Page 29

C ontessa

Four of us walk through the security gate into the Di Santo residence, dressed in our Sunday best, but each for very different reasons. Papa is heading to a business meeting straight after lunch; Allegra is determined to outshine Cristiano’s late mother’s second cousin; and Bambi has discovered fashion magazines and the teenage affliction that is raging hormones and rollercoaster self-esteem, which of course, can only be tempered by Abercrombie this is genuinely me. I’m pretty dark, apparently. But I’m not in my daily American Apparel uniform; I’m wearing designer because I want to look sexy and I want to impress a certain consigliere.

I hold back behind Allegra and Bambi, only half-listening to Allegra’s monologue about Cristiano’s hostile yet strangely charismatic family, because Papa’s work call is also infiltrating my consciousness. Ever since Trilby told me his business is only safe now because of Cristiano, my interest in it feels weightier.

But, the real reason I’m hiding behind my aunt and sister is because I know Bernadi is going to be here and I have no idea how to be around him in public. No one knows we’re having a thing and I don’t particularly want word getting out just yet. If Papa and Cristiano found out Benito and I had slept together, they’d force us to marry, and I don’t want anyone to be put in that position. After I was put in the position of feeling obliged to give my virginity up, I know how that feels and the resentment it can cause.

Cristiano has arranged a get-together with his family and ours, to encourage us to “get to know one another” but after the car crash that was the party for Trilby’s engagement to Cristiano’s late brother, Savero, I don’t have high hopes for this lunch.

The sound of exuberant female voices reaches us before we round the corner to the terrace.

Allegra mutters something under her breath.

“Now, remember, we’re doing this for Trilby,” I remind our aunt.

We walk along the footpath crossing the lawn and I search frantically for Trilby or Cristiano. Aunt Allegra isn’t best known for her patience or tact, and both have the power to derail Trilby’s relationship with her soon-to-be in-laws.

Unfortunately, my view is restricted to that of three exuberantly curved olive-skinned women with bleached yellow hair—one around Aunt Allegra’s age, the other two late-thirties perhaps—a rotund man with a glistening sheen on his forehead and a large scotch in his hand, and two younger men I don’t remember seeing before. They’re both dark-haired, of Italian blood and as sworn in as the man whose house we’re gathering at. It’s obvious in the way they stand, the way their eyes dance over our bodies as Bambi and I approach, and the way one hand nurses a single malt in a lowball, while the other rests casually in their pockets, shielding any .45s from view.

Nervousness skitters down my spine at the thought of Benito seeing that look in their eyes. While the last three days have suggested many things to me regarding our relationship, the most prominent is that I’m not anyone else’s for the taking.

We didn’t leave the hotel room once. We slept, we talked, we ate, but mostly, we explored each other.

The more time I spent with Bernadi’s naked body, the more I learned about him. I learned that his cut muscles and defined form are a result of daily workouts, usually in his own house but while it’s under reconstruction, Cristiano’s. I learned that trailing my fingers down the side of his ribs earns me a sharp spank, while pressing my lips to his neck sends him into a mindless frenzy.

I learned that he hates eggs but eats three every day for protein. And that he loves chips so much I have to hide them so he doesn’t inhale the entire bag.

I learned that he can, and seemingly does, manage to function on four hours sleep, and that he can hold three phone calls at once discussing a varied mix of topics including architectural engineering, the legal ramifications of bribing government officials, and the intricacies of vehicle maintenance—specifically my vehicle and my particular brand of maintenance, which is basically none at all.

I learned that once he’s made a decision about something, or someone, he doesn’t retract it easily, my car being a case in point. The second he decided it was now his problem, my protests fell on completely deaf ears as he orchestrated an army of people to fetch it, fix it, upgrade it and not let me anywhere near it until the former three stages were complete.

Despite everything I did learn, there are still things I didn’t learn, and not for a lack of trying. When I asked him how he became the consigliere to the Di Santo family, his gaze darkened and he changed the subject. He spoke fondly about Gianni, Cristiano’s late father and former don, but shut down the conversation when I asked him how they first met. And when I asked why he’d inked his entire chest with defensive depictions of electric fencing, snake bites and poison ivy, he threw on a T-shirt. I pouted like an actual spoiled child. So, naturally, I’m not going to ask that question again.

What I absolutely do know, however, is it is entirely possible to fall head over heels in total lust with an enemy within seventy-two hours, and discover erogenous zones I never knew I had. I don’t have much to compare him to, but he knew his way around me like he had a secret map, and his focus over the three days was squarely on discovering how many ways and how many times he could make me come. I was so exhausted when he returned me home, I skipped two dance classes and didn’t leave my room for a further three days.

The five of them form a human barrier between the lawn and the terrace. But, fortunately, Trilby delicately pushes her way through to envelope each of us in a warm, relieved hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she murmurs into my ear.

