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"You already know the answer to that," Cesare said dryly.

Potenziana's expression turned crafty. "But you also know what I'm really asking is...why."

His broad shoulders moved in a dismissive shrug. "She seemed to take comfort in knowing that I'll be nearby."

"She's started to trust you then?"

"I believe so."

"And you? Have you started to trust her?"

"We've come to an agreement."

The words didn't disturb her as much as the smoothness of his tone did, and her gaze narrowed. "What kind of agreement?"

"Something that will remain between the two of us."

Potenziana thought of how one's past shaped one's decisions in the present, and her mood turned somber. "She's a good girl, Cesare. It's no surprise if at this early a stage you've come to care—-"

"I donotcare for her." Cesare's words came out sharper than he intended, but the way his grandmother visibly took no offense to this only made him feel worse. Disrespect to one's elders was almost akin to blasphemy infamiglia,and a grimace of apology twisted over his lips as he looked at the woman who had been more like a parent to him than both his own father and mother.

"Perdonami, Nonna."

Potenziana only waved a hand. "There is no need to ask for forgiveness,bambino.I know I am being meddlesome—-"

"You have every right to be meddlesome,Nonna.But I also ask, if only for Penelope's sake—-" His voice turned gentle but firm. "Refrain from filling her head with nonsense,per favore.I am not and will never be the type to fall in love, and to say anything to her that would make myfidanzatabelieve otherwise would only lead me to breaking her heart."

Chapter Seven

Penelope

I'M NOT SURE IF IT'Sexhaustion or something else, but I was out like a log last night, and so the first thing I do when I wake up the next morning is to just look around and take things in.

Wow.

The bedroom they've given me is huge. It's about the same size as my entire classroom back in high school, and that's not counting the en-suite. The walls are the same darkly-stained wood used in the living room (or parlor, as everyone here in Boston seems to call it), and while I've never had a good eye for art, what little I know aboutmafia(orfamiglia,as everyone here also insists on using) tells me that the painting across my bed likely costs a fortune.

A walk-in closet precedes the shower, with lining each side are open shelves that are chock-full of brand-new clothes that still have their price tags attached. Just looking at them makes me want to pinch myself. Wasn't it less than twenty-four hours ago that the only thing I owned were the clothes on my back and nothing else?

My body instinctively stiffens when I step into the shower, but instead of the usual trauma turning me into a sobbing mess, what I find myself recalling are memories of a certainmafiaboss—-

Oh.

And so I end up crying again, but what my eyes are shedding are happy tears. Life has been so shitty over the past year...that I know it makes me seem foolish to believe so easily that I've been miraculously cleared of my trauma.

But I don't care.

Maybe it's because the shitty part of my life has finally come to an end, and it's God Himself deciding to instantly heal the wounds of my past. I know it seems equally stupid to believe that it's also God who wants me to belong to a man like Cesare Marchetti, but...

That's what my heart tells me, dammit.

Men like my foster dad can never hurt me again, now that I'm the property of Boston's most powerful and dangerousmafiaboss. I'll always be safe and free, and while I know someone like Cesare can hurt me even more—-

I know it's never going to happen because I trust him.

I trust him with every beat of my heart, I trust him with every fiber of my being. And when I think about Cesare, it's not fear that grips my body but—-

Curiosity,I hastily tell myself.