Page 5

C ontessa

Three years later

I look up at the enormous house my sister now calls home and wonder, not for the first time, how fate can be so cruel.

Three years after my best friend was sent away, my sister goes and falls in love with the new don of the Di Santo family, Cristiano.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against Cristiano—he makes Trilby the happiest I’ve ever seen her—but I have everything against the organization he’s just taken over and the company he keeps. Most notably, Benito Bernadi, the man who ruined my life.

I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on what happened in the final days of my friendship with Federico. I rushed into losing my virginity without giving it proper thought. If there hadn’t been the pressure of Fed leaving town, I would have at least spent time considering it before turning him down. I simply didn’t think of Federico in that way. But I felt sorry for him in that moment. And for that, Benito Bernadi is entirely to blame.

I didn’t think I’d ever need to see the Di Santo’s consigliere again, but the day we attended Gianni’s funeral was the day I realized that as long as Trilby is involved with the Di Santo’s (which, having seen the way she and Cristiano can’t be apart for more than a minute, is likely to be forever,) I’m not going to escape the sight of him.

My youngest sister, Bambi, slips her hand into mine. “Come on! This place is huge, and there’s no scary Savero here anymore. We can explore to our hearts’ content.”

Her mention of Cristiano’s late brother—the man Trilby was supposed to marry to save our father’s business—sends a shudder down my spine. I knew the first time I laid eyes on him at Gianni’s funeral he wasn’t the man for Trilby, and that was before I found out he’d sliced a knife through a soldier’s throat and ripped out his jugular a foot away from her, and planned to use our father’s port for trafficking humans, and for poisoning my sister. Then again, it also dawned on me that day, none of us would likely ever be able to choose a man for ourselves. Not with our now-close connection to the Di Santos. It was only because Cristiano killed his own brother and took up the role of don himself that Trilby got the man she actually wanted.

Unbeknown to us all, Trilby and Cristiano had gotten close since that day. So close in fact, he’s already moved her into his home, marriage-be-damned. I mean, it’s on the cards, obviously. He’s a don with a reputation to uphold—he needs that proof of purchase. But it seems he can’t wait one minute longer to have her under his roof.

Bambi pulls me up the steps to the porch where the sound of Sera’s squeals echo round the entrance hall. She has Trilby in some sort of semi-affectionate headlock. Even Allegra looks half-prepared to call the emergency services.

Bambi skips past them toward the back of the house so I follow her, craning my neck to take in every inch of whitewashed opulence. Cristiano’s late mother had beautiful taste. It’s not my taste but I can appreciate it at least. As we walk beneath high ceilings and mid-century shades, across pale wood floors and through softly furnished rooms, I put my imaginary stamp on them.

Walls and ceilings would be matt steel with heavily detailed cornices, black crystals hanging from glass chandeliers. Furnishings would be dark, old, shadowy, filled with candles, books, gothic ornaments. Ostrich feathers would fill the corners, real logs would burn in the fireplaces and enormous mirrors would reflect the flames. The house would feature every shade of black and my heart and soul would feel perfectly at home.

After we’ve explored nearly every inch of the house, familiar voices draw us to the terrace. A large pool glitters beneath the sun and crystal glasses ting with a note of celebration. I settle onto a lounger and watch the sun dance through swaying branches.

I have one earpiece in so I can listen half to the White Stripes and half to the chatter going on across the terrace. The sound of my stomach rumbling threatens to obliterate both, but I can’t face Allegra’s death glare for asking about food again. She doesn’t understand that dancing for five hours a day requires a little more fuel than sitting around in bars getting drunk, which is what most people my age seem to do. For a short second, my chest tightens, but I know it’s from a feeling of not wanting to be left out than a genuine desire to do the same.

I stretch my arms above my head and rest them over the back of the lounger. At odds as I am with some aspects of my sister’s new life, this terrace is hard to fault. Cool blue water laps at the edge of the pool and the sun kisses every inch of my skin. Being the palest of four sisters, I’m conscious I have about ten more minutes before I have to re-coat myself in factor fifty. I lift a knee lazily and arch my spine giving it a good stretch. The hem of my tight dress rises up my thighs but I can’t summon the effort to pull it back down. Besides, my limbs are loving this heat .

The volume on the terrace has turned up a touch and male voices infiltrate my head. I recognize one as Cristiano’s. The second I’m not familiar with, but it sounds mature and friendly enough. Not worth opening my eyes for just yet. I lose myself to the lyrics of Fell in love with a girl and try to forget how damn hungry I am.

