Page 37

C ontessa

I take advantage of my inability to sleep by taking a walk along the beach, relishing the feel of the warm sand between my toes and the soft breeze in my hair. I feel lighter than I have done in a while, and despite the confusion I’m battling around my feelings for Benito, I cannot wait to see Cristiano and Trilby become husband and wife.

For all intents and purposes, this is a mafia marriage, bringing two families together, albeit willingly, for mutual benefit. But from where I’m standing, it’s the marriage of two souls who love each other so much it sometimes makes my eyes hurt.

I glance at my watch and realize I have only one hour before I have to join the wedding party and prepare for the rehearsal. I hurry back to my room and change into the bridesmaid dress. Trilby chose a beautiful dusky rose taffeta for all our dresses, which somehow compliments our various skin tones and eye colors. Me with my pale skin, jet black hair and green eyes; Sera with her equally pale skin, auburn hair and blue eyes; and Bambi with her dark hair, olive skin and rich brown eyes.

The styles are all different too. Sera’s dress is backless with a halter neckline and empire waist; Bambi’s dress is short and light, cut to bounce around her knees as she walks; while mine is strapless and fitted, with a beautiful long slice up the right thigh. It reminds me of the dress I wore to Gianni Di Santo’s funeral all those months ago.

As I gaze back at my reflection I have to concede it really is a beautiful dress and the color does highlight my better features. Still, I can’t help but feel a little bit itchy that it isn’t black.

I pick up the pearl-covered purse that Trilby had specially made for each of us as a bridesmaid gift and make my way down the main staircase. The wedding party is gathering in one of the function rooms on the ground floor, away from the main hall where the ceremony will take place.

I silently curse that an imaginary bug cut short the tour I should have had from Sera when we first arrived because I really don’t know where to go. There are signs nailed to the walls, pointing to beautiful room names, but I have no idea which room we are meeting in. I remind myself Cristiano has hired pretty much the entire hotel so it’s unlikely I’ll go far wrong.

I turn into a corridor and follow the sound of voices. They’re coming from a room at the far end, but I’m curious to see what the other rooms look like. I decide to take a sneaky look before the rehearsal gets underway and I become swept up in the mayhem.

The first door to my left is called ‘Maine’. The interior is beautifully colonial—lots of white rattan furniture and nautical striped cushions. A large glass-topped table forms the focal point, reflecting the mid-morning sun.

I close the door softly and cross the corridor to another. I push it open and step into the room. ‘Manhattan’ has a more masculine feel—dark wood paneling, gold picture lights and leather club chairs surrounding a solid wood boardroom table. I decide I much prefer the other one and start to back out of the room. But the door closes sharply and a hand wraps around my face, flattening my cheeks.

My body lights up everywhere, my core smoldering at the memory of last night. Shamefully, I want nothing more than to feel his large hands on my thighs, beneath this beautiful dress, his tongue licking and probing at my lace underwear, my fingers wrapped around his erection… But I’m already late and I’m wearing a bridesmaid dress for heaven’s sake.

I go to turn around, mumbling a weak protest into his palm, when the door flies open and Benito steps through it, his face contorting into something deadly .

It takes me too long to figure out what’s happening. Benito is standing in front of me. So, who is holding his hand over my mouth?

Alarmed, I try to scream but it’s muffled. The hand squeezes me tighter, then I’m pulled back against a hard chest. Another hand whips out from behind me and points a gun at Benito. I struggle against the chest but whoever has me in a headlock is freakishly strong. I start to hyperventilate, unable to grasp air.

My brain scrambles. Why would anyone here want to kill Benito? Cristiano has this place locked down—anyone who isn’t a trusted guest or member of the wedding party is allowed within a two mile radius. Is there a traitor on the inside?

I try to shout “No!” but the word is absorbed by the solid palm.

My gaze darts frantically to Benito. He is eerily calm, as though he’s used to people attempting to assassinate him on a fairly regular basis. He even drops his gaze to his phone , and types something out before sliding it into his pocket. A soft exhale leaves his lips, then he says, “Put the gun down, Federico.”

What??

I somehow find strength I couldn’t before—perhaps it’s knowing that my childhood friend, my first , wouldn’t truly hurt me—and I duck out of his grasp, then spin around, my arms outstretched, hands braced.

The air is swiped from my lungs.

It is Federico—the boy I lost my virginity to three years ago. The boy I mourned for weeks, months, years after he left, who never wrote me back… until a couple of months ago.

