Page 8 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

T he magazine ad is for life insurance and the caption at the top of the page screams at me.

“ARE YOU READY FOR LIFE’S UNEXPECTED STORMS?”

There’s a black and white illustration of a woman shivering in the rain as a bolt of lightning shears through the clouds above her.

I try to picture the corporate team that brainstormed around a conference room table to come up with this gem before breaking for lunch.

A lack of sleep is sending my head to weird places. The woman reminds me of me. Her shoulders are hunched up to her ears and her frightened eyes are turned up to watch the stormy sky with dread.

With care, I tear the page from the fitness magazine I found lying on an empty seat. I fold the page into quarters and tuck it inside the cover flap of my journal with other bits and pieces of collected paper.

A minute ago we were flying above the clouds but now a funny sensation tickles my belly. The plane’s descent has begun. Angelo is sound asleep in the seat across the aisle. His snoring is as loud as a power tool on high speed.

The two of us are the only passengers on board, aside from the flight crew. Plus there’s Louisa, captive in a cat carrier beneath my seat. She really didn’t appreciate being wrestled into a plastic box. If I hadn’t worn oven mitts for the task she would have scratched me to ribbons.

Another drop sends us closer to the earth. My empty stomach pitches. I regret shaking my head when a lunch tray was offered after takeoff. Angelo gobbled up his food and mine with the sloppy manners of a hog.

Digging through my purse in search of a snack only nets two sticks of spearmint gum. They taste like dusty sugar but chewing burns off some nervous energy as I push the window shade up several inches and watch the ground get closer.

Yesterday’s problems seem so quaint. All I needed to do was file for unemployment, update my life goals, feed my cat and eat birthday cupcakes in solitude.

Now I’m thousands of feet in the air aboard a private jet belonging to Mafia king Cassio Tempesta and dreading what comes next when we touch down in Wyoming.

Across the aisle, Angelo saws out another deafening snore. His mouth is hanging open and his seat is reclined all the way back. A half empty bottle of wine is cradled in the crook of his right arm with no crisis of conscience in sight.

Got to give him credit. Most people couldn’t pull off such serenity right before handing off their only sister to a horde of mobster brutes.

Perhaps ‘horde’ is the wrong word. I’m not sure how many men are required to make a horde. There are four Tempesta brothers so maybe horde-lite is more accurate. Still, four sounds very substantial when it refers to the number of men who will be competing for my hand in marriage.

When Angelo told me what it would take to save Gabe, I was initially stumped.

“What does that mean?” I asked, my ears still ringing with the sound of Gabriel’s sobbing. “How am I supposed to join the Tempesta family? Is Cassio Tempesta planning to adopt me?”

The question sounded absurd as soon as it left my mouth. A really horrible prospect crossed my mind, that I was being offered up to the fifty-something Tempesta patriarch himself.

Angelo was quick to clarify the situation.

By presenting a different but still horrible plan.

“You just need to marry one of his sons,” he said with a shrug, like we were mulling over dinner plans. “You can take your pick.”

I laughed. When Angelo didn’t join in the laughter, I had no choice but to quit laughing.

The Tempestas, anticipating that I’d immediately accept their offer of protection in order to avoid the agony of burying my twin brother, had already sent their private jet to Phoenix in order to collect me.

Less than eighteen hours after I found Angelo sitting in my kitchen, I’m in Wyoming air space.

So far I’m afraid to ask how this will work. Should I expect a reality show setup where they’ll turn on phony charm and follow me around, pleading for a chance to win my hand?

Given what I remember of the Tempesta boys, such a scenario is tough to imagine.

Which leads to the next question: Why me???

I barely knew the Tempesta brothers and I haven’t laid eyes on them since I was thirteen. The teenage boys I remember were handsome, confident and intimidating. Add ‘wealthy’ and ‘influential’ to their virtues and it’s a safe bet they’ve grown into men who can have anyone they want.

I’m not hideous. I’m average. Maybe a small notch above average once my boobs are factored in. Not stunning enough to drop men to their knees. There’s no massive trust fund sitting in my bank account. And even if there was, the Tempestas have no need of money.

The only thing I possess that would matter to a family like the Tempestas is the name I’ve spent years trying to escape.

