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CHAPTER 3
G iulia
Every summer when I was a kid, I spent a week at a cabin in Maine. Until I was eleven, I went with my mom and dad. After she died, my dad started to bring along my half-brother, the product of an affair he’d had with a Colombian whore. You’d think that would be awkward, but I got on well with Philip from the start. It wasn’t his fault my dad cheated, after all.
Whenever we went to Maine, we had the most incredible time. My dad may have been a shitty husband, but he was actually great with his kids. Sure, he was strict, but he was fair, and he never lashed out in anger. On our vacations to Maine, he could put all the mafia bullshit he was involved in aside and really let his hair down.
Our cabin was on Flagstaff Lake. My dad loved it there. He couldn’t get enough of the water, being in it, on it, just looking at it. He taught us to swim, to fish. We went kayaking. We explored tiny, uninhabited islands and built campfires. It was like one of those classic kids’ adventure books.
After Dad married Valeria, we stopped going to the cabin. She isn’t a fan of the great outdoors and she didn’t want us going up there without her. Maybe she feared my father would find another Colombian hooker in the wilds of Maine and get her pregnant. She isn’t willing to turn a blind eye to my dad’s indiscretions like my mom was. If he so much as looks at another woman, she raises hell. I hate to admit it, but I respect her for that.
I went back to Maine a couple of times after that, with Matteo’s family. It was a totally different experience. Their cabin was more of a mini-mansion. Where we’d made do with sleeping bags and rickety old camp beds, the Volantes slept on Egyptian cotton sheets. It was nice, but there was always a certain tension within their family. Their father was the boss of the Volante Organization and even though he was good to his kids, they were always aware of his position.
My dad objected to me going to a remote cabin with the Volante boys, but Valeria convinced him. I think she hoped one of them would do something inappropriate and have to marry me. I think she saw me as the heroine of a Regency romance, ripe for plucking. It was why she persuaded my father to put off finding me a husband for so long. She had the idea that, given time, Matteo would realize he wanted more than friendship with me. When it didn’t happen, she looked for another match. I think she chose Johnny as punishment for my failure to land a bigger prize. That move backfired on her.
I loved the landscape in Maine, but the view from my bedroom is something else. As I stand on the balcony, looking out over the valley below, it’s actually hard to breathe. The sublime beauty of the countryside is almost overwhelming. I can see why so many poets have drawn inspiration from it.
Checking my phone, I see it’s seven-thirty. My stomach rumbles as if to confirm it is, in fact, past the time I usually eat breakfast. I snap a couple of photos of the view, then head into the bedroom. Often when I’m not in my own bed I don’t rest easy, but last night I slept like a log. The bed is a huge four-poster with cream floral sheets. The walls are painted a pale yellow, and the carpet is a cornflower blue. It’s a very relaxing place to be.
I glance at my suitcase, which I didn’t bother to unpack last night. It’s not because Matteo told me not to bother. I was just too tired after the long flight and the sixty-minute drive to get here. I decide not to get dressed. My pajamas, comprising of red cotton pants and a white t-shirt, are comfy and I want to convey the message to Matteo that I intend to make myself at home.
Leaving my phone on the nightstand, I head downstairs. The house isn’t huge, but it takes me a couple of minutes to find the kitchen tucked away along a narrow corridor behind the staircase. I don’t mind that I got a bit lost. It gave me a chance to get my bearings. This house is gorgeous. There’s an enormous living room, a dining room, a media room, and, of course, the study where I encountered Matteo last night. The less I think about that, the better. What I allowed him to do to me is mortifying. I have no idea why I didn’t speak up sooner and tell him who I was.
When I walk into the wonderfully spacious kitchen, which has a huge table at its center, I find a young woman there. Probably not out of her teens, she has long black hair and flawless olive skin. I really hope Matteo isn’t fucking her.
My sudden entrance seems to startle her. She clutches the knife she was chopping melon with to her chest.
