Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Giovanni
A week later
“What do you mean he can’t come?”
I look up from the document on my desk. The man standing in front of me, one of my newer captains, shifts.
“Fabiano broke his leg, Don Mondi. At the docks last night.”
“Broke?”
“A fracture, sir. He’s at home.”
I tap my pen against the desk twice and consider breaking the other one for him.
I have a meeting tonight at the Marchetti estate.
Ownership of the eastern holdings is on the table.
Ricci will be there — my scorned, almost father-in-law.
A year ago, Enzo Ricci’s daughter, Valentina, and I got engaged.
Of course, it was a business engagement.
Then one night, I saw her stumbling out of Fabiano’s room with her hair a mess and clothes barely on right.
She had the biggest smile. I was supposed to be on a flight that night to meet a doctor for Lucia.
I never took Fabiano for those. But my flight got delayed, and I decided to spend the night keeping Lucia company since pain flared up again.
So, I was blessed with such a sight. She didn’t see me, and I never spoke about it.
But I did break off the engagement. I sent Ricci an official letter, and he was livid.
I never told him why; I didn’t see the point.
His daughter had her heart elsewhere, and it had nothing to do with me.
It was simply bad for business to have my wife sleeping with my Capo.
Ricci would happily turn the night into a public confrontation if he caught me without backup. Fabiano was supposed to be at my side, taking the heat as he should.
“How long is he out?”
“Three weeks, the doctor said.”
Three weeks. Of course. I sit back in the chair and run a hand down my jaw.
I think about Yana.
I haven’t seen her in a week. Not since the night in the yard.
I hear about her. I hear that she wakes at the crack of dawn to run laps around the property.
I hear that she takes her meals in her room.
I hear that she has not said a word to anyone in seven days, which I find more entertaining than I should.
She would do.
She would do very well, actually. She knows how to read a room. She knows how to handle herself. I would handle any surprises myself, but just as a backup, or even a shield, she would do.
I look at the captain.
“Tell the Russian girl to be ready tonight. She’s coming with me.”
“Yes, Don Mondi.”
He turns to leave. I speak again in Italian.
“And if you say anything stupid to her, or if you look at her wrong, I will pluck out your eyes.”
He nods and walks out.
I sit in the quiet for a moment. She makes me act out of my mind, and I do not know why I like it. I have no good reason to like it. I chuckle to myself and stand.
I walk to Lucia’s room and open the door quietly.
She is sleeping. She has been sleeping most of the last week. After the last attack, the new doctor put her on something heavier, and her body has been taking it as permission to disappear. I sit on the edge of her bed and stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers.
Her skin is warm. That’s something.
“I’m stepping out tonight, Angel.”
She doesn’t stir.
“When I get back, I’ll sit with you. We’ll watch one of your shows.”
I lean down and kiss her forehead.
“Soon,” I whisper. “I promise, I’ll get you help.”
I close the door behind me.
* * *
That night, I wait by the car, tapping my foot on the ground, and I check my watch. The driver stands by the passenger door with his hands behind his back, pretending not to watch me check the time for the third minute in a row.
Then the front door opens. She steps out.
I stare at her. I told the staff to put her in something that would do at the Marchetti estate.
She needed to blend in with the ladies there.
I didn’t want her to look like an obvious backup; that job was for Fabiano.
They followed instructions. Her hair is up.
The dress is black, low at the back, and cut above her knees.
There is a small purse in her hand. She is wearing it well.
She looks delicate. Our eyes meet, I whistle, and stretch my hand out to her.
She walks past it and gets into the car.
I laugh under my breath and get in beside her. She is pressed against the far door, her body angled away from me, her purse is on her lap like a small shield.
I reach over, take her by the waist, and pull her against me.
“You look stunning,” I say. “If I say so myself.”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t look at me. Her jaw is tight.
I let my eyes drop to the neckline of the dress which is not as modest as I told the staff to make it. The curve of her breasts pushes against the fabric, and something hot moves under my ribs. I think about the men at the estate who will see her like this. The thought turns sour fast.
I take her face in my hand and pull her chin toward me, and I bite her mouth. I want it to bruise. I want the inside of her lip to swell so that when she smiles at any man tonight, she will feel it and remember whose teeth put it there.
She shoves me back and slaps me hard across the face.
“Crazy,” she mutters and presses herself back into the corner of the seat.
I grin.
I run my tongue over my own lip where her teeth caught me back, and I look at her mouth. The spot I bit is going red. She’ll feel it for hours.
I face forward and tell the driver to go.
