Page 7 of The Spare

"I get it, sweetheart," I say softly. Rocking her in my arms, I place my lips to her neck and nuzzle her, taking a deep breath. "I know what it's like not to be wanted." My head raises as she sniffs, meeting my eyes warily. "And if you think no one wants you, Melody, that'sbullshit.Iwant you. I need you here. So, you need to eat."

I reach in the bag for another grape and hold it to her lips.

Her eyes stay wide on mine, and seeing she's unmoving, I bite the grape in half again and press it to her lips where she bites into it gently, pulling it from between my fingertips.

"Good girl," I murmur, reaching for another one. "You got this. Come on, let’s have another one. We can get through this together."

In the light of the refrigerator, I spend the next hour slowly feeding her grape after grape until the bag is gone, and I know without a doubt that Isobel's coming home. She has to. Because I won't suffer a life without Melody.

I won't tolerate living a life without my love.

Or my redemption.

Chapter two

Meeting The Don

One year, three months later. Los Angeles, California.

Shifting my body weight in the back seat of the armored car next to my private security guard, I put my unease at the back of my head, scrolling through my phone aimlessly as we make our way to the Scognamigliomansion.

I wasn't allowed to come on my own. Lucien Scognamiglio sent this vehicle for me, and I was heavily searched before I even got in. Lucien's accompanying guard did everything but stick his hand up my ass.

He's sitting in the passenger seat all innocent, like he didn't just take his sweet time learning my dick size.

I frown as a text comes through. Disappointment fills me as I see it's not Melody.

Hey bro, so guess what? -Henny

What? Mase

Lucien brokered an arranged marriage between his younger cousin and Joaquin ANYWAY! –Henny

I roll my eyes, and call him.

"Hey, Mase-"

"Sooo, does that fucking mean I don't have to do this?"I interrupt him.

The driver and security guard both turn their heads to glance at me in the rearview mirror.

"What?" Hendrix snaps. "No. He summoned you. Take that meeting, Mason. Besides, you're already there."

I hang up on him, and turn off my phone, glancing up and arching a brow as we roll onto a massively secluded gated property. Driving under palm trees that flank a double gate attached to an eight-foot tall fence, I'm pleasantly surprised when we are suddenly transported to Tuscany, Italy.

Cypress trees and raised gardens juxtaposition sunken gardens with granite fountains. Birds fly around, and to be honest it's nothing likehow I'd thought a mafia don would be living. Where's the guard dogs, and barbed wire fence with-oh…

There's a couple men walking the perimeter of the fence with AK-47s, speaking discretely into walkie talkies. My eyes rise to see another man hidden in the trees.

I only see him because we're driving damn near under him, but he's there.

We don't go to the front; rather we pull around the side of the house, through a stone archway leading to a separate entrance. Two intimidating men with guns flank the walnut door. The driver jumps out and opens my door, and I give him a nod of thanks as I step out onto the cobblestone drive, jerking the lapel of my tailored suit jacket.

I pull out my cigarette tin, packing it and then lighting one quickly. Whoever this man is can wait a minute for me to chill out before our meeting. When I'm done, I put the half smoked cigarette back into my tin and then nod at the guard. Ready.

One of the guards opens the door wordlessly with an impassive look on his face. Pausing just inside the threshold, I cast a curious look around the courtyard, seeing more guards in the shadows. My ears prick at the muted sound of a walkie talkie coming from somewhere in the heavily landscaped garden about a hundred yards away.

Turning back to the door I walk on in. A different guard on the inside leads the way, and one trails me as we make our way deeper into the home.