15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Mateo
I had a shitty night’s sleep, tossing and turning for hours, my mind tangled up with Tiero’s dilemma, traitors, and the endless problems piling up since we acquired our former enemies’ territories.
Sometimes, I wish Tiero had never gone on his warpath. Taking on Molinaro and all our other enemies might prove to be more than we can handle. Tiero’s convinced, though, that when we succeed in bringing everyone together, things will be better for us in the long run.
I understand his logic and his motivation, but life was good before. Things ran smoothly most of the time, and there was space to actually enjoy it. Now it’s just one drama after another.
Tiero left early this morning, flying back to Sicily to deal with our ‘rats’.
I groan inwardly. Another crappy day in paradise awaits.
I refocus on the email I’ve been trying to decipher for the past ten minutes. Taking a long sip of my coffee, I hope the caffeine will finally kick in. But after two cups, I still feel like a zombie. My brain is in a fog, and my body’s dragging with every move.
I didn’t bother soaking in the jacuzzi last night, though I did take a late walk in the garden, hoping to hear more guitar playing. That didn’t happen either, leaving me in a foul mood when I finally went to bed.
A knock on the door pulls my attention from my screen. Romeo strides in, looking just as rough as me.
“What’s up with you?” I ask, but he just huffs, reminding me of the petulant teenager he was when we first met.
He lets himself fall into the chair across from my desk with a grunt, but as soon as he spots the bar cart in the corner, he gets up again and pours himself a Scotch.
“A bit early for that, don’t you think?”
“Nopppe,” he replies, exaggerating the p.
“So what happened with the girl?” I ask. She must be the reason he’s all wound up.
“Not talking about it,” he mutters.
That’s a first. He’s usually all too eager to regale us with the details of his conquests.
“Where’s Antonio?” he asks, slumping back down with a weary sigh.
“Antonio? Why would he be here?” I sit up a little straighter, somewhat alarmed.
Tiero had ordered him to stay in Sicily.
“He arrived with me. Said he had more information to discuss with you about Antonelli. They used to work together before Antonelli’s promotion a while back.”
“Then where is he?” I wonder out loud, the uneasy feeling in my gut growing.
“Said he needed the bathroom. I took a detour through the kitchen for coffee, figured he’d be back before me.”
Fuck!
That can only mean one thing.
I’m up and out of my chair in seconds, rushing to the kitchen. As always, Giulia is behind the stove.
“Where is Mariella?” I ask briskly.
She looks up, startled. “Reading in the garden,” she answers with a frown on her face. “Why? Do you…”
I don’t catch the rest of her sentence. I’m already out the patio door, heading toward the old oak tree where I hope Mariella will be.
It’s not long before I hear Antonio’s voice, so enraged he’s not even trying to keep it down.
Even after two days, he’s still fuming. He’s either brave or just plain stupid to defy Tiero’s orders to stay away from his daughter. He better not do anything else reckless.
I round the corner and immediately spot him in the small sitting area beneath the three citrus trees my father planted for my mother so many years ago.
He’s towering menacingly over Mariella. My heart stutters in my chest when I see her terrified expression.
This is exactly why Tiero asked me to take the girl with me. He knew Antonio had the potential to lose control. No one who interferes with his plans ever escapes unscathed. I can only imagine that’s worse when it comes to his own family.
My insides tighten, a knot of tension forming in my gut.
“You humiliated me in front of the entire famiglia ,” he booms. “You made me a laughingstock.”
He yanks her arm so violently that her pain is obvious.
Mariella drops her gaze to the ground, her whole body slumped, as if all energy has been drained from her.
“I’m sorry, Father. It’s not like I meant to throw u—”
She doesn’t get to finish. Antonio’s hand connects with her face in a brutal slap.
She cries out, her head snapping to the side. I’m sure she’d hit the ground if he wasn’t gripping her arm so tightly.
A wave of rage surges through me, hot and all-consuming, sending a rush of adrenaline pounding through my veins. I break into a run, desperate to reach her faster.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me,” Antonio thunders.
My pulse quickens, every muscle in my body coiled and ready to spring.
How dare he lay a hand on a woman, especially on my property?
Papà would be appalled to see this spot defiled, a place he and my mother always saw as a symbol of their love. As ruthless as he was, he never once raised a hand against a woman, and he expected those closest to him to follow that same code.
Antonio is still shouting at his daughter, his anger building with every word.
“Do you have any idea what you cost me?” he yells.
Mariella is holding her cheek with her free hand, her eyes wide and glassy with fear.
That expression on her pretty, innocent face breaks something inside me and sets something else free.
She tries to shrink away from her father, but Antonio’s grip is unrelenting, keeping her trapped in place.
He’s raising his hand again when I finally reach them, and I catch it mid-air before he can strike her a second time.
“Enough!” I bark.
He turns and looks over his shoulder at me, his grip on his daughter loosening enough for Mariella to step back and slip out of his reach. She clutches her arm with the opposite hand, cradling it against her body.
Shit, she’s hurt!
My blood boils even hotter. My hands curl into fists at my sides, wanting to give Antonio a taste of his own medicine. It’s not just anger anymore, it’s a clear, focused fury.
“Stay out of it, Mateo. This is my daughter,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I’ll deal with her however I see fit.”
“Not while she’s under my protection. And you will address me as Signor De Marco.”
I’m surprised my voice is as calm as it is, given the storm raging inside me.
He turns fully toward me, disgust twisting his features, like I’m the one out of line here.
“Your protection?” he snarls, his voice dripping with contempt.
My jaw tightens as I hold his gaze, the simmering fury just below the surface now. I want to pull back my arm and knock the sneer off his face, but I force myself to stay steady.
