14. Giada
Giada
The office door stands open three inches. Dante sits inside with Luca, and his question reaches the hallway before I touch the door.
“Did your strategic marriage accomplish what we needed?”
I stop beside the wall. Luca answers at once. “Yes. The marriage was a strategic move, and it worked. The Rafinelli-Lombardi alliance collapsed at the altar. After the gala, three more families withdrew their support.”
“Giuseppe remains free.”
“His support is shrinking. Taking Antonio alive has cost him more.”
The skin beneath Luca’s white shirt scratches my shoulders. I wore it from his bedroom because my blue one lay folded on the chair and his was closer. The hem reaches my knees. Forty minutes ago, he kissed the side of my face and told me to sleep while he showered. His shirt belongs in his room.
“And your wife?” Dante asks.
I turn before Luca answers. Twelve floorboards carry me to the stairs.
Behind me, Luca says my name. The stairwell wall cuts off the rest of his answer as I descend.
Twenty-three steps lead to the second floor.
My room waits across the hall from his, unchanged except for the clothes I moved yesterday.
I close the door and remove his shirt. It takes two attempts to fasten my bra. The hook slips once, then catches. I put on gray trousers and a plain white blouse.
My blue tardigrade shirt remains folded in Luca’s room. My thick socks are on my feet. I bought the shirt with his money. The card bears my name, but he pays the bill. The shirt is mine under the rules he gave me.
My feet stay on my carpet. The wedding was a strategic move, and it worked.
Papa called me a problem Giuseppe agreed to accept. My mother said I should be grateful any man would take me. At the church, Dante ordered Luca to marry me, and Luca obeyed. I treated the result as a choice because Luca was kind after the order. Kindness doesn’t change the origin of a transaction.
The front door closes downstairs. I cross the hall into Luca’s bedroom and take my blue shirt from the chair. In my room, I remove my thick socks and fold them with the shirt inside my suitcase. I leave it open.
The door opens after a knock. Luca steps into the room in dark trousers and a white shirt, cuffs undone. His attention moves from the clothes in the suitcase to my face.
“Are you leaving?”
“No.”
His shoulders release a fraction. “Why is your suitcase open?”
“I moved my belongings out of your room.”
“Why?”
“They belong in here.”
He comes closer, then stops beyond reach. “You told me you wanted to sleep in my bed.”
“I wanted to last night.”
“Only last night?”
“That is what I said.”
His jaw hardens. He looks at the suitcase again. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Are you sore?”
“A little. It isn’t bad.”
“Did I touch you after you asked me to stop?”
“I never asked you to stop.”
He takes another step and halts when I move beside the bed. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”
“No.”
Luca goes motionless. His hands remain open at his sides. “Do you want me to leave?”
The correct answer should be no. I want him to cross the room, hold my shoulders with firm pressure, and tell me the marriage isn’t only useful. I want him to say he would choose me if Dante had never given the order.
He doesn’t say those things. I have no right to ask him to pretend.
“Yes. I want to be alone.”
He inclines his head once. “I’ll be downstairs. You don’t need to come to me. I won’t touch you unless you ask.”
His care is exact. It provides the required separation without making me request it twice.
“Thank you.”
He leaves and closes the door. I sit at the desk with my notebook. Three pages contain the figures from the accounts Luca showed me. I had planned to examine the thirteen-day intervals again and ask him for the rest of the records.
That would make me useful. The idea presses against the inside of my skull until I close the notebook and put it in the bottom drawer.
At breakfast, Luca sits across from me. Dante has gone. Susan places crisp bacon, toast, and sliced pear on the table. I eat the pear in order from smallest piece to largest.
“Would you prefer different food?” Luca asks.
“No. This is acceptable.”
He sets his coffee down. “You usually call the bacon good.”
“It is good.”
“Do you want tea?”
“No, thank you.”
His fingers flatten beside his plate. “Do you want me to sit elsewhere?”
“This is your seat.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You may sit wherever you choose.”
He studies my face for several seconds. “I’m asking what you want.”
I want him beside me for reasons he never agreed to give.
“I want to finish breakfast.”
“All right.”
He stays across the table. He doesn’t ask again.
Afterward, I take my book to the sitting room. Luca works in his office. Men enter through the front door twice. Their shoes strike the marble, followed by brief conversations too far away to separate. A door shuts below the stairs.
The same paragraph remains at the top of my page. Luca comes to the sitting-room entrance. His jacket covers the white shirt now, and the silver tardigrade rests on his lapel. He kept the pin.
“I need to go to Dante’s office,” he says. “Mattia and six men will remain here. Susan is in the kitchen.”
“All right.”
“Before I go, I need to tell you about your father. He was captured last night. He’s secured in the basement.”
My fingers close harder around the book.
“You will never be required to go near him or speak to him,” Luca says. “He cannot reach you.”
“All right.”
“Giuseppe hasn’t been located. Don’t go outside without security.”
“I won’t.”
He pauses. Yesterday I would have gone to him and asked for a kiss before he left. My fingers tighten around the edges of my book instead.
“Do you want anything before I go?”
Choose me.
“No.”
His mouth forms a hard line. “Call if that changes.”
He leaves with his hands at his sides. The front door closes. A car engine fades beyond the windows. I count the blue shapes on the rug, but the number keeps breaking apart after twenty-eight.
I return to my room and change into the blue tardigrade shirt. Suppressing the interest doesn’t make it disappear. The animal on the front has eight short legs and an inaccurate smiling mouth. Tardigrades don’t smile. They have no facial muscles for it.
The stuffed tardigrade remains beside Luca’s keyboard. He said it could stay there. I don’t go to get it. A knock comes from the hall.
Mattia stands outside when I open my door. “Mrs. DiCenzo, I need you to stay on this floor for the next hour.”
“Why?”
“We’re moving the prisoner to the interview room.”
“My father.”
His gaze moves toward the stairs. Two men wait at the landing below. “Yes.”
“I want to speak to him.”
Mattia’s mouth tightens. “Mr. DiCenzo said you will never be required to go near him or speak to him.”
“You already told me. I choose to.”
“Mrs. DiCenzo—”
“This is my home. Take me downstairs.”