Page 84

Sistine

I was stewing in my own madness. Something dark clung to me after the fight with Capri. I could not seem to dispel it, and I wondered if the light of day could ever reach me again.

I kept going back to her words.

“He lives in Grosseto, and he has such a nice place! It is rugged. He even has an outside alcove with a pool in front of it. Zeus and Apollo, his two dogs, Maremmano by the looks of them, were there to greet me, the white fur balls! I kept away from the massive black horse. He shows his teeth and stomps his foot. The same as his rider!”

Her echoing laughter made the bars inside of my head rattle.

“Ah, he is gorgeous! He had just finished a ride on his massive black beast.” She sucked in a breath.

“His shirt was off, and he was in his riding pants and boots. His hair was wild, and so were those green eyes. He is built.” She closed her eyes, then opened them with a pop.

A girlish, high-pitched sound came from her dirty mouth.

“The stallion on his chest…the lion on his back…outlaw.” She winked at me.

I had never considered myself a violent person unless the life of someone I loved was on the line. However, after the fight, if my sister would have come close to me again, I would have rung her neck.

My father was keeping his distance from me, and he was going to great lengths to keep the other Capella woman from me as well.

He sent her to another palazzo he owned, giving her almost full control of the banquet to commemorate him becoming head of the business.

He was too controlling to ever give full power, unless he was being forced into it, as he was with the situation between Mariano and me.

All that aside, an ever-present warmth swirled inside of me. A tender fire burned in the background, which was why I assumed I was glowing as well.

It was the night of the banquet in my father’s honor, and it looked as if candlelight swam in my veins, right below my skin.

The glittery red dress I wore helped fuel the flame.

I had never been to a banquet of this magnitude before.

My grandfather handing over the reins to my father was a big deal.

As big a deal as it was in the Fausti family when their leader handed over the crown to the next in line, or…

not. Except my father knew he was next in line, and there would be no need for him to challenge my aunt for his spot.

He had all but run my aunt from her home.

My grandfather was not innocent in this situation either.

However, I had not been alive when my grandfather took over, and the party in his honor was legendary, as it would be for my father. It was customary to dress for these events in true Venetian style. An ode to Carnevale di Venezia , or in English, Carnaval . However, the attire would vary.

My eyes roamed down, the dramatic eyelashes I wore over my real ones fanning over the view.

The red dress that covered my body seemed to be covered in crushed rubies with a gold wing pattern.

It was the sexiest dress I had ever worn.

It lifted my breasts, and throughout the dress were cut outs, along with a slit straight to my thigh.

It showed more skin than I was used to, but I felt confident in my bones.

Mariano had pulled that side out of me. I was stable in my own body, and no one would make me quake unless it was him.

My hair was done in plump waves cascading over my shoulders.

A variety of small red silk roses and Persian buttercups were weaved throughout.

I had done my makeup dramatically, but a mask that matched my outfit would be worn for most of the night.

Attached red wings with gold lines completed the outfit, along with four-inch red heels—they sparkled like blood diamonds when the candlelight touched them, setting a romantic tone in the room.

My family felt I came straight from hell.

I was going to bring that vision to life.

Sighing, I took a seat at my vanity, toying with all my products.

I did not want to go to this ruse of a celebration.

I put up a fuss but folded when my father made a deal with me.

For the sketched picture of my great-grandmother, I would attend the banquet for at least thirty minutes, letting my presence be known, and I would also have to pose for photographs for the jewelry store’s album.

The dress I wore would be in our history books.

Bene.

Let all the future generations know who I was in this family.

Also, I would have thrown in the towel and had Remo call Mariano to come and get me so I could confront him about what the evil peasant had told me, but I did not want the evil peasant to know her words had penetrated skin and hit heart.

I checked the clock.

I was much too early to make an entrance.

I would make a dramatic one.

Fireworks exploded outside of my room. The fiery light painted me in a myriad of different colors as they boomed over the canal.