“Fed…” I gasp, words forming on my tongue but not quite sailing on the air. “What are you doing?”

“What I promised I would do. Now get back Tess. You don’t want to see this.”

He cocks the gun and I don’t even think. I throw myself at him, knocking him backward into the table. Another click of metal sounds behind me.

“He’s right, Tess. Get out of the way.” Benito’s voice is low and vicious. “In fact, leave the room.”

My breath stutters and the room spins. Long fingers wrap around my wrist. “No, Tess. Stay.”

“Don’t you dare tell her what to do,” Benito growls. “You’re waving a fucking gun about like a child. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“A child?” Fed’s voice is unrecognizable and his hold on my arm is unyielding. Yes, he was a boy when he left, but he’s not a boy anymore. I glance at him through trembling lashes. He’s filled out to twice the size and his cheekbones have emerged through a face of carved granite. I swallow, unable to believe the person who coaxed me through my first sexual experience is the same person still wielding a firearm at the infamous Di Santo consigliere.

“I haven’t been a child since I watched you murder my uncle in cold blood.”

My eyes flick to Benito expecting him to deny it, but he doesn’t. Somehow I know he wasn’t lying when he said Augie killed Mario, not him, but I guess a Di Santo kill is just that—a Di Santo kill. The small matter of who pulled the trigger is irrelevant. “Seeing something that evil makes you grow up pretty fast.”

“If you think that’s evil, why are you working with the Marchesi’s?” Benito grits out through a clenched jaw. “Have you forgotten how they killed Tess and Trilby’s mother?”

Federico lets go of my wrist, spins me around and pulls my face into his chest. His coarse whisper reaches my ears. “I’ve got you Tess. Don’t listen to him.”

I dare not move. I use the wall of flesh to hide away. I don’t want to confront any of this. All I know is Benito can do more than hurt me—he can rip out my heart and grind it beneath his foot. I’ve had a small taste of it and the pain is unbearable.

Fed has already given me his worst—he ignored me for over three years. And now he’s back.

Despite the hard lines of his chest, he’s still the softer of the two men. He’s the one least likely to put me in compromising positions that I enjoy too damn much. He’s the one who would listen to Cristiano when he says to keep away, because he’s sensible like that. He doesn’t need to be prepared to lose everything simply because he can’t stay away.

I feel Benito’s glare on my back but I can’t move.

“Fury Marchesi doesn’t have anywhere near as much blood on his hands as you do,” Fed spits over my shoulder.

“That’s because he got his minions to do his dirty work for him,” Benito bites back. “And if you still think that’s tame, how about the nephews quartering Joe Bigelow and draping his bleeding corpse over a fucking boat and sailing it down the river for everyone—kids included—to see?”

“Fine.” Federico is trembling with anger. “If you want to talk kids, what about your former don’s child trafficking activities? Weren’t you serving him while he was off making deals with the cartel?”

I lift my head at the same time as my stomach drops. It can’t be true . I knew what Savero had planned—we all did—but only after Cristiano discovered it and killed his own flesh and blood, putting an immediate end to those plans. Had Benito known all along?

“I advised Gianni for seven years,” Benito grits out in a voice as low as the devil himself. “I inherited Savero. And, not that it’s any of your goddamn business, he didn’t let anyone in. Not even me.”

A shiver of relief ghosts down my spine.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he continues. “Why are you working with the Marchesi’s?”

Fed’s breathing steadies, then he says, “I’m not.”

I jerk my head up. “But… you said in your letter…”

“I thought I was,” Fed says, a look of discomfort eating into the corners of his eyes. “But the man I thought was a Marchesi is someone else.”

“Who?” I whisper up at him.

“He isn’t connected to either family,” Fed says, his glare boring into Benito. “But he’s been very helpful to me.”

“In what way?” Benito demands .

“Well,” Federico flicks the wrist holding the gun to check his watch. “I would say that, any second now, your precious restaurant is going to go up in flames.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Benito’s voice dips to a new low and I genuinely fear for Federico’s life.

Fed picks up on Benito’s waning restraint and goads him further. “Your Achilles heel, right? La Trattoria?”

Benito’s gaze flicks to mine then narrows on Federico.

“No—” I push myself away from Fed, breathless. “No-no-no-no. Please say you’re lying, Federico.”

Fed drops his gaze to mine. His mouth quirks lazily in one corner. “Why would I lie about it, Tess? I told you in my letter that was my plan.”

“Not La Trattoria,” I whisper.

