Naturally, Dario has a penthouse apartment in one of these high-rises.
The entire top floor.
The sheer scope of the 360-degree view from his palace in the sky is hard to take in properly. I keep turning in circles, watching the harbor, then the Seaport Boulevard, and then… It's too much.
“Bellissima,why don’t you sit down?” He’s shuffling through some papers with an intense expression.
I settle in the enormous living room that looks out over Boston Harbor, the late afternoon sun off the waves turns the water to glitter and calms me. The penthouse is decorated with modern pieces, sleek couches, and expensive electronics, but there are enough antique pieces here - like the eight-foot weathered farm table in the kitchen - to show he’s still connected to the rustic look of the Toscano Vineyards.
When he finally arranges enough meetings - or murders - whatever, for the next day, Dario pulls open the folding glass doors off the living room and gives me a devilish smile, holding out his hand.
“C’mere.”
Joining him outside on the deck, I suck in a deep breath. The salt tinge of the seawater, the savory scent of roasting meat, and wood smoke from someone’s fireplace, they create a wave of comfort nearly knocks me off my feet.
“You look like you’ve come home, Cora.” He was leaning against the railing, arms folded and watching me.
“It was never Boston that I hated,” I said, “just my life here. Who I was expected to be.”
“Yeah, but think how much fun you’re going to have as my wife,” he grins, “sticking it to your parents and doing what you want.”
I stifle a laugh, “I noticed that sticking it to my parents got top billing there.”
“Well,” he shrugs modestly, “it’s something we can enjoy together. It’s so important to have shared experiences when you’re building a happy marriage.”
This time I laugh, I can’t help it, both at his pleasing spitefulness and the hilarious concept that we were building anything here. He trapped me in this marriage. I will suck it up and hope my father doesn’t have me murdered or Santos doesn’t catch me and turn me into a sex slave, and eventually, Dario will get tired of me and I can disappear again.
Dario’s laughing too and damn him, it just makes him more attractive, his amber eyes twinkling and his full mouth stretched over even white teeth.
“Why don’t you change into something you can walk around in?” He’s eyeing the tight green dress he’d made me wear on the jet. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”
I’m sure I’ve met scores of gangsters with the never-ending flow of questionable people I’d been forced to entertain as Senator Thorne’s daughter, but admittedly, I don’t know a lot about how said gangsters live. If my new husband is any example, it’s a lot less pretentious than I thought.
We’re strolling down the street, passing the Institute of Contemporary Art, there’s music pouring from the courtyard and some new, goofy-looking youth installation that has kids racing around it, screaming with excitement. Dario’s changed into jeans that are outlining his ass perfectly and a tight black t-shirt. He is a walking billboard for coming over to the dark side.
Just to back up the dark side concept, we’re followed by two men, still in black suits. Looking over my shoulder, I ask Dario, “Um, I guess you’re not going for the low-key crime lord look?”
He laughs, but it’s less humorous this time. “Those men here are to protect you.”
It feels as if the light went out of the evening, like storm clouds over the sun.
Stopping, he looks down at me, “I will keep you safe. Can you trust me?”
I look down at his hands. His giant-ass mitts. They’re tan and scarred with long, nimble fingers. Competent hands. “I can try,” I said honestly.
Kissing me, he nips my earlobe and whispers, “Fair enough.”
“Where did you find that Thai place?” I said happily, lumbering along because I ate more than my body weight in chicken satay and Tom Yum Soup.
“Mrs. Suwan is second only to Martina at home when it comes to food,” he said, “when I eat her Kluay Kaek, I get hard instantly. I finally get what they mean about food and sex.”
He shocks me into laughing. “Oh, my god, is there any filter between your brain and your mouth, Dario? How do you not get in trouble in your high-level crime meetings with other men of evil?”
“You obviously didn’t get enough face time with Giovanni at our wedding,” he laughed, “trust me, I’m the charming one.”
“Really? That’s what we’re going with? I was thinking more loose cannon,” I said.
He stepped closer, making me look up at his towering self. “More… captivating.”