“We’re not normal people. We’re the fucking Grimaldis.”

Angelo isn’t exactly a beacon of insight but he gets points for nailing an important fact.

There’s no erasing who I am.

My years of freedom from the grip of the Grimaldi legacy were temporary. The day was always going to come when I’d be needed as a chess piece in my grandfather’s plans.

That day is here and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

I will NOT let my twin brother down.

All day I’ve been so preoccupied with worry about Gabriel that I haven’t given much thought to the Tempesta brothers. Angelo says they’ll be meeting the plane in Laramie. I’ll be face to face with them within the hour.

A new drop in altitude kickstarts my anxiety.

I can see the buildings in Laramie now. It’s late afternoon on a clear day.

The city is small, neatly laid out. The surrounding landscape, full of wide open spaces bracketed by distant hills, would be pretty to look at if I wasn’t on the verge of an anxiety attack.

My first priority is to get the Tempestas to ensure Gabriel’s protection. I’ll deal with their demands when I’m sure my brother is safe.

Remembering my travel companion, I bend over to peek under the seat. Louisa’s bright, accusing eyes stare back at me through the carrier grate.

At least she doesn’t hiss at me this time. Hooray for progress. She just smacks the bars of the carrier with her paw and turns her head, clearly disgusted with the situation and wishing for her old life.

“I know how you feel,” I tell her.

Louisa makes a huffing sound. If I could translate Cat Speak, I’m sure that sound would mean, “Can I trade in this ridiculous person for a better option?”

Honestly, my role as a pet owner is entirely accidental. A month ago I stopped by the leasing office to file a maintenance request and heard the sad news that the friendly elderly receptionist who always handed out root beer barrels to visitors had passed away at her desk a few days earlier.

The woman, Mary, had no family and her desk was cluttered with photos of the grey cat she’d named Louisa as a tribute to the author of Little Women . Her colleagues were in the middle of discussing who would bring Louisa to the county pound.

Mary would have wept with horror. That cat was her baby. The injustice was too much. And I had a sudden hopeful vision of being less lonely with a pet to care for.

In a very abnormal, spontaneous moment I blurted, “I will take Louisa!”

This is my first experience with a cat. I didn’t realize they were so fickle. Louisa seems to be enjoying this new plane adventure even less than she enjoyed my apartment but I couldn’t leave her behind. Alice is the only person who would have taken her in but I have no idea how long I’ll be gone.

At the thought of Alice, I cringe into the seat cushions. A sharp pang of guilt roils my nervous stomach.

There’s really no easy way to explain to your best friend that your twin brother has murdered a powerful Mafia scoundrel and your only hope of keeping him alive is to choose an even more powerful Mafia scoundrel husband.

I know how it sounds. Like a movie script. Or a video game. Not like something that would happen to an introverted accountant who labels her weekly wardrobe every Saturday night.

The story I fed to Alice is that I was suddenly invited for a visit with old friends of the family. Theoretically, this is the truth.

Alice was still alarmed. Alice had many questions.

But the more information I share with Alice, the more questions Alice will have. I know she’s worried and I feel rotten about blowing off my only friend. However, I need to digest these recent developments for myself and then come up with an explanation that doesn’t sound demented.

My best friend is a darling but she is also highly protective. I shudder to think what would happen if Alice decides to fly out here and tries to give the Tempestas ‘The Treatment’.

I’m starting to understand why people drink. Look at Angelo. A few pre-flight vodka shots chased with half a bottle of wine and he’s feeling no pain at all.

Meanwhile, my skin feels hot and hypersensitive. I’m wearing too many layers and yet I desperately want to be swaddled in a heavy down comforter plus at least two weighted blankets.

My former therapist would explain that I’m once again feeling overstimulated, a common side effect of trauma.

Old memories combined with the threat of new trauma opens unhealed scars.

I haven’t felt a moment of peace since I heard Gabriel is in danger.

Maybe I haven’t known real peace since that day in the vineyard.

With the speed of a slap, the internal doors of my mind slam shut, refusing to show the worst images from my parents’ murder. I hear the reception music, the laughter of my family. I see the colorful sky and the approaching helicopters.

Then everything goes blank and all that’s left is the face of Julian Tempesta.

“Don’t look at it. Look at me instead.”