“What else?” He frowns. “What else would be his Achilles Heel, Tess?”

My heart jumps into my throat, then a thought occurs to me. “Benito’s house… Was it you who burned it down?”

“No.” He wipes a hand across his mouth. “But kudos to whoever did.”

I’m about to plead with him to stop being so damned cocky when Benito lunges at him from across the room.

I’m knocked to the side, my head cracking against the wall. I slide in my dusky pink dress to the floor in a daze. In my blurred vision, I’m aware of Benito bending over Fed, pummeling the life out of him. I bend my knees and anchor my tall heels against the floor but I can’t find purchase. They simply slide away from me. “No, Benito, please,” I beg. “Stop.”

Fed’s gun clatters to the floor and I push my torso away from the wall to kick it completely out of reach. The fewer firearms available to them right now, the better.

The door bangs open and Nicolò appears with Augie right on his tail. “What the fuck?” Nicolò says, shaking his head as he walks into the room.

“Wondered where you’d got to,” Augie says, as though Benito isn’t holding a guy by his throat with a gun pointing between his eyes. “The rehearsal’s about to start. You wanna finish up?”

“There’s a call for you.” Nicolò puts his cell on speaker and holds it a few feet from where Benito has Federico pinned against the wall.

“Enzo?” Benito says, like he already knows the answer. Then I remember Benito doing something with his phone almost the second he saw Federico.

Fed struggles at the sound of his father’s name.

“Benito,” Enzo says at the other end. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes it has, but I’m not interested in pleasantries. Know where your son is?”

Federico tries to speak but Benito head butts him in the face, putting a stop to any words coming out of his mouth. I wince at the crunch of forehead on teeth. Blood streams from Federico’s mouth but Benito seems unharmed. Unaffected .

“Not right now,” Enzo replies. “He’s a grown man?—”

“Who deserves to know the truth, don’t you think?” Benito replies in an ice-cold tone.

There’s a beat of silence before Enzo replies. “Is he there?”

Federico mumbles through a split lip.

“Fed? Are you there with Benito?”

Benito flings him a warning glare. “Yes he is. Came at me with a gun. Burned down my restaurant, so he says. Revenge, apparently, for me shutting down your business and sending you all away.”

“Oh God.” A resigned moan surfaces through Nicolò’s cell into the room.

“It’s time to tell him the truth, Enzo.”

Federico’s gaze flits between me and Benito and the same feeling I had when we parted ways comes back to me in a breathless rush. Right this second, it’s crystal clear. I never loved Federico. I liked him, of course—he was my best friend. But the feeling that has confused me ever since, that I haven’t been able to put into words until now, is pity. Not love— pity .

Federico has just done what Federico always did—barreled headlong into a situation before taking the time to really figure out why. He’s still the same, rash, hasty and naive Federico I knew from school. And it doesn’t matter how earnest his declarations are, or how convincing his words, my feelings about him haven’t changed .

“Benito didn’t ruin us, Federico,” Enzo says quietly. “It was all my fault.”

Fed tries to speak but his injured mouth prevents it.

“Go on,” Benito says, urging Enzo to continue.

“I was gambling and got into a lot of debt. I did my best to pay my debtors, but I simply couldn’t kick the habit. The more I paid off, the more I gambled. I’m sick, Federico. It’s a disease. I couldn’t stop gambling and in the end I had to sell off most of our assets. The Di Santo’s…”

Benito coughs loudly.

“Benito…” Enzo corrected, “told me to leave and take the family far away. The business couldn’t be saved. I let the Di Santo’s down and I owe Benito my life.”

Fed’s stare falters and his grip on Benito’s arms loosens. He’s just become aware he’s unknowingly walked right back into the hornet’s nest. Benito lets go of Fed’s throat but keeps the gun pointed at his head.

“Papa—” Blood spits from Fed’s lips when he says that one word, and his eyes fill with tears.

“Tell him about Mario,” Benito barks.

A sigh can be heard down the line and Federico glances to the side, his gaze resting on Augie. “Your uncle took liberties, Federico. I couldn’t control him. He hadn’t worked for the family business for six months and in the end he only cared about his cars and his mistresses…”

Fed’s eyes widen, letting a tear fall to the floor.

“He knew the Di Santo’s were paying me a visit and he panicked. All he could think about was losing the life he’d built up on the money we skimmed from the Di Santo’s.”

Federico deflates against the wall and Benito removes the gun and takes a step backward.