“Hi, I’m Giulia.” I offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m a friend of Matteo’s.”
Hopefully, this girl speaks English because my Italian is dreadful. My grandfather used to pepper his conversation with a few words here and there, but the language hasn’t been passed down through the generations. Despite my heritage being Italian on both sides, I’ve only been to the country of my ancestors once. We came when I was fourteen, to attend the funeral of a great-uncle I’d never heard of. My dad used it as an excuse to have a few days’ vacation. I picked up a few phrases, but unless I need this girl to tell me where the bathroom is, I’ve got nothing.
“I’m Rosalia, the housekeeper. Signore Volante didn’t tell me he was expecting a guest.”
I take a seat at the large farmhouse-style wooden table. “He wasn’t expecting me.”
“I see.” She purses her lips. “He hasn’t brought a woman back here before.”
Her obvious disapproval tells me she’s got the wrong idea about me. “I’m not someone random woman he hooked up with. I’m a friend from New York.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought…” She waves her hand dismissively. “Never mind what I thought. Is this your first time in Italy?”
“No, I’ve been to Rome. It’s my first time in Tuscany, though. I can’t wait to explore.”
“There are lots of wonderful places for you to see.” Rosalia sets down the knife she’s been brandishing so casually. “Can I get you some breakfast?”
“Sure. What do you usually eat?”
“ Signore Volante prefers coffee and pastries.” She points toward a basket on the table that contains croissants, pain au chocolat , and some sort of cake with what appears to be an apricot glaze.
“Pastries and coffee would be great.” I don’t want to put her to any trouble. Besides, I am practically salivating just from looking at those.
“Help yourself.” Rosalia says. “You want cappuccino?”
“Please.”
I take one of the little cakes and place it on the plate Rosalia hands to me. As she makes my coffee using a very complicated-looking machine, I take a bite of the cake. It’s dense and not too sweet, with a delicious burst of apricot.
“Do you live here?” I finish the cake and grab a croissant.
“No, in the village with my parents.”
“That’s nice.”
Rosalia makes a face that tells me exactly how she feels about that as she sets my cappuccino down in front of me. “They are overprotective, but hopefully my friend Carlotta and I will move into an apartment soon. We are waiting for my birthday. When I’m eighteen, I can do as I wish.”
Fuck, this girl isn’t even eighteen yet. She’s young to be running a house this size, but I guess that’s not my business.
“When’s your birthday?”
“Tomorrow. Carlotta and I are going to La Stanza Rosso on Friday to celebrate.” Her excitement is palpable.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what La Stanza Rosso is.”
She stares at me with a look of incredulity, as if I should somehow have heard about this place even though I live halfway across the globe.
“It’s a nightclub in Firenze, very exclusive. Signore Volante’s cousin owns it. We didn’t think we’d get in, but Carlotta bribed a doorman and got us on the list.”
I don’t say anything, but I can’t imagine Damiano Volante being happy that an employee is selling access to his club.
“It sounds great. Why didn’t you ask Matteo to get you on the list?”
Rosalia grimaces. “I couldn’t take advantage.”
My suspicion that she was too intimidated by Matteo to ask is confirmed when he saunters into the room a moment later. Rosalia immediately scurries off to the other side of the kitchen and busies herself preparing a cappuccino for him.
Matteo looks rough his morning, like he hasn’t slept, but he’s still insanely hot. Wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants, he displays his muscular physique. His arms and torso are covered in tattoos. Skulls and roses are the dominant images. There’s also an old-fashioned clock face on his left arm that has blood dripping from it. The number of drips is constantly increasing, with each representing a life he’s taken.
I’ve never asked him why he chose that particular design to mark his grim tally. I guess he’s trying to convey something about the march of time and the inevitability of death. Perhaps it’s not that deep. Matteo isn’t known for his philosophical musings, after all.