“I didn’t expect there to be so many people.” The terrace is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cologne.

She pulls back and rolls her eyes toward Allegra. “ Big extended family,” she says through a smile.

Just as Trilby wraps her arms around our aunt, two of the women approach us.

“Trilby?”

My sister looks around and beams politely at the older woman. “Yes?”

“I’m Bianca, Cristiano’s aunt—his mother’s side.”

“Oh!” Trilby gives Bianca’s hand a soft shake. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Cristiano has told me lots about you and your family. Is Isabella h?—”

“Hi!” The younger woman, who looks a little closer to Trilby’s age, steps forward. “I’m Isabella. We’ve connected on Insta but, wow, you’re even prettier in the flesh.”

I glance sideways just in time to see a soft blush creep up my sister’s cheeks. “Thank you. And so are you,” she smiles.

“How are the wedding plans coming along? I hear the hotel is absolutely gorgeous.”

“Oh it is,” Trilby gushes. “Our sister Sera is doing her hospitality training there. I hear your wedding to Augie’s nephew was beautiful. I was hoping to get a few tips from you.”

While Trilby and Isabella talk weddings, Allegra turns to Cristiano’s aunt. It seems the good natured banter stopped at Trilby and Cristiano’s cousin—the atmosphere that has suddenly descended over the two aunts is decidedly frosty.

I make an excuse about needing a glass of water and leave them to their differences.

After Bambi and I have dissected the outfit choices of nearly every guest, Bambi heads off to find Allegra and Trilby takes her place.

“Who’s that?” I ask, nodding toward a woman who seems to have caught Papa’s attention. She’s around Allegra’s age with long dark hair softly curled and a beautiful figure wrapped in a conservatively tailored dress .

Trilby’s gaze narrows. “That’s Nicolò’s mother.”

“She and Papa seem to be getting along.” My voice is flat because I don’t know how to feel about the idea of Papa ‘getting along’ with any woman after Mama. “Is she married?”

“She’s widowed,” Trilby enunciates carefully.

We both watch as Nicolò’s mother says something that must be funny because Papa’s face lights up and he shakes his head. My chest aches as I grapple with the turmoil of emotions the sight has stirred up in me.

Trilby turns back to me with a sigh and slides her fingers around my hand. “It’s nice that someone can make him smile.”

I swallow and give a brief nod. Of course I want Papa to be happy—I just wasn’t expecting another woman to come on the scene. I know I’m getting ahead of myself; they’ve only just met. I shake the concern from my shoulders and straighten.

“I’m going to go freshen up.”

“Sure,” she smiles. “Come find me when you’re done.”

I arch a brow. “Isn’t this your opportunity to get to know your new in-laws?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “Fine. Then come rescue me in thirty.”

“Gotcha.” I give her a wink and wind my way through various relatives-to-be and into the house.

My mind must be someplace else because as I walk through the double doors to the entrance hall, I don’t see a figure coming the other way until I’ve crashed against its chest.

A deep, rasping voice wraps around my ears. “I thought looking through gaps in doors was your thing, Castellano. How did you not see me coming?”

My gaze crawls upward, taking in a snug-fitting black shirt, thick and tan neck, and a jawline so sharp it could cut a steak. My breath escapes as I reach his eyes. They’re black from this angle and weighted down with the promise of possession.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I reply, breathily. “I was thinking about other things.”

Benito doesn’t budge and his hands remain firmly settled in the pockets of his slacks.

“What ‘other things’?”

The intensity in his eyes makes me blink away but that doesn’t stop a full flush of heat from crawling up my throat.

“Oh, you know…” I shrug. “ Ice .” I could kick myself because that isn’t the word I had in my head.

I flick my gaze back to him nervously, and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek.

He lifts a curled fist to his lips. “Ice?”

I nod. “Mm-hm.”

“You like ice ?”

“I do,” I reply.

“Interesting.” A glimmer of something squeezes through his narrowed eyes. “ How do you like your ice?”

I blink. “What do you mean? ”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze all sexy and distracting. He lifts a shoulder. “Do you like it crushed? Cubed? Or just, you know, as it comes?”

I swallow. My mouth and throat are so dry I’ll take any form of ice right now.

“Melting,” I say. “I like my ice melting.”

His eyes widen a fraction, then he nods. “Noted.”

My skin feels like a livewire, getting more charged the longer I stand here, so I smile and go to walk past him, but long fingers curl around my wrist pulling me to a halt at his shoulder.

His chin dips but his gaze remains on something in the distance. His voice rolls like a tropical thunderstorm. “You look like a fucking goddess. Stay where I can see you.”

My entire body vibrates with his compliment, chased by the electric current of his command. I can’t find the words to respond so I simply nod once and feel his fingers slip from my skin.

