Page 19

MARIA

T he sun streams in from the outside and kisses my naked back. I moan into the sheets and feel the silk wrap around my body. The ache between my legs is evidence of what happened last night.

My eyes blink open and I catch the sunrise trickling into my room. I look to my left and see the bed is empty. I had expected that, but the one thing I did not expect is the hard rock of disappointment.

I told myself I wouldn’t care if he wasn’t here. But the cold sheets beside me still feel like a rejection I wasn’t prepared for.

I sit up in my bed and lean against the headboard. I look out the window at the rising New York skyline. The yellows and the oranges bleed into each other, casting gentle shadows behind the large skyscrapers.

I much prefer the lakes of Italy to the concrete structures of New York. But there is a certain beauty to the concrete jungle.

I turn my head to the empty pillow beside me. I reach my fingertips out to the sheets but I quickly retract them when I realize what I’m doing.

I rub a tired hand over my face and look around the room. The floor is free of any of the clothes we stripped away last night, and even the necklace that graced my neck last night is gone.

He must have taken it.

“This body of yours is mine tonight.” His words fill my skull and cause all the blood in my body to rush down to the lower region.

I can’t believe I’m no longer a virgin. I gave it to the man whose name once stirred nothing but fear in me. It’s so crazy to think this is where I ended up.

I pull the blanket off my body and walk to my closet to put on a pair of boyfriend shorts and a large T-shirt. Before I leave, I catch myself in the mirror, and I have to pause.

I walk over to my reflection and drink in my unruly sight. My hair resembles a bird’s nest; my lips are plump and look freshly kissed. My neck has a small purple bruise on the side.

My breath catches. A hickey. A visible, undeniable claim. Heat rushes to my core as flashes of last night hit me like a drug—his mouth, his hands, the way he owned me. I should be angry. But instead, all I can think is: He wanted to mark me.

I shake my head and step away from the mirror. I rush out of the closet and make my way out of the room. The last thing I should be doing is picturing last night, even if it was one of the most memorable things I have ever experienced in my life.

I walk down the marble steps and go into the kitchen, where I find Emily behind the stove frying up some bacon. When she hears me, she lifts her head and smiles.

“Good morning, Mrs. Davacalli. I was going to bring breakfast to you but I was running a little late, I had to pop the laundry into the washing machine.”

I look at the spread of food on the counter. It looks like she is preparing to feed an entire city.

“Morning, Emily. That’s all right, I needed to get out of bed anyway. And please, call me Maria, no need for the formalities.” I tangle my fingers with each other and shift my weight from foot to foot. “Is… is Matteo here?”

She shakes her head. “No, he left before dawn. He is usually out before dawn most days when it’s a work day. Especially after the disaster at the warehouse.”

“What?” I walk over to the high chair at the edge of the counter. “What do you mean, disaster at the warehouse?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Emily places the crispy bacon on a plate before turning to the coffee machine. “What would you like? You look like a latte kind of woman.”

“Cappuccino, please. Sorry, can you explain to me—what warehouse tragedy?”

“One of the organizations, warehouses, was burned down to a crisp. Almost everyone is talking about it. Mr. Davacalli views this as an attack—and no one is stupid enough to attack Mr. Davacalli without knowing there will be hell to pay after.”

I try to hide my annoyance that she knows more about my husband than I do. I am still new here, and as far as the ins and outs of the mafia are concerned, I am as clueless as a newborn. I will need to become more invested and engaged in this world.

“I see. Did anyone die?” Saying the word at the end made my stomach churn.

“Two men, they were just boys. But I’m sure Mr. Davacalli will get to the bottom of who did it. He protects his own jealously and makes sure that no one under his protection is left out in the cold.”

She spoke of him with such admiration. I guess that comes with working with the family for over a decade.

“Okay, how many sugars would you like?” She finishes pouring the milk into the mug.

“Two, please.”

“You two had sex.” She slides me a cup of coffee with a knowing look in her eyes. “And from the look of it, it was some really good sex.”

“H-how do you know that?” My cheeks are on fire, I’m sure the entirety of my face is beet red. “I… I mean we…”

Emily throws her head back and laughs. “You are so adorable. The hair is a dead giveaway and the fact you didn’t bother to cover your hickey. Now, unless you are two-timing your husband, you had sex with him.”