“You’re still here.” He flashes me a glare as he pulls out a chair and sits at the head of the table. Rosalia sets his coffee down in front of him and hurries from the room. She definitely doesn’t enjoy being around him.
“She’s a nice girl. What did you do to her?”
“Not a fucking thing.” Matteo reaches across the table to grab one of the incredibly buttery croissants. It would have been easier to ask me to pass him one, but Matteo’s a stubborn asshole when he wants to be. “We need to talk about last night.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” I try to make it sound as if what happened was no big deal. “There’s no need to apologize.”
Matteo scowls. “I wasn’t going to. I was going to remind you how reckless your actions were.”
“My actions?”
“Yeah, sneaking in here like that. I could have shot you.”
I return his dark glare. “That might have been preferable to being beaten and pawed like that.”
“I did not beat or paw you.”
“Okay, then, spanked and fondled.” I viciously tear the end off my croissant and dunk it in my cappuccino. “Whatever you call it, your behavior was reprehensible.”
“That’s why you were so wet for me? Your cunt practically swallowed my fingers.”
Matteo’s words give me way more of a thrill than they should. I’m supposed to be outraged by him, not turned on. To distract myself from the troubling tingle in my lady parts, I focus on eating my breakfast.
“When are you leaving?”
I set my croissant down and smile pleasantly at Matteo. “When you agree to come with me.”
He shakes his head. “Not happening.”
“You have to come home, Matty.” I try to soften him with the use of his pet name.
“No.”
“Then I’m staying.”
Matteo slaps his hand down on the table. If another man had done that, I’d have been startled, but if there’s one thing I know about Matteo Volante, it’s that he would never hurt a woman. Well, not physically. He’s left a string of broken hearts and shattered egos behind him.
“Giulia, you cannot stay here. It isn’t safe.”
Ah, it isn’t safe, the go-to excuse of any mobster who wants to tell a woman what to do.
“Is this something to do with the girl who got shot?”
Matteo’s jaw clenches. “What do you know about her?”
“Not much. Antonio told me a girl was killed.”
Matteo sits back in his chair. “They were aiming at me. She got in the way.”
It sounds as if it was a tragic accident, but the turbulent look in Matteo’s eye tells me he doesn’t see it like that.
“And you blame yourself?”
“The Rossis wouldn’t have come looking for trouble if I wasn’t here.”
“The Rossis?” I purse my lips as I try to recall a dispute the Volantes might have with people of that name. I come up blank.
“Yes, they were allied with the Contis. You know, Emilia’s family.”
Now them, I have heard of. Emilia Conti married Matteo’s older brother, Alessandro. Then she found out her grandfather, who’d just been murdered, was a mob boss here in Italy. I’d already ended my friendship with Matteo by the time Emilia came to New York, so I don’t really know her, but I have heard plenty of gossip.
Apparently, Emilia was the primary beneficiary of her grandfather’s will and her uncle came after her as a result. The Volantes got rid of him in their usual fashion and assumed control of his empire. Matteo’s cousin, Damiano, is running the criminal side of things here in Italy, while Alessandro and Emilia have taken over her grandfather’s legitimate concerns, moving operations to New York.
“But the Contis are no longer a threat. Your cousin took over, yes?”
“He did, but the Rossis aren’t happy with the new arrangement.”
“They want power for themselves?”
Matteo nods. I shake my head in disgust. It’s always about power with these people. They’re prepared to wipe out anyone who gets in their way.
“Why hang around then?” I ask. “You’d be safer back in the States.”
He raises an eyebrow because, naturally, he doesn’t give a damn about his own safety.
“You want to stay here and wipe them all out?”
“I already did. Well, most of them.”
Of course he did. They came after him, and an innocent girl was caught in the crossfire. Matteo isn’t the type to allow that to go unpunished.
“So, why would I be in danger?” I consider the situation for a moment. “Ah, the girl’s family. You think they’ll try to avenge her death?”