“Signor De Marco,” he grits out, “Mariella is my daughter and none of your concern. I’m here to collect her. She’s returning home with me. She will beg the Contis for forgiveness.”
The color drains from Mariella’s face, her body swaying as if she’s on the verge of fainting.
Every instinct in me screams to go to her, to catch her if she falls.
I have failed her already, but it will not happen again!
I’m responsible for her safety.
Despite the burning need to gather her in my arms, check her over to make sure there are no other injuries, I don’t take my eyes off Antonio.
In his current state, he’s unpredictable and still too close to her for my liking. My focus has to stay on him.
Footsteps approach from behind, and without needing to turn, I know it’s Romeo, here to back me up. Not that I need it. I can handle Antonio on my own.
My gaze stays fixed on him, expecting his temper could flare up again in an instant, and I won’t let him hurt Mariella any more than he already has. My chest tightens as I keep my body tense, ready to react if he so much as twitches in her direction.
With the reassurance of Rom watching Antonio’s every move as closely as I am, I allow myself to steal a glance at Mariella out of the corner of my eye. I take in every detail, the way her hand trembles as she cradles her arm, the bruising already forming on her face, and the shallow, uneven breaths that escape her.
God, I want to comfort her, but first, I need to make sure Antonio understands there’s no way he’s taking her with him.
“Mariella isn’t going anywhere. Your Don has entrusted me with her welfare. She’s on my property. Need I go on?”
There shouldn’t be any challenge from him. Still, his fists clench and unclench, the veins in his neck ticking with irritation. I watch as his jaw flexes, and I can almost hear the grinding of his teeth as he struggles to get his anger in check.
“Do not forget your place, Antonio. You’ve served our family for a long time. You’re next in line for consigliere. Don’t screw it up now,” I say, my tone firm.
The unspoken threat hangs in the air, and he understands it loud and clear.
He throws one last withering look his daughter’s way. I’m glad her gaze is still fixed on the ground, and she misses the menace and promise of retribution embedded in his eyes.
Jesus, this isn’t an enemy. This is his fucking daughter.
“Romeo, accompany Antonio to the boardroom and listen to what he came here to share,” I instruct my best friend, my eyes never leaving the man in front of me. Antonio’s tension is palpable, but I’m not giving him an inch.
Then I add, “Tiero returned to Sicily this morning. That is where you should be.”
My words are deliberate, leaving no room for argument, a subtle reminder of who holds the power here.
Antonio doesn’t look at me again as he storms past, disappearing from sight. Rom lifts an eyebrow, gives a brief nod in silent understanding, and follows the enraged capo without a word.
With her father gone, Mariella sinks to the ground, her legs giving out as if they can no longer hold her. She covers her face with her hands, long dark strands of hair falling around her like a curtain, hiding her away as silent sobs rack her body.
I crouch in front of her, torn between the need to comfort her and the lingering fury burning through my veins. Crying women normally don’t affect me, and it’s always been easy to stay detached, but seeing her like this?
My chest tightens painfully, and there’s a strange ache in the pit of my stomach, as if her pain is radiating through me.
“Mariella, look at me,” I say as soothingly as the tension in me allows.
I’m not used to feeling like this, so helpless, unsure of how to make things right. My hands twitch, wanting to reach out and pull her close, but I hesitate, unsure if that’s what she needs.
But it’s what I need.
I lift her off the ground as gently as I can and carry her the few steps to the wooden bench beneath the orange tree with branches full of life and color. The rich green leaves and clusters of ripening oranges seem almost too vibrant, a sharp contrast to the girl in my arms, who seems so lifeless it alarms me.
She didn’t protest when I picked her up, didn’t react at all. Her body hasn’t stopped shaking. It tells me just how deep in shock she must be.
I sit down with her in my arms, cradling her close to my chest. I rock us; the movement meant to comfort her, but I realize I’m doing it as much to calm myself.
Slowly, the anger and adrenaline ebb, my heart rate gradually settling back into its normal rhythm. Mariella’s sobs slow too, her body no longer trembling uncontrollably. I feel her relaxing and melting into me.
A strange, unfamiliar sense of rightness sneaks in. It’s comforting.
Somehow, I don’t mind sitting here like this with her, beneath the dense canopy of the tree my father planted when he learned my mother was pregnant with my sister. She never lived to see the world, but now it seems almost fitting that this girl should find refuge under the same tree.
I don’t want to speak, don’t want to break this moment. But I’m also aware I need to check on her injuries. The reminder that she got hurt on my watch makes my muscles tense all over again.
“Are you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice as soft as I can.
At the sound of it, Mariella stiffens, her breath hitching. It’s as if my words shattered the bubble around us, yanking us both back to reality and forcing us to face where we are and what just happened.
She pushes away from me, slipping off my lap and onto the bench beside me. The loss of her warmth and the weight of her body pressed against mine registers instantly. It leaves a sudden void I don’t like at all.
Her eyes are fixed on the ground, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she’s holding herself together, as if loosening her grip might make her shatter.
“Mariella?” I murmur, my voice even gentler now, coaxing, hoping she’ll look at me.
But she doesn’t.
A knot tightens in my chest. Slowly, carefully, I reach out, letting my fingertip graze under her chin. It’s as light as a whisper, avoiding the tender skin where her father struck her.
A shudder runs through her, rippling through the space between us, as if the air itself carries the connection. It reaches me, sending goosebumps skittering across my skin.
I hesitate for the briefest moment, never having felt anything like this before.
But something deeper, something beyond reason, urges me on. Gently, I push just a little, guiding her face toward mine.
Her breathing turns uneven, lashes fluttering as she keeps her gaze downcast. My pulse hammers in the silence between us.
Then, slowly, so slowly, her eyes rise, and her light-brown orbs lock onto mine.