“Their grandmother had lost her only child and her husband within eighteen months of each other. My girls give her purpose, and she draws great comfort from raising them. It was the best solution.”
“I see.” I don’t. How can his children behis everythingwhen he gives the two youngest away? Ferraro is old school. I’m betting if they were sons they’d be living here.
“What’s that?” I ask, stopping in front of a window that faces onto the rear of the property. Rows of tilled land sit behind a low wooden fence in front of a large greenhouse.
“That’s Valentina’s vegetable patch.”
“It’s very impressive.” It’s bigger than any vegetable patch I’ve ever seen, including the one at the Mazzone estate that Natalia Messina cultivated.
“She planted it when she first came here. It made her happy, so I let her get on with it.”
I very much doubt that.
“Come.” He lifts one shoulder. “It’s time for dinner.”
The dining table is already set for dinner when we enter the grand room. This room is sumptuous and relatively recently renovated by the looks of it. Thick red velvet curtains drape the windows, offering views of the other side of the rear gardens. Someone—Valentina, I guess—has been maintaining the lawn, and gardening tools and a mat lie on the grass before one of the circular flowerbeds. The old mahogany table glistens under a coat of new varnish, and there isn’t a mark on it, but it’s clearly a family heirloom. The highbacked seats have also been repaired and reupholstered along with most all the dark furniture in the room. Overhead, the stunning chandelier is magnificent, bathing the room in bright light. New rugs and soft furnishings finish the look. It’s still very traditional even with the few more modern pieces.
I take a seat as instructed to the left of Dominic who is, of course, sitting at the top of the table. Cesco arrives then, greeting us both pleasantly as he sits beside his father on the other side. The door behind the table opens, and Valentina appears, looking stressed and hot. Her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head, and wispy strands cling to her damp brow. Her cheeks are red, and the muscles in her arms flex as she carries a large, heavy, lidded silver container to the table. I get up to help her when it’s obvious neither her husband nor stepson are going to, lifting the container and placing it on the middle of the table.
“Sit down,” Dominic commands when I move to go after his wife. “You’re our guest. Valentina knows what she’s doing.”
“That thing weighs a ton, and I’m helping her.” I don’t give him any option, pushing through the door into the old kitchen. The double stove is new, as are some of the pots and pans, and the chunky wooden cabinets have been repainted, but most everything looks like a throwback to the last century. Delicious aromas swirl through the air as a harassed Valentina looks over her shoulder at me.
“You shouldn’t be here. He’ll get angry.”
“Do I look like I give a flying fuck?” I stride toward her, plucking a large lidded platter from her hands.
“You should. He’ll consider it an insult.”
I arch a brow and grin. “Again? Do I look like I care?”
“You must have a death wish.” She lifts another smaller silver container, but it still looks heavy.
“Leave it. I’ll carry them in. You get the plates.”
“I’m not as weak as you seem to think I am.” Pointedly ignoring me, she lifts the container and stomps off.
Stubborn woman.
“You’re injured.”
She scoffs, turning to face me when she reaches the door. “I have a tiny cut on my foot. I’m hardly incapacitated. I do this every week. I’m more than capable,” she says, pushing through the door using her full body weight.
Dominic and his son pause mid-sentence, and I’m guessing they were discussing me. How flattering.
Valentina and I ferry silver containers back and forth until everything is laid out on the table. Valentina removes the lids, and my mouth waters at the multitude of different vegetables and meats before us. It seems like an excessive amount of food for only four people. I bite my tongue as Valentina serves slices of succulent beef and lamb onto each of our plates before taking her seat beside Cesco, across the table from me. We help ourselves to roast potatoes, creamy mashed sweet potatoes, cheesy cauliflower, broccoli with bacon and almond flakes, honeyed carrots, and plain green beans. A delicious rich gravy, which Valentina confirms she made herself, accompanies the meal.
She’s a tremendous cook, and everything is delicious.
Conversation is largely focused on business as we talk in between eating. Valentina is quiet but tense. Every so often, she squirms a little in her chair, and her face turns pale. My attention narrows on her stepson. Cesco smiles affably, but I don’t trust it.
“Excuse me!” Valentina hops up abruptly, her chair screeching across the floor. “I need the bathroom.” She all but runs from the room. I keep my focus trained on Cesco as he laughs and jokes with his father, not trusting him for a second.
By the time Valentina returns, we’ve all finished eating. Dominic isn’t happy she’s been gone so long, but he doesn’t say anything. I imagine my presence has stalled his scathing tongue.
“That was delicious, thanks, Valentina,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” Her meek voice and timid smile aggravate me. This isn’t who she is.What the fuck is going on in this house, and what has her husband done to make her act so subservient?