When the words ‘Let’s sit’ work their way past the guitar riffs, I’m up. Those words mean food is probably imminent and I realize I should probably say hello to my future brother-in-law rather than appear rude.

My heels click along the stone terrace then I slide into a seat beside Bambi. I’ve had my eyes closed to the blinding sun for so long I can only see shadows. Someone fills my glass with water and I gulp it down gratefully.

Bambi has her head buried in a Taylor Swift magazine. Allegra compliments Cristiano on the house. Sera quizzes him on the casino business and I can hear Trilby laughing softly at something the other guy has said.

I wring my hands beneath the white lace tablecloth and wait for the food to appear, while wondering why, when I’m now sitting in the shade, I can still feel the burning sun on the side of my face.

The sound of footsteps from the house makes my mouth water. I turn to see what kind of delicious feast is heading our way, and just like that, my appetite is gone.

Benito Bernadi is leaning back in a chair at the end of the table, his elbow resting on the arm, a finger stroking back and forth over his top lip. His gaze rests on me. It is heavy, palpable and intrusive, and I feel it in my bones.

I quickly look away as hatred leaks into my bloodstream. When did that man get here?

I lift my chin and fold my arms across my chest. But even as I distract myself with the now-unappetizing food being laid out on literal silver platters, I can still feel his bronze eyes on my skin.

“What’s his deal?” Bambi’s whisper makes me jump. Her magazine lies open across her plate setting but she’s taking a break from her version of the bible to observe her surroundings. I don’t need to follow her gaze to know who she’s talking about. “And why is he staring at you like that?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” I murmur. I reach for a serving spoon and start helping myself to pasta. I need carbs. Only when my plate is full do I hasten a glance in his direction. I’m relieved to see his attention is now on Papa. His position hasn’t changed though. His body is still angled toward me and he still looks like a nonchalant piece of shit who’s too big for his chair.

“Do you know him, Tess?” Bambi presses.

I shovel an enormous forkful of pasta into my mouth as I haven’t quite worked out how to answer this question. And I hadn’t expected Bambi to be the one to ask it. She was only thirteen when Fed left town. I have to figure out the PG-rated version, and fast.

“Do you?” she presses.

“I don’t know him. I know of him.”

“And? ”

“He’s just an asshole.”

“An asshole who seems pretty close to our sister’s fiancé.”

It’s an unfortunate, but valid, point. I shovel another forkful of pasta in my mouth to prevent me from cursing aloud in front of my present and future family.

“How do you know of him?” She closes her magazine and helps herself to antipasti.

I glance sideways to check he’s still preoccupied with Papa, then I take a long sip of water and look into my sweet younger sister’s eyes. “You remember Federico?”

Her nose wrinkles for a second. “Falconi? Sure I do. He used to come around a lot. I miss him.”

“You do?” Her confession surprises me. I hadn’t realized Fed’s departure had affected anyone else. Which only gives me more reason to despise the man at the head of the table.

“Yeah. He always said I could call him ‘bro. You know, because we don’t have any brothers of our own.”

My heart squeezes painfully. Hearing nice things about Fed only makes me feel more sad that in three years of writing him, I haven’t had one reply.

“That’s nice,” I say, taking another sip of water.

“Anyway, what does Federico have to do with Cristiano’s friend?”

I lower my voice and try to conceal the grit in my tone. “Cristiano’s ‘friend’ is called Benito Bernadi, and he is the reason the Falconis had to leave the city.”

Bambi’s eyes narrow. “Why? ”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “He shut down their family business all because of one month’s missed lease payment.” I pan my gaze to Bambi’s. “He ruined them.”

Her jaw drops open. This is why I shouldn’t have told my little sister—she can’t conceal horror like the rest of us have learned to. Though even I’m still a work in progress.

“But… how?”

“He took away their biggest contracts, spread false rumors about them. They lost all their clients, suppliers didn’t want to know, insurers wouldn’t go near them. In the end, Bernadi took their premises and left them with nothing. Fed’s mama has connections in California. As far as I know, they moved out that way, but I don’t know if they stayed or moved on.”

I have to take a breath to cut through the fury I feel at telling the story that changed not just Fed’s life but mine too. I’m no longer a virgin because of it, which makes me practically worthless in the community we now find ourselves at the heart of.

