gives a knowing nod. “How’s it going?”
The question catches me off guard, since none of the brothers have shown any interest in getting to know me this past week.
“Oh, um. Good, actually. I think I have it pretty well put together. Just trying to decide on a centerpiece for the dinner. To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely familiar with Italian cooking or what the capo dei capi might consider acceptable for a nice meal. ”
“Leg of lamb,” he says without hesitation. “Don Parelli is a sucker for them, and Aldo cooks some mean lamb medallions.”
After the week I’ve had, I’m taken aback by his willingness to help. “Thanks.”
I’m not entirely sure I should trust him. The utter lack of welcome has left me on guard, but when Gio gives me a genuine smile, it’s impossible to be suspicious.
“You’re welcome,” he says, snapping his book closed and taking a step toward the bookshelf where he was heading.
Encouraged by the polite exchange, I find the courage to test our relationship just a bit more, hoping his helpfulness might extend past meal options.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, standing from my chair to approach him.
“Sure. What’s up?”
Again, I get a sense of open acceptance from Leo’s younger brother, and I take a deep breath before continuing, hoping I won’t piss him off with my next question. “Did I do something to mess things up… with your family?”
“Well, your family and ours aren’t known for getting along, are we?” he says playfully, his lips quirking into a soft smile.
“Well, no. I guess not. I just don’t get the feeling that… you know what? Never mind.” Now that I’ve started to say it out loud, mentioning anything to Gio feels like I would be complaining about his family to him. “Forget I said anything.”
“We’re not the most welcoming bunch, are we?” he says, his hazel eyes apologetic.