He shrugs and I shake my head in despair. “You know, Matteo, not everyone meets violence with violence.”
“When have you ever known anyone to turn the other cheek?”
I’m mildly pissed that he has a point. In the circles we move in, honor is everything and even petty slights attract retribution. If any of the women in the Volante family were killed like that, blood would definitely be spilled. The girl’s family probably doesn’t operate that way, but I can tell that argument won’t work on Matteo.
“So why are you sitting here waiting for them to come at you?” I demand. “Don’t you think it would be better for everyone if you came home?”
Again, he answers me with an infuriatingly lazy lift of his shoulder.
“Fine.” I take a long sip of my coffee. It’s so good. Rich and smooth, just the way I like it. “But if you stay, so do I.”
Matteo heaves out a breath like he’s some poor, long-suffering parent, burdened with a problem child. “If you insist on staying, you will abide by my rules.”
Oh, this will be good. I can barely keep the amusement off my face as I turn on my seat to give him my full attention. “Okay, what rules?”
“You are not to disturb me when I’m in my bedroom, the office, or when I’m in the pool.”
“There’s a pool?”
Matteo treats me to a stern glare for interrupting. He seems to have forgotten after years of friendship, I know how to push his buttons. “Yes, there’s a pool and I like to swim alone.”
“Since when?”
“What?” I don’t know if he didn’t hear me or if he’s in disbelief that I dare to question him.
“Since when do you like to swim alone? You and I have often messed about together in the pool.”
He treats me to a derisive snort that makes me want to slap him. “Since we grew up, Giulia.”
I don’t remind him we’ve used the pool at his apartment building several times since we reached adulthood. He’s obviously got a bug up his ass about this and simple facts won’t dislodge it, so I leave the subject alone.
“Okay, no intruding on your quiet time. What else?”
“You will not report back to Antonio on every little thing that happens here.”
“I’ve got no intention of speaking to your big brother.”
“Or any other member of my family.” Matteo takes a sip of his coffee as if fortifying himself and then continues. “You will do what I say when I say it and you will not leave the house unescorted.”
“Okay, I can agree to that.” Shoving back my chair, I get to my feet. “So, I’m going to get dressed. I suggest you do the same. I want to head out in an hour.”
“Head out?” Matteo sounds adorably confused. “Head out where?”
“Florence. I want to visit the Uffizi, maybe some other sites.”
Matteo groans. “Fuck, no. Those places are tourist traps.”
“So what? I’m a tourist and I want to see The Birth of Venus . I don’t care if some guy trying to feed his family wants to take me for a few bucks for some shitty souvenirs.”
“No, I’m not taking you.” His tone suggests he’s digging in his heels, but I know how to make him change his mind. Pushing Matteo’s buttons doesn’t require a genius level of thought.
“Then I’ll call your cousin. He was kind enough to give me his number when he dropped me off here last night.”
Matteo scowls. “You are not calling Damiano.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Matteo is about to find out I can be manipulative when I want to be. “You said I couldn’t leave unescorted. If Damiano takes me to Florence, you can rest easy that I’m protected and I’ll get to spend the day with a sexy Italian.”
Matteo grinds his teeth audibly, making me shudder. “You think Damiano’s sexy?”
“Don’t you? He sure looks like he knows how to show a girl a good time.”
“Is that so?”
I know I’m poking a bear now. Matteo doesn’t take well to competition, even if there’s never been anything sexual between us—until last night, that is. “Yeah, he’s got a commanding nature. I’ll bet if he bent a girl over his desk…”
Before I can finish whatever dangerous taunt was going to come out of my mouth, Matteo startles me by jumping out of his chair. He slams the palms of his hands down on the table and glares at me. He closes his eyes. His chest heaves up and down and I can tell he’s trying to calm himself. “Be ready in thirty minutes. If you want to see the sights, I’ll show you the fucking sights.”
With that, he stalks off and I can’t help wondering just what the hell I’ve got myself into.