“Bernadi didn’t just take everything from them,” I say, the loathing in my voice undisguised. “He left them with the one thing an honest, hardworking man can’t shake: a reputation for pissing off New York’s biggest mafia family.”

A puff of air leaves Bambi’s lips as she flops back against her chair. “Wow. What an asshole.”

I arch a resigned brow and pick up my fork. “Yeah. Like I said. ”

After a few minutes, she dips toward my ear. “Does he know you hate him?”

The question makes me pause. “I’ve no idea,” I shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he can’t seem to stop looking at you.”

I growl under my breath. “He’s probably just wondering why I scowl at him all the time.”

She chuckles and spears her fork into a slice of mozzarella.

Not until my stomach is full do I turn a fraction to glance sidelong at my nemesis. His face is angled towards Papa who is telling him a story that must be entertaining because there’s a smile on Bernadi’s face. Then, as if he can sense I’m watching him, his eyes flick to mine. My breath stills and the sound of my throbbing pulse floods my ears. He nods along with Papa’s story but doesn’t remove his gaze from me, and the longer it lingers, the heavier I feel on my seat.

“Tess, you have a show coming up, I hear.”

Cristiano’s question snaps my attention his way and I breathe out, mentally shaking myself. “That’s right. In a few months.”

“She’s rehearsing constantly, but if you ask me, she’s perfect already,” Trilby says, shooting me a wink.

“Thanks but…” I jab my fork in her direction, “you’re biased.”

Cristiano laughs and Trilby’s eyes light up like the Vegas strip. “I am biased, yes. But I can also be objective.” She dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “And, objectively , you are perfect already. ”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to Antonio.”

Cristiano’s tone nosedives. “Who’s Antonio?”

I look at Trilby with a thread of alarm. She places a hand on Cristiano’s forearm. “No one you need to take care of, darling,” she says sweetly, and I half wonder if she’s being serious. “He’s Tess’s dance tutor. They have a kind of love-hate relationship. He sees her potential and works her hard.”

I turn back to Cristiano. “He thinks I’m unhinged,” I smile sweetly. “You can take care of him if you want.”

I glance sideways and Bernadi has his hands clasped, both forearms leaning on the table, his focus exclusively on our conversation. My gaze drops to his shirt sleeves which have been rolled up revealing thick, corded arms heavily inked all over. I catch what looks like an image of barbed wire curling around his wrists.

I swallow in surprise. I’ve only met Bernadi once—although ‘met’ isn’t perhaps the right word. But, because I’ve unwittingly recalled that memory more times than I’d like to admit, I picture him as a walking suit. So, I’m slightly shocked to see he has actual skin under there. Actual inked skin. A shiver ghosts down my spine and I turn away quickly to catch my breath. Hatred sure works in funny ways.

Out of habit, I swipe open my phone and check through my social feeds. I never post anything myself and I rarely take notice of anyone else’s feed to be honest. I hate to admit it to myself but I half-hope I see something from Fed. I don’t know how I’d feel if I did see a post from him—it would only confirm I don’t mean anything to him—but I do want to know he’s okay.

Nothing appears in my feed. I check his accounts. Still nothing. My chest weakens so I make my excuses and return to the lounger by the pool.

I manage to avoid Bernadi for the rest of the evening, but when it’s time to head home, my aunt, Sera and I are confronted with the problem of getting my dead-to-the-world younger sister into the waiting car. Usually, between us, we manage to carry her, and tonight I don’t see any reason why we can’t again. Until Bernadi steps in like the rude, presumptuous asshole he is.

“I’ll carry her.”

He strides toward us, pushing his already rolled sleeves even further up his biceps. The urge to stare forces me to look away as I snap, “We would have managed just fine.”

He lifts Bambi like she’s a puff of air and turns slowly to rest his gaze on me. And now I can’t look away. It’s the same expression as the one I recall during those restless evenings lying alone in bed that I would never recount to another living soul.

Bronze eyes, heated gaze, unaffected .

Then he drags his gaze over me from the corners of my eyes to the painted nails of my toes and bites out, “You of all people shouldn’t be settling for ‘fine.’”

I’m too angry at his mere existence to decipher any meaning behind his words, but shamefully, they cause a ball of heat to bloom in my stomach before descending to a point between my legs.

I straighten my back and flatten my shoulders. There’s really only one thing for it. I need to stay as far away from this man as is humanly possible. Otherwise the only way out from beneath his dark stare is to murder him myself.