I grab the warm cup in both hands and sip on the caffeinated goodness. I watch her over the rim of my eyes. Her gaze is locked on mine, her eyes bright and her smile wide as the sea.

“So, how do you feel?”

I set the cup down and move in the chair a little. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

I bite down on my lip and stare at the coffee. I have never really had girlfriends, so all of this is new for me. My brother was my only friend growing up. But Emily seems like a safe enough place to start making friends, even if she is technically the help.

“It was my first time, and it kind of hurt.” I flicked my gaze up to meet hers. “But then it got really good after the pain. Like… really, really good.”

Emily blinks, taking in what I just said. “Wait, you’re—well, were —a virgin? How?!”

I choke out a laugh. “What do you mean how? I just never had sex. I didn’t leave my house often enough to make a connection with anyone. And I was homeschooled all my life. I didn’t even go to university; there was no point when I knew all I wanted to do was paint.”

“I just… you’re gorgeous, and I was certain that men were lining up for miles to have a shot with you.”

I shrug. “Well, there were people who approached my father wanting to date or marry me, but he always refused. He said that the decision to marry who I want was up to me and no one else.”

But that all changed when my brother died.

Emily leans her elbows on the granite counter. “So… you gave your virginity to Mr. Davacalli?”

I nod. “Yeah. He is the only man who will ever experience me in that way.”

I squirm in my seat and drink the coffee before it gets cold. Emily looks over my face like she is trying to get a solid read on me.

“Do you regret it?” The question catches me off guard. “You don’t have to answer that if it’s too personal for you.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t say that I regret it, but I do wish our relationship was a little different. We aren’t the typical married couple—we were arranged, and not only that, but we don’t know each other.”

She ponders over my words for a moment. “You can get to know him.”

I want to, but I feel as though he wants to keep me at arm’s length. I know that life after his first wife died is hard for him. From what I know of her, she was his sunshine. He existed to revolve around her.

“But how do I compete with a ghost?”

“A ghost?”

Shit. I didn’t realize I said those words out loud.

“I mean with Mrs. Davacalli—Beatrice. She still lives in his heart, I can tell. That is where most of his reservations come from. I don’t think he will ever let her go. Not that I want him to forget her and focus on only me. But I can’t help but to feel like I am fighting a losing battle.”

“But what if there is room for the both of you in his heart?” she says.

“Look, I understand where you are coming from. But that should not stop you from trying to get to know your husband. You don’t have to be exchanging dark secrets and childhood traumas today.

You can start off small—maybe over dinner? ”

I muse over her suggestion. “I’m not opposed to that. Why don’t I cook him something? What does he like to eat?”

My mother always says that food is a love language everyone understands. Maybe the same is true about my husband.

“That’s an amazing idea!” Emily claps her hands. “He loves a good carbonara, and we have all the ingredients here to make it. But I think you should message him to make sure that he gets home on time for dinner.”

“Right.” I get up from the counter and make my way to the living room where I left my phone. I sit down on the couch, my heart in my stomach as I open our chat.

I’m making dinner for us tonight, what time will you be home?

It feels so odd to now call this place my home.

I wait for the message to come through. It feels like hours but really it is less than a minute before he responds.

I’ll be there by 7. Don’t poison me.

It takes me a minute to take in that he said yes. Well, he didn’t say the word, but this is a good sign. Maybe he really wants to try this out for real.

Two hours in the kitchen and a few burns and scrapes later, dinner is ready and I am dressed and ready to meet my husband.

“You look gorgeous, Maria. I doubt he will be able to keep his hands off you.” Emily winks from the sink. “Red is your color.”

I pat down the skirt of my dress on the chair. I kept it simple, with a cute cocktail dress that shows off my figure in the most tasteful way possible, and a fairly natural face.

“Thank you.” I turn my head to the clock that hangs on the wall. “Any minute now, he will walk through those doors.”

And so I wait. The time ticks on and the minutes bleed into the hours with still no sign of my husband.

“He will be here, Maria.” Emily sets another tea down in front of me. She looks at the clock: 9:53. The man is about to be three hours late. “Drink some of this, it will calm you. I can see that you’re a little tense.”