“I should have told you the truth, but honestly, I feel so ashamed. I didn’t want you to think badly of your papa, Federico. I didn’t want you to hate me for taking you away from your life, your friends…”

I lower my gaze to the floor. Seeing Federico crumble under the truth is too painful to watch. I only look up when Augie slips a hand under my arm and helps me to my feet.

“Come home, Federico, please,” his father begs.

“He will,” Benito says, sternly. “My men will escort him until the flight is off the ground.”

“Thank you Benito. I truly am sorry.”

Nicolò snaps the phone closed, terminating the conversation. “And we truly have to go,” he says to Benito. I’m pretty certain Cristiano’s closest cousin is the only person Benito allows to speak to him in that way.

“Um—” Federico tries to speak. Augie steps forward and offers him a handkerchief. Fed takes it and mops up his mouth as best he can. Several of us avert our eyes. “I, um… I’m sorry about the restaurant.”

Benito glances at Nicolò who shakes his head.

“We haven’t had reports of it being burned down,” Benito says with an arched brow.

Federico swallows. “But, Andreas said?— ”

“Who’s Andreas?” Augie snaps.

“The guy who said he works with the Marchesi’s. He said he would organize it.” Federico blinks at Benito as though he’s expecting another head butt.

“It won’t happen,” Nicolò says, inspecting his nails. “The place is locked down.”

“I… I didn’t burn down your house,” Fed rushes out.

Benito stares at him with the scariest of poker faces. In this moment I understand why he has such a lethal reputation. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking or planning, until it’s done.

“I-I promise, Benito. I didn’t go anywhere near your house. I promise.”

Still Benito stares, not saying a word. The atmosphere in the room recedes to nothing but cold heartbeats and frigid truths.

“Please believe me,” Fed begs. I can see the panic in his eyes, the acceptance of certain death. “I didn’t burn down your house.”

Benito doesn’t blink. “I know you didn’t.” The room falls eerily quiet. “I did.”

I dart my gaze to Benito. Augie swings round. Fed lets out an audible breath of relief and Nicolò looks up from his fingernails.

“What?” Augie says with a frown.

“I burned down my house.”

Nicolò rolls his eyes. “Now, why would you do that? It’s not like you need an insurance payout when we run the damn insurance companies anyway. ”

“You’re right,” Benito says, calmly. “That’s not why I did it.”

His gaze pans softly to mine and I suddenly know. My heart stops beating and the room sways.

With eyes locked on mine, he enlightens us all. “I did it for her.”

There’s complete silence while Augie, Nicolò and Fed look from Benito to me and back to Benito again, rightly wondering if this is a joke.

“I did it so I’d have a viable reason to move into the apartment above your studio,” he says, thinning my breath.

“You didn’t need to burn down your ho—” Nicolò starts, but Benito lifts a hand that stops him instantly.

“Come on,” Augie says, putting a hand on Nicolò’s elbow. “Let’s give them a minute.”

“Only a minute,” Nicolò replies. “Cristiano will slice my dick in two if I don’t get them into the function room, stat.”

“They won’t be long,” Augie assures him.

“What about this one?” Nicolò jerks his head toward Federico.

“He’s coming with us,” Augie says before whipping out a pair of handcuffs and attaching them to Federico’s wrists. “Just in case,” he winks.

Nicolò looks horrified. “What? You just carry those around? What sort of sick shit do you get up to in your spare time?”

Augie slides past him and through the door, pulling Fed behind him. “Wouldn’t you like to know? ”

A flush crawls up my throat and I don’t know if it’s caused by the sight of a pair of handcuffs, Benito’s declaration, or the fact I’m suddenly alone in a room with him. I back up into a wall and grip my purse nervously. My gaze flits around, unable to focus on him.

I expect him to walk towards me and tower over me like he usually does, turning me on through sheer intimidation, but he doesn’t move. I flick a timid glance his way and notice the lines etched into his brow.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly.

The intensity of his gaze burns my skin so I escape it by looking down at the floor. “For what?” My mind has gone blank so I’m honestly at a loss as to what he’s apologizing for.

“For not believing you.”

Oh, that .

“Why didn’t you?” I look up before I can stop myself and am immediately caught by his bronze eyes reaching into me like tendrils.

He leans back against the table and releases a controlled breath.

“You remember when I told you I raised myself?”

“Yes.”

“That was true. But the bit about me not having parents… I did, once upon a time.”

It feels as though my heart is crawling up my chest and into my throat, trying to get a better view of this man bearing his truth.

