After Antonella called the truce, I listened outside his office door and any room he would go into to all the terrible things he’d say. How she disgraced the family, how she’d be better off dead, how he should milk the Cavanaghs for every penny they’re worth, and how I’d better not be learning any of Antonella’s headstrong ways. The threats against Valor and Kerrianne were unrepeatable. The words he used were ugly and hateful. I don’t think the threats he made, although in anger, were empty.
If I thought there was a way I could be with Royal and not put his life in jeopardy, then maybe I’d give it more thought. But truce or not, if Royal gets between Dad and the deal he cut with Steffano, then there will be bloodshed.
I can’t put Royal’s life in danger like that.
But a little fantasy about it while packing can’t hurt.I pull thesweater that smells like him back up to my nose. Long deep breaths, and I pretend I’m packing to go back to Barrington rather than the Italian Alps.
What is your life when you’d trade châteaus in the Alps for mansions in the suburbs?
44
LETICIA
ITALIAN ALPS
The private jettouches down on the tarmac, and I’m green... again.
I rush to the jet’s bathroom before the plane even comes to a stop and manage to hurl in the toilet.I fucking hate flying. Every single time: take off, landing, turbulence — my stomach decides it’s not happy.
“Leticia?” Berto calls, and I rinse my mouth out using a bottle of water I left in here the last time.
“Coming.” I straighten my shirt and smooth my hair before opening the door.
When I step out of the bathroom, Berto is waiting for me. Arms crossed over his chest, he’s in a crisp, clean new suit. It fits him much better than the ones tailored in Chicago. Clearly, it was purchased during the time he’s been in Italy.
“Thought you ran away when I came in and saw just your purse. Should have known you were throwing up.” Berto looks me over, pity in his eyes. “Every time, really?”
“It’s called motion sickness,” I grumble and pick my purse up out of the chair next to where I was sitting.
“You’re just in time. Engagement party today, doing a brunch mixer at a restaurant in town. Mom’s already picked out flowers for your wedding, but they want to go into Milan to try on wedding dresses later this week.”
There’s no ‘it’s good to see you’ or ‘I’ve missed you,’ and there never will be. But giving me the lowdown on the chaos my mother has already been stirring is, in his own way, showing he cares.
“And Dad?”
I wait for Berto to go down the stairs of the jet before me. I follow him, and then he offers me a hand for the last step.
“Dad is extremely pleased with this deal. I really like having you as a little sister. Be a good wife to Steffano and don’t fuck it up,” Berto mumbles, and I realize why.
Standing a few yards away by two luxury cars are Dad and Steffano. My stomach lurches, and I place my hand in front of it.Please behave, don’t vomit on his shoes.
I’ve seen Steffano, and his previous wives, in passing before. He’s always given me that snake-oil-salesman vibe. Sleazy and fake. But most of Dad’s friends are that way. There’s been no differentiation.
The information I could find on his wives revealed two very different women. One was subservient and meek. She looked like someone was going to hit her at any moment. The other was fiery and fought with him in public.
Two things Mafia men don’t like. Women who show fear and women who show too much courage. I guess neither of Steffano’s late wives passed for perfect, and now they’re gone.
I’ll do whatever I can to split the difference between the two. Like Berto said,don’t fuck it up.
Berto leads me over for the formal introduction.
“Steffano Bianchi, I present to you my daughter, Leticia Alexandra.” Dad sounds so pompous and arrogant. He takes my hand away from my stomach and offers it to Steffano.
I dread Steffano’s touch. The second between Dad raising my hand and Steffano taking it moves too quickly. I can’t pull my hand away in time. Steffano grips it, almost politely at first, as he raises it to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
Our eyes meet. His are a deep dark shade of brown, nearly black, that eats at my flesh, gnawing to the bone.
If that was where it ended, I’d be fine, but then he turns my wrist over and kisses the inner part like Royal did. It’s too much likethose moments that I claimed for myself. The special piece of me I gave to Royal. And I can’t help but pull away.