As I walk to the restroom I have to cradle that hand in my other, purely to convince myself the skin he grazed wasn’t singed by the contact. My heart is fluttering so wildly that when I reach the restroom, lock the door and stare back at my reflection, I can’t remember why I’m standing over the faucet.

I cool my palms beneath the running water and press my fingertips to my temples. My pulse is racing and the base of my glistening collarbone rises and falls with every breath .

After a couple of minutes I walk back out to the terrace, allowing my gaze to search only for my family. When it settles on Allegra’s clenched brow I sigh with relief.

“Everything okay?” I ask her. “You look like you just swallowed detergent.”

“A large measure, I’d say,” Bambi mutters under her breath.

Allegra’s gaze darts to Cristiano’s second cousin Giulia and I pan my eyes toward Bambi.

“She just came over here asking what we think of her family residence,” Allegra hisses between pursed lips. “This place isn’t hers; it’s Cristiano’s.”

“Well, technically, it’s the Di Santo residence…” I start, clearly unappreciative of the nuances at play.

“Exactly. Which she isn’t .”

“Isn’t she Cristiano’s cousin?” Bambi asks in a newly adopted, not unlikeable bored tone.

“ Second cousin,” Allegra corrects. “She’s barely even related. So to come over here acting as though she’s the lady of the manor... Well, it’s rude. And besides, this place is as good as Trilby’s,” Allegra finishes, rolling back her shoulders and throwing a glare in the cousin’s direction.

“Trilby and Cristiano ’s,” I clarify.

Allegra sips her wine and resumes her glaring with a distracted “hmm.”

I turn to Bambi who gives a rundown on everyone who has and hasn’t yet introduced themselves, but I don’t register a thing because my body has heated like a furnace. The hair across the nape of my neck prickles. My skin dances like I have a fever.

When I turn my head, Benito is standing at the opposite end of the terrace, not even looking my way. He has his back turned, his focus on a conversation with Cristiano’s underboss, Augie. He looks relaxed with a hand resting in the pocket of his slacks and the other cradling a whiskey, which he sips in between nods and spoken words.

“At least he isn’t staring at you.” Bambi’s voice cuts through my reverie like an ice pick.

“What?”

“Bernadi.” She nods toward him. “Last time we were all here he was staring at you from across the table, remember?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” My head is spinning, not from the recollection but because my feelings for him now are a world away from what they were then, but I’ve no idea how to tell that to Bambi.

“And you hate him because he sent Federico’s family away,” she continues.

I swallow, searching for words, but her expression seems to retreat.

“Actually, wait…” She pops open her purse and pulls out an envelope. “This arrived at the house for you. The postmark says California. Isn’t that where Federico moved to?”

“Yes.” My voice sounds like it’s been drained of moisture as I take the envelope and turn it in my fingers. When I recognize the handwriting, my heartbeat rises up to the base of my throat.

“Do you know anyone else in that part of the country?” she presses.

“No,” I reply, breathless. I rip open the envelope. “No one.”

With one hand pressed flat against my chest, I read.

Dear Tess,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply. I read every single one of your letters, but I didn’t want to reply until I had something of substance to say. I sent them all back because I’d started to lose hope, but I have it now.

I promised you I would ruin Bernadi, and I’ve finally found a way. He had no right to threaten my father the way he did, or ruin the years of work my family put into our business. He will get what he deserves, I can assure you. Soon he’ll know how it feels to lose everything dear to him. I know what his Achilles heel is, Tess, and I’m going to ruin it.

I just have to confess to one thing, and you won’t like it. I know you hate the Marchesi’s for what they did to your mother, but they are still the most formidable force against the Di Santo’s. For me to end Bernadi for good, I need to work with his enemy. I hope you can forgive me for associating with them. The Di Santos are the ones who’ve kept us apart, Tess. They need to pay.

I’ll be in touch again very soon, but in the meantime, know that I love you, Tess, and I want you back in my arms where you belong. Yes, we are friends, but we are also more than that. You said so yourself in your letters. I’m coming home to get you.

Fed x

It’s Federico. After all these years and all those unanswered letters, he’s finally written back. My chest releases a heaviness I’ve been carrying around for too long. All my thoughts about him have been dark and foreboding. Either he doesn’t want me anymore, or he’s dead. Neither of those things are true and I can’t wrap my head around it.

It’s clear my earlier letters haven’t offended him, and the relief is immense, but then it’s quickly replaced by guilt, because I meant what I said: I only ever saw him as a friend .

My head throbs as confused thoughts collide behind my eyes.

I read the note several times but still the words don’t sink in. The handwriting is definitely his but matured. The tone and inflections are all him. Little things I’d forgotten but now come flying back at me. All I know is they’re weighty with promises I no longer want him to keep.

