It’s not how I remember it. It’s been completely redecorated. The dull wallpaper and dark wood paneling have been replaced as has the old carpet with the crown pattern. In its place are light-colored walls and varnished hardwood floors, and all the doors have been sanded and stained a brighter color. The ornate chandeliers overhead are the same, as is the sweeping double staircase we passed a couple of minutes ago. It too has been sanded a lighter color, and the creepy old family paintings have been replaced with modern artwork.
The butler leads us outside to a vast stone patio situated in front of a large pool. Beyond the pool lies an exquisite rose garden I’m sure wasn’t there before. To the right of it is a greenhouse and what appears to be a vegetable garden. On the left is the orchard I remember.
Carlo used to let me loose out here sometimes, when his family wasn’t around, purely to taunt me. He would give me ten minutes to escape, before he’d hunt me down. It was cruel because there was no way I was ever getting off these vast grounds, but every time he started the game, I played it. Pushing my weak limbs as fast as they would go as I raced through the orchard toward the driveway and the illusive promise of freedom.
Massimo squeezes my hand as we walk toward his mother, and I snap out of my head. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beating down upon us, casting shimmery rays over the crystal clear water of the pool. Floral scents waft through the air mixing with fragrant pungent fruity smells. The aroma of freshly baked bread has my mouth watering and my tummy rumbling. I couldn’t stomach any food before we left, but now I need sustenance to give me the strength to survive this ordeal.
Massimo’s mother stands as we approach, smiling nervously as she clutches a napkin in her hands. The circular table is shaded from the hot August sun by a wide umbrella. It’s set for lunch, and a bottle of champagne is chilling in an ice bucket at the side. Massimo lets go of me to hug his mother, kissing both her cheeks. “You look good, Mama. Well rested.”
She smiles softly, her gaze adoring as she stares up at her son. She looks so petite, fragile, and thin against her strong, sturdy son. Massimo reaches for my hand, tugging me back into his side. “Catarina baked you an apple cake,” he says, encouraging me with his eyes.
I force a fake smile on my face as I pass the box to a woman who had the power to save me yet did nothing. “I hope you like it. It was my father’s favorite.” That’s no lie. Natalia Mazzone used to bake it for him. He liked it so much he asked her for the recipe to give to my mother. Their marriage was already on shaky ground by then, and my mother was not predisposed to do anything nice for her husband. So, I was the one who baked him the cake. Every Saturday for months before I was kidnapped.
She pries the lid off and inhales the cake. “It smells delicious. Thank you.” Her voice is soft and timid like her smile.
“You’re welcome.”
Lifting her head, she inspects my face with an intensity that scares me a little. I hold my ground, keeping a smile plastered on my face. “It looks like marriage is agreeing with you,” she finally says, after a few beats of tense silence.
“It is,” I truthfully reply, glancing up at Massimo. “Your son is definitely growing on me.”
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Catarina
“Is Gabe joining us?” Massimo asks as he pulls out a chair for me to sit.
His mother shakes her head. “He is furniture shopping for his new home.” A veil of sadness washes over her features.
“Massimo explained that Gabe is moving out. I’m sure you will miss him,” I say as a young woman dressed in a white uniform pours three glasses of champagne.
“I will,” she quietly replies, looking to Massimo as the woman hands her a flute. Massimo subtly nods, and I wonder what that is about.
“It must get lonely in this big house all by yourself,” I add, wanting to draw this woman into conversation. I want to get a read on her. I smile at the young woman as she hands me a flute, mouthing “thank you.” I hate being waited on by servants, but it’s something I’ve had to get used to. All the importantmafiosofamilies have a host of staff to attend to their every whim.
“It does but it’s not like I have a choice. This is my sons’ ancestral home. It’s been in the Greco family for generations.”
Massimo frowns, setting his flute down. “You don’t have to live here, Mama. We can find you a smaller place if you like.”
“What would you do with the house?” She leans back as another woman sets a plate down in front of her.
Massimo shrugs, nodding as the woman sets a plate of chicken salad in front of him. “We can burn it, for all I care.”
“Massimo!” She gasps. “You don’t mean that!”
“I haven’t given it much consideration, but let’s get real, Ma. This house holds no happy memories for you, me, or Gabe. Why should we hold on to it?”
The two women retreat inside after ensuring we have everything we need.
“It’s the done thing,” she quietly replies, looking down at her lap.
“We could tear it down and rebuild a new house. One to your specifications. That way you don’t have to lose access to your gardens.” My husband turns to me as I cut up pieces of my chargrilled chicken. “Mama is an avid gardener.” He sweeps his hand in the direction of the gardens behind the pool. “Practically everything you see there was planted by her.”
“It’s very impressive,” I admit.
“Thank you.” She peeks at me from behind thin lashes. “It was my one indulgence after my husband died.”
I don’t miss how Massimo’s jaw tenses at the mention of his father. “Maximo wouldn’t let Mama tend to the gardens when he was alive,” he explains, angrily cutting up his chicken. “He said it was beneath her to do work the help was paid to do.”