“My mom died when I was four. I might have had a relatively normal childhood up to that point but I don’t remember any of it. I don’t remember her. My father was a hateful man. He was aggressive and abusive—to me and my brother?—”

“You have a brother ?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, then looks distantly across the room. “I had a brother. God knows if he’s still alive. Ran away when he was thirteen.”

My fingers close tighter around my purse.

“After Leo Jr. left, I survived by being at my father’s disposal. He was a petty criminal doing small time jobs for a local gang.” He shrugs like it was mere child’s play. “I hid stolen goods, lied to the police, provided alibis, that sort of thing. Then one time, he let me in on a big job. I was excited about it—my father letting me work with him and his gangster buddies. He didn’t tell me much about it, just told me to follow and do as I was told, so I did. We broke into a warehouse in the Bronx. The plan was to steal a whole bunch of firearms being stored there.”

He takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe away the memories.

“When we got inside, while some of the guys loaded up the boxes, my father handed me a gun. I’d never held one before and I just remember thinking it was so much heavier than I’d imagined. He took off the safety clip, then told me to point it at a door which led out the back, and said if anyone was to walk through that door, I was to shoot them.”

He chokes out a laugh filled with bitterness. “I wasn’t even sure where the trigger was. ”

My heart thumps and I realize I’m holding my breath.

“It wasn’t long before somebody did walk through the door. A security guard who likely had no idea what was in those boxes. But I did what my father had instructed. I aimed the gun at him and pulled back what I assumed was the trigger. The force of it knocked me flat on my back but my aim was perfect. Killed the guy, clean and quick.”

The breath leaks from my lungs and I swallow. “How old were you?” I whisper.

He lifts his gaze and I can’t see any emotion behind it. “Nine.”

My saliva goes down the wrong way and I choke on it. Benito’s frown dips in concern but he doesn’t move to help me. When the choking subsides I look up. He hasn’t moved. He’s still completely unaffected.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask in a scratchy voice.

He hesitates. “I want you to understand me. I want you to know why I am the way I am.”

I watch him for some sign of softness but he holds his ground.

“We got busted on the way out anyway,” he sighs, his shoulders rounding out. “I was so stunned at what I’d done I couldn’t move, so my father left me there and drove off with the goods and the rest of the men.”

What?

He slides his hands into his pockets and narrows his eyes at me. “That was my first lesson in trust—even blood betrays.”

“Oh Benito…”

“Don’t feel sorry for me.” There’s a bite in his tone. “That moment changed everything. The people we stole from descended pretty quickly and took me off to some location on the river. I was beaten, drugged and tortured and I still didn’t give up any information about my father and his acquaintances. When I didn’t break, they tried blackmailing him for the stolen goods, using me as leverage, but he told them to keep me.”

Nausea crawls up my throat and I clasp a hand over my mouth.

“That was my second lesson in trust—the only person you’re worth anything to is yourself.”

I start to shake my head but his dark stare freezes me in place.

“The people who tortured me were so impressed with my ability to keep a secret, they handed me over to Gianni. By the time I was twelve years old I had the most lethal aim in the organization and was on track to be sworn in by my sixteenth birthday. That was my third and final lesson in trust—survival is about transaction. Turn yourself into a valuable weapon and you’ll never need to trust anyone again.”

I slump back against the wall.

“This is why you didn’t trust me?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

He walks toward me in a slow, firm gait, and stops a couple of feet in front. “I really want to trust you, more than anything.”

My chest rises and falls with a quickened tempo and even though his words have scratched against my softness like a sharp blade, I can’t help but fall into his tragic, haunting gaze.

“But?”

“It isn’t going to happen overnight. You’ll need to be patient with me. That is, if you’ll have me back.”

My heart wants to cry. All I can see standing in front of me is that lonely, helpless little boy forced to fend for himself, trained to not trust a soul.

“Is that what you want?” I whisper.

He reaches up both hands and takes my face in his warm palms. His eyes roam me ravenously. “It’s all I want.”

When he presses his lips to mine, there’s no darkness—only daylight. No wrist ties—only a soft caress. And it’s now that I realize none of us perfectly fit into a box. We’re all complex. Me? I’m dark, I’m wild, but I’m soft and grounded. Benito? He’s dark, he’s rough, but his palm is light and his heart is swollen. And that’s what makes people so hard to trust—they’re fluid and ever-changing. And being vulnerable to that takes a kind of strength that can elude even the most powerful among us.