I look up and feel reassured that Benito’s back is still turned. I didn’t bring a purse with me so I slide the folded note beneath the collar of my dress and into my bra, and plan to read it later when I’m alone. Maybe I can write him back, somehow explain my change of heart. It doesn’t sound like he knows who Trilby is engaged to or that I’m practically a part of the Di Santo’s already.

I don’t have the capacity to think about it now. Not when another relative of Cristiano’s is making a beeline in our direction. And not when I glance away briefly, only to be met by a renewed presence and a stare that is loaded, heated and so unbearably electric it takes my breath away.

I politely shake the hands of yet another Di Santo cousin, who seems perfectly nice and welcoming, before excusing myself to get a drink. My throat is parched despite the gallons of water I drink every day.

Waiting in line, my nape tingles as a hot breath lowers onto it. “There’s a wine cellar just inside the entrance. Get your sweet ass down the steps right now.” Then the heat vanishes, leaving only a shiver of anticipation in its wake. Then the taste of panic glides across my tongue. I didn’t even know this place had a wine cellar.

I inhale a whole glass of water then cast my gaze to the ground, avoiding any eye contact as I make my way back inside. The evening is starting to close in, casting the house in shadows, so I push the note further inside my bra as I follow a warm glow through the entrance hall toward the back of the house.

Behind the staircase is a door, slightly ajar, a shard of light seeping through the gap. I look left and right to make sure no one has seen me, then I open it and step through onto a small set of stairs. The door closes softly and I take extra care walking in my tall heels down the steps, landing at the bottom on a concrete floor.

I’m standing in a reasonably large room, surrounded by columns and rows of dark bottles, all encased behind glass doors. A figure steps out of the shadows and my heart races like I just injected a bunch of steroids into it. “Come here, goddess.”

I take three steps toward Benito then he closes the gap impatiently, slamming his lips onto mine with an urgency that shocks me to the bones. His tongue swipes across mine, tasting every line and curve of my mouth. I’m bent backwards, the air squeezed from my lungs. A beautiful, addictive pain radiates from my chest where he’s crushing against me.

When a small note of desperation curls up my throat, he pulls back for a brief moment, mutters something about need, then crashes down on me again. I’m ushered backward until my spine hits glass and a large hand grabs a handful of thigh and kneads its way up until it reaches my underwear.

Feeling how blood-scorchingly soaked it is, a growl rolls through his chest and tunnels into my body.

He roars between clenched teeth, “I told you I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

His rage sounds bottomless, and hot with terror. Yet, I can’t pull away. I nip at his lips and claw at his shirt like a naughty kitten, needing his heat on my tongue and trembling muscles beneath my paws.

One hand mauls the neckline of my dress, dragging it over one breast. My heart stutters. Fed’s letter… I’m about to protest when Benito’s other hand tears my panties clean off. He shoves them roughly into his pocket then returns his hand to my heat and only then does he seem to breathe. He kneads my breast and pussy in tandem until my body doesn’t know what to rock into so I cling to his lips, nipping them and sucking as he moans low, desperate curses that don’t make any sense. The note pales in significance as he overtakes me with a raw passion.

We’re wound up tightly in a ball of madness, unraveling with each ground heel of a palm, and with each thrust of a thigh against his erection.

I rub my leg into him mindlessly until he bites my jaw drawing a yelp. “Stop it. You’ll make me come.”

My eyelids shiver, faintly.

“I want you to. Fuck me… please,” I whimper .

He slides three thick fingers inside me, tearing breaths from my lungs.

“Not here,” he growls, returning his tongue to my mouth.

I lick it ravenously, my focus scattered, my senses overstimulated and burning.

My back slams against the glass with each hard fuck of his hand and I cry into his mouth, helplessly on the edge. The sound of rattling glass and slickened flesh drives me to the end of sanity and I orgasm with unbridled force around his knuckles.

He continues to fuck me with his fingers and swallow my gasps while he presses my vibrating body between his chest and the glass wine cabinet. Only when I’ve stopped trembling does he remove his hand and his mouth from my two plundered openings. He gently rights my dress, easing out any creases with calloused fingertips.

He stands back and drags his gaze over my quivering body.

“Fuck, yeah,” he drawls. “Only I get to make a dirty wet mess of my goddess.”

I almost pass out at his words. I love the possessiveness in his slow, lazy gaze, and the helplessness in his solid cock, obvious beneath the clipped lines of his slacks.

I’m addicted to this man, this feeling .

Then his tone turns sharp.

“Get up the stairs, Contessa, before I commit a fucking crime. ”

My breath feels heavy and languid. I rise up to my tiptoes and brush my lips across his. “I didn’t think you cared about crime. You certainly kill enough people to make me question your… conviction .”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe. He just parts his lips and speaks in a low monotone growl.

“Get up those stairs before my cock gets any damned harder and I fuck you to death .”