I’m feeling more than a little salty with my mother. First, she abandons me at that school, then she stands by while my father slaps me, andthencalls me a childish name in front of Tommaso.
He hasn’t looked away from me, and heat flushes my cheeks. It must make my stinging cheek redder because his eyes harden. He’s morphing back into that terrifying version, but somehow, no fear leaps forth within me.
He offers me his elbow, like a perfect gentleman, instead of the violent and ruthless mafioso he’s rumored to be. “Please join us.”
Panic rolls off my mother in waves. “She can’t join us looking like that.”
Tommaso’s dark brows pull together. “Why the hell not?”
My mother sputters, and my father clears his throat.
“I’d rather not,” I say. “I had a long flight.”
“Yes, dear.” Father straightens his suit jacket. “Why are you here already? I was sending a plane for you tomorrow.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It was no doubt Tommaso’s plane he was sending.
Tommaso’s lips twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile and can read my mind.
“I was in a hurry to get home,” I lie smoothly.
“Well, I hope the first-class flight was comfortable.” It’s like my father is trying to impress Tommaso with how much money we have, when this man is probably richer than God.
My father would lose it if he knew I flew coach and took abusto the airport.
“Run upstairs and freshen up.” The look he gives me pointedly tells me to make sure I look like the version of what Santa Elisabetta promised to mold me into and that they paid through the nose for.
“That’s really not necessary,” Tommaso insists.
I inwardly sigh, knowing I’m not getting out of this, even though jetlag is going to kick my ass soon. “I would like a moment to freshen up.”
My words seem to kill any further insistence from Tommaso, and he nods, stepping back. Then he says in a hard, cold voice, “Davide, a word.”
His clipped steps across the marble floor echo in the foyer as Davide—who I had forgotten was there—pales, watching his retreating back. “Now, Davide.”