* * *
I walk in with Yana in my arms, and eyes fall on us. Some of them are looking at me, but most are looking at her, forgetting their drinks. I look down at her.
Her face is blank, but her cheeks are red. I do not know if it is the bite I gave her in the car, the attention, or both. I lower my mouth close to her ear.
“You’re my date tonight. Act like it.”
She doesn’t look at me or answer, but I feel her spine straighten under my hand.
We move into the room.
The first to approach is Carlo De Luca, who runs the southern half of the family’s import operations. He is a man who knows when to flatter and when to stay silent, and he has decided tonight is the night to flatter. He takes my hand and clasps it warmly.
“Don Mondi. And who is this dashing woman?”
I look at Yana.
Her face transforms. It happens so fast I almost miss it. The blank look is gone. In its place is a soft smile, warm eyes, and the slight tilt of the head that women learn before they learn anything else. She extends her hand to Carlo with grace.
“This is Yana,” I say, and I let the next word sit before I say it. “My girlfriend.”
“Russian?” Carlo says, taking her hand.
“Russian,” I confirm.
“A pleasure, signore,” she says, and her voice is soft and warm in a way I have never heard from her, and her smile does not crack even at the corners. She is good. She is very good. Whatever Kirill trained her in, he trained her in this, too.
A waiter passes, and she takes a glass of wine and lifts it lightly to clink against Carlo’s. I watch her with my hand at the small of her back. She is acting so naturally that for a moment I forget she is only here because she has to be, not because she wants to.
I make small talk with Carlo. I ask about his wife.
I ask about his eldest son, who is studying in Milan.
I keep one eye on Yana the whole time. She nods at the right moments.
She laughs softly when Carlo makes a joke about the wine.
When his attention turns briefly back to me, she takes a sip of her drink, and her eyes go flat for half a second before she remembers the audience.
I almost smile. Carlo moves on. Another man approaches. Then another. Each time, she performs the same trick, and each time, I watch her do it.
Then I see Ricci.
He is at the far end of the room, and he has just spotted me. Valentina is at his side. The moment her eyes find me, her face crumples, and she breaks away from her father and runs across the room toward me with her heels clicking against the marble.
“Giovanni!”
The whole room turns slightly. She does not care.
“Giovanni, why aren’t you picking up my calls?” Her eyes are swimming. She grabs my free hand with both of hers. “I have been calling for weeks. Why won’t you talk to me?”
I gently remove her hands from mine.
Ricci has reached us. His voice cuts in. “Valentina. Come back to my side!”
She doesn’t move. He says it again, and this time she steps back, but her eyes stay on my face.
I lift my glass to her father.
“Ricci,” I say. “It’s been a while.”
“It has, Don Mondi.” His voice is even, but his eyes are not. “You have kept your distance ever since you publicly humiliated my daughter.”
I smile at him.
“Don’t say that, Ricci. Valentina is important to me.” The lie comes out clean. “I am simply not in a position to get married.”
Ricci’s jaw tightens. I see it move under the skin. But Valentina lights up.
“I knew it,” she says, and her hand goes to her chest. “I knew you still cared about me. I told Papa you still —”
Her eyes fall on Yana. She stops talking.
“Who is she?” Valentina asks. Her voice has changed.
I slide my arm around Yana’s waist and pull her gently against my side.
“This is my new girlfriend. Yana.”
“What?” Valentina says.
Ricci laughs. It is a bitter, ugly laugh that does not reach his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something more, but the announcement bell rings from the dining hall, and the crowd begins to move.
I bow my head slightly to Ricci. I take Yana’s arm and turn her toward the hall. She doesn’t say anything, but there is disdain in her eyes. “If it’s any comfort,” I say, “she has been sleeping with my capo. But I am generous. I let her keep her dignity.”
Yana does not answer. Her face is doing the soft smile again for the benefit of the room, but the eyes underneath are flat and very tired.
The meeting takes an hour. The matter on the table is the transfer of ownership of the Bellante family shipping concern, which has been in limbo since old man Bellante died without a clear successor.
There are three families with claims. There is one family without a claim — my family.
I half-listen; I am only here out of obligation.
The other half of me watches Yana.
She is seated to my right. She is doing the soft smile and the small nods, and occasionally, she turns to look at me with a smile that would convince anyone in this room that she came here freely.
Her eyes do not light up when she smiles.
Her posture is too straight, with her back against the chair.
The hand in her lap is closed into a small fist.
But the smile itself is good. Anyone who did not know her would believe it. I find myself wondering what it would look like if she smiled at me like that and meant it. It is not a useful thought. I push it down and listen to the next clause being read.