MARLENA
Francisco helps me out of the car and then immediately disappears. I see him throw an arm over his brother’s shoulder as they walk behind the house. I guess they’re going to talk business. I already said I didn’t want to know anything about what Francisco does, and I’m sticking to that.
I watch as the driver pulls bags out of the trunk, one after another. I hadn’t realized how many bags I had until just now. There are three from our American shopping trip and three from Italy. In addition, there are a number of souvenirs Francisco brought, things to decorate our house with.
Ourhouse.
It feels funny thinking about Francisco’s mansion that way. I gaze up at its austere walls. The windows cutting edge, which are bulletproof. It’s so fancy for someone like me. I’m used to smaller apartments, the kind with only one or two bedrooms.
Growing up, we were constantly on the move. Now that I know about my father’s business, it makes sense. At the time,I thought that was how everyone lived. There were times when we shared a hotel room, all three of us. There were also times when we had more stability and my father was able to rent an apartment or a house.
But I’ve never had the kind of real estate footprint that Francisco owns. I decide I’d like to explore. I’ve been nearly everywhere inside the house, but I’m sure there are things I haven’t discovered. What treasures might be waiting in the attic or in the little side room off the kitchen? What kinds of flowers are growing in the greenhouse and in the gardens? I’m dying to know.
I stop myself cold, glancing up at my new home. Brandon is missing. I can’t believe I almost forgot. I feel guilty for seeking pleasure with my new husband while my brother’s in danger. I should be focusing all my attention on getting him back.
I glance around and find that there are at least three men watching me. Most of the soldiers from Carmine’s family—myfamily—are already inside. But my bodyguard and two other dangerous-looking individuals are waiting for me to go in first.
I guess Francisco increased the number of people taking care of me. I’m not sure whether to appreciate the gesture or disapprove. It feels like this house is safe enough. I don’t think I need three dedicated guards.
But no one is going to pay attention to my opinion. They have their orders. I step up to the door, pleased when one of Francisco’s men holds it open for me. I could get used to this.
Inside, it’s significantly less bright, and I have to blink a few times before my eyes adjust. Frankie is there, standing rightbeside the staircase, looking at me like he’s seen a roach. His scowl is deeply personal, and I’m taken aback.
Is he waiting for me? Does he have a certain agenda? Or did I catch him in the act of going back upstairs to his suite?
“Hello,” I say, trying to be cheerful.
He shakes his head, not even bothering to address me. I look around for my bodyguards, but they’ve abandoned me now that I’m inside the house. The driver moves past me, his arms full of luggage. He mounts the steps without a word.
I can hear Carmine’s army in the kitchen and the living room. It didn’t take them long to find the television or the fridge. I feel incredibly awkward standing opposite Francisco’s son. I don’t know what to do or to say to make things right.
“Do you hate me?” I ask, opting for the direct path.
“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I’m disgusted. How could you marry a man as old as my father?”
I swallow my guilt. I’m too worried about Brandon, and too flustered from my sexual encounter in the limo to fight back. I knew Frankie was attracted to me. He made that clear the first day we met. How can I explain that I was looking for someone more mature? That the age difference between me and Francisco doesn’t bother me, and that I really like him as a human being?
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I begin. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he scoffs. “I just think you’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Your father is a kind man,” I tell him.
He laughs brutally, crossing his arms over his chest. “That only proves that you don’t know him at all.”
“He cares about you,” I snap. “And he cares about me. I understand he may do some things we don’t like, but that doesn’t change who he is.”
“Wrong,” Frankie declares. “But what do you know? You’re just a gold-digger.”
I feel tears well up in my eyes, and I’m too shocked to respond. Is that what he really thinks of me? That I would promise my life to someone based solely on money? I may not be the most respectable person in the world, but I have my pride.
“I hope we can be civil,” I say.
“Yeah, right,” he rejects my olive branch, turning around to head up the stairs.
“Frankie!” I call after him.
“What?” he demands, stopping halfway up the stairs to wait for me.