One would have thought it was Festa del Redentore, the Feast of the Redeemer, with the show that was taking place.

Guests were beginning to arrive then. I overheard the dark lord (aka Capri) speaking to the second in command, my father, about having the display as the guests started to arrive and as they left.

The sight of the fireworks, which I usually loved to see in July, only made the heaved sigh from my chest come heavier.

The colors…the way Mariano had descried me in those terms…

only made me want him even more. I dabbed at my eyes and then jumped when another blast went off.

I did a double take at the lace curtains fluttering in the breeze. The door to the balcony was cracked.

For whatever reason, my heart began to hammer, and I popped up from my seat as if I was burned by the fire.

“Hello?” I barely got out, my eyes glancing from where I stood to the door, gauging the distance. I was not sure why, but I did not feel as though I was alone. I could scream for Remo, but he had gone to dress. He would meet me outside of my door, where he usually kept watch, when I was ready.

“Hello,” the Russian-accented voice broke through the booming noise from the balcony.

“Shit!” I stumbled back, the seat of my vanity hitting the back of my knees, making me take a seat.

Then my eyes narrowed. “Iggy,” I barely got out.

“ Dio .” I set my hands on the vanity, surreptitiously looking for anything to protect myself with.

How the hell…how the hell did he get in my room? He was wet. Had he swum in the canal?

“I climbed the hand outside,” he said in extremely broken English.

“Ah.” My hand landed on a glass jar, then hairspray.

Both useful, but I was not sure if either could do much harm.

I had never been this close to him. He was tall, lithe, and his light brown hair, bordering on blonde, brushed his shoulders.

His eyes were bright, but I could not tell what color they truly were from this far.

“I did not mean to scare you,” he whispered.

I gasped when he pulled something from his pocket. He held it out to me, and when he realized I was not going to take it, he came closer and got down on one knee in front of me, taking my hand and placing the waterlily in it.

I sprayed him in the eye with the hairspray and then chucked the glass jar at his head.

He did not even attempt to dodge the glass. It smacked him in the head and then crashed to the floor, the pieces glistening like diamonds around him.

“Wait!” he pleaded, holding his hands out before I could open the door. He kept trying to open his eyes, but they must have been stuck and burning. “I love you!”

This stopped me with my hand on the doorknob. “What?” I breathed out.

“I—I do.”

“I shot at you,” I said.

He grinned. “I really liked that.” The room went dim when a pause in the fireworks show went silent, and it seemed as if his disposition did the same. “I did not like when you left. I could not find you.” His eyes were swelling, and he was furling and unfurling his fists.

“You do not even know me,” I barely got out. “You want to kill my husband.”

He shrugged. “I will not kill him if you love me in return.”

“This is not how love works,” I said, shocked at myself. For some reason, I felt bad for him. He looked almost…pleading, when he did not have a murderous look on his face. “Love only works when two people feel it.”

“Lev tells me this,” he said. “I still feel the way I do.”

“This is, ah, very nice, but I am married. I am in love. He loves me in return. This is how it works.”

“He is called the Casanova Prince. He enjoys the company of women.” He made sure to enunciate women . Plural.

“Before,” I said, my voice breathy. My sister and her comments kept coming back to haunt me. “We are together now.”

He laughed, but the joke was on me. “I do not see this when I spy on his place.” He took a step toward me, and I had nowhere to run but outside of my door.

He held his hands up in the universal gesture for I surrender .

His bright blue eyes were red and swollen, and not only was he dripping water, but his eyes were also leaking tears.

For some reason, this endeared him to me even further. Somewhat.

“Go to bed with me,” he whispered. “Allow me to wine and dine you.”

“This usually happens in reverse.” I made a twirly motion with my pointer finger. I pulled it down immediately when his eyes went crossed.

He shrugged. “It is up to you how you would like to do this thing between us.”

“There is nothing between us.”

“You do not know this for sure.”

I sighed, and he seemed to take a deep breath in. “Women know these things,” I said. “Trust me, I am a woman and know.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he whispered.