“Arianna would be so proud.” She giggles. “Did you know she set Dimitri’s apartment on fire when she woke up and realized he married her against her will?”
I laugh. “These men should know by now not to mess with Pontrelli women.”
“They should. We’ve gotten ourselves quite the reputation.”
“Well, I’m about to add to it. Maximo will regret the day he forced this engagement ring onto my finger. Mark my words.”
“I believe you.” She’s quiet for a beat. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Remember, we’re stronger together, so keep me updated on everything that happens.”
I remove my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose. “I will. Actually… I could use some help brainstorming ways to make myself undesirable to him. Ideas?”
“I’m so happy you asked! I have plenty of ideas…”
We spend the next hour coming up with all sorts of wild ideas, which I jot down in a notebook. In the end, I have a ton of ideas to consider. But I also have to think about how he might retaliate. Am I willing to take the risk? An entirely indecent shiver coasts beneath my skin.
CHAPTER 18
Elena
In addition to texts and calls from my family members, my engagement has also drawn the attention of the other mafia wives. Mrs. Portia Rizzo sent me an invitation to lunch with the ladies the following day.
After spending far too long on figuring out how to hide this hickey, I dress in my best T-shirt, jeans, and jacket. My pink-framed glasses complete the look.
Once again, Maximo’s off doing whatever it is he does, and I’m left to my own devices. Ballsy of him, considering how I destroyed a bunch of his stuff just two days ago—which barely put a hiccup in his routine since all he had to do was make a phone call and a bunch of new suits were delivered that night. But also not surprising since he’s as arrogant as can be and probably thinks I’ll never cross him again for fear of his threats.
The thought of him spanking me sends heat radiating to forbidden places. That’s enough for me to heed his threat, at least for now. Things have already gone too far, and gotten out of control. I shouldn’t want him to touch me like that.
Then I recall how he egged me on, told me to do my worst, as if he might actually look forward to punishing me. Gosh, why does he sound like the villain-turned-love interest frommy book? Obviously, I’m delusional. Maximo’s a villain—end of story. There’s no happily ever after for us.
If only my lips would stop tingling every time I think about him. I’ve avoided him as much as possible because his mere presence hyper-sensitizes my skin. He’s fighting this war with an unfair advantage. Now that I have my game-plan in place, it’s only a matter of time before he surrenders. I need to be patient. And I need to make sure I’m never alone with him in a compromising position.
Maximo’s driver, Vincent, takes me to the restaurant. My bodyguard for the day, Niccolò, sits in the passenger seat. Besides their first names, I know nothing about them, they’re silent muscle, protection, and that’s it. Knowing Maximo, he’s probably forbidden them from speaking to me unless absolutely necessary.
We pull up in front of the restaurant and the soldier opens my door. He’s right on my heels as we enter the place.
As soon as I see the dazzling interior, my heart sinks. I gaze down at myself in jeans and T-shirt while everyone else in this place is wearing their Sunday best. I stick out like a sore thumb, so out of place that I inwardly cringe.
When Mrs. Rizzo invited me out for lunch, I expected a casual affair, instead I’m met with ladies who lunch in Manhattan.
Shit. I should have seen that coming. I’ve been gone from this world for too long.
“Elena, I’m so glad you could make it.” Mrs. Rizzo waves me over to her table where six other women are already seated. “Come sit next to me.”
I do as I’m told, offering a polite smile to those around us. As I really take them in, I want to groan. They’re all wearing designer dresses, their hair and makeup impeccable. I can’tbelieve this place let me in with my jeans and poorly concealed hickey. What must they think of me?
While not a single one of them mentions my appearance, I see the judgement in their eyes. Mrs. Rizzo is the only one who hides it well.
I don’t belong among them. That much is clear.
Which actually… that’sexactlywhat I’m trying to achieve, isn’t it? I’m not used to being the outcast, but that’s how I want Maximo to see me so he’ll end this stupid engagement. Maybe this is the perfect opportunity to get that ball rolling. Inspiration smacks me in the face. This is going to be a great lunch.
Mrs. Rizzo introduces the other women. I recognize Francesca, Enzo’s cousin, and the woman who believes she’ll end up married to Maximo. Her smile’s so fake it could be painted on.
Carmela Valente is a don’s wife, just like Mrs. Rizzo. The other four are capos’ wives and close friends of our hostess. As soon as that formality is out of the way, they carry on with their conversation as if I’m not even here.
Through lunch I purposefully do things that I’d previously never be caught dead doing: Slouching in my seat, spilling a glass of red wine across the table—that will stain their Chanel—and worst of all, Mama forgive me, chewing with my mouth open.
By the end, their polite façades have cracked wide open. Only Carmela’s sweet enough to say goodbye to me on her way out. The others hurry away as if I have the plague.
