Chapter Two #2
I felt a blush snake up my neck and spread across my cheeks. If he noticed; he said nothing.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Neapolitan. I’m Mike, but my friends call me Mikey.”
The man had a chiseled jaw with a slight tick I couldn’t drag my eyes from. Now, why couldn’t I be this guy’s fiancée instead of… Hell, I didn’t even know whom I was marrying.
“I guess you work here?”
“Hmm?” I startled out of my musings. “Yeah, I, ah, was leaning over dusting the mistress’s room and leaned too far, I guess. Thanks for rescuing me.”
“You are very welcome.” His eyes sparkled. “Is she ready, your mistress? It’s time to leave.”
Perfect! This guy was stupid. Super handsome, but what an asshat, falling for my lame story. I would have rolled my eyes if he hadn’t been gazing so intently into them.
“That is a good question,” I purred. “Just let me hustle back upstairs and find out for you. I’ll be right back.”
I hurried to the front of the house. Standing there were my father and his guards, along with men I didn’t recognize, who I assumed belonged to my husband to be.
Before I could bolt for cover, my father called everyone’s attention straight to me, pointing at me like God in judgement as he bellowed, “There she is!”
Mikey gripped my arm and held me tight until the others joined us and quickly hustled me into a waiting car. As the line of cars sped down the driveway, I peered out the back window and watched until Mikey and my childhood home disappeared from sight.
Great. From the frying pan and into the fire.
What did that accomplish other than almost getting myself killed?
I did meet Mr. Handsome and he’d proven to not be too bright.
Maybe I could seduce him and get him to help me escape from the wedding.
He’d be going there next, I bet. Sitting back in the car, I began to lay out plan B, escaping the wedding location.
Poor whomever he was would never know what hit him.
It was hard not to chuckle aloud, but remaining quiet and angry was the best way to keep my plans to myself.
Let them think I was stewing about being caught when really, I was tickled pink.
By the time this day ended, I vowed I would be sipping a Mai Tai on a beach somewhere.
We pulled up to a set of gates set back off the road and surrounded by mature forest. Whomever this guy was, he liked his privacy. The gates opened and we pulled through. My breath caught when the home came into view. To say it was opulent wouldn’t give it the justice it deserved.
I’d grown up wealthy and had anything I wanted, but this wealth was several steps higher than even I’d been exposed to, this right here was royalty.
Suddenly I had to know who had purchased me, because in the mafia, daughters were bargaining chips and marriages were simply business.
How my father had managed such an arrangement after I’d done my best to sabotage all his efforts to marry me off was beyond me.
Maybe he’d made up a lie like I could spin straw into gold, like in the fairy tale.
Nothing else could explain the sheer lavishness before me.
The home appeared to be built in the late twentieth century, and resembled an expansive villa, such as one would see touring estate mansions in Tuscany.
But the Boboli-styled gardens were more reminiscent of Florence during the Renaissance.
Whoever designed the gardens had created a marvel.
The hedging weaved patterns to either side of the property with a huge fountain carved out in the center a few hundred feet from the grand entrance.
Flowers and vines heavy with grapes grew abundantly in sun dappled clearings weaving an intricate pattern with its surroundings.
In short, the place was magnificent, and never had I seen anything like it…
except I had. I’d seen this house, not one like it but this self-same house, on a recent episode of Home Is Where the History Is, a web-series that showcased heritage properties.
Try as I might, no amount of playback of the television episode featuring this home came back to me, except that I knew the owners name began with a V. Darn! Vigaro? No, Vitare, no, that wasn’t it.
“Excuse me, but whose home is this?”
Neither guard answered. They completely ignored me, but the answer became evident when we pulled under the three-story high portico that extended out far enough to accommodate up to four cars in depth.
The thick stone columns that held the enormous roof had a family crest engraved into their surface.
I stepped out of the vehicle and ran my hand over the image of the crest and the name Vitale.
Hmm. It was Sicilian. Oh my God... not the Vitale.
Luciano Vitale. The most feared mafia don of his generation.
My family's sworn enemy. Oh, Papa, what have you done?
It was too much for me to process. My legs went out from under me as I fainted away into waiting arms.
“Quick, bring her water,” a mellifluous voice demanded. I pretended to be out while gazing though heavy lidded eyes at my surroundings. The room was massive, as was the bed I lay upon and outfitted for royalty.
“Ah, you are awake. Drink this.” The same voice that had demanded the water, belonged to a slim woman probably in her early sixties, but didn’t look a day older than fifty.
Well cared for and groomed to the nines, she must be part of the Vitale family, as I couldn’t imagine a servant so well turned out.
“Sit up, dear, let me help you.”
I scooted back against a stack of pillows and allowed her to feed me sips of water from a crystal tumbler.
The line of worry between her brows evaporated to be replaced with a resplendent smile, giving me a glimpse of the beauty she must have been when she was my age, a beauty that far outshone mine.
Intimidated by her effortless elegance and assuming that was the standard in my new gilded cage, I squirmed under her scrutiny.
She noticed and leaned forward even closer to examine me, and was now near enough that I could smell her perfume, the pretty notes rivaled the beauty that wore it. “Are you quite all right? You didn’t injure yourself when you fainted?”
“I’m all right,” I answered automatically, then hesitated.
Her concern and kindness seemed so genuine.
Had I found a new friend and ally to help me escape?
I took a chance and, despite the presence of several servants and guards sharing the room with us, I dropped my voice to a faint whisper, “No, I’m not all right. I was kidnapped.”
“You don’t say. How awful. By whom?” she answered with a slight quirk of her lips.
My heart sank, but my shoulders straightened and I immediately adopted my coldest and most authoritative tone: “I assume by a relation of yours. I demand to know where I am and be released at once!”
I suppose I didn’t really expect her to leap to do my bidding as my servants would have done, but I also didn’t expect this woman to chuckle at me as if I’d said something particularly witty over tea.
“You are delightful!” she said, rising from the bed, and extending an inviting hand.
“Welcome to the family, Vittoria. I am Isabella, and I am looking forward to getting to know you better. But that must wait until later. We have much to accomplish in a short amount of time, if we are to have you ready for my son.”
Her son? So she wasn’t just any member of the family, she was the widow of Luciano Vitale. That explained her reaction. She probably felt as threatened as a tiger by a kitten. I had no clout here and the sooner I changed my strategy the better if I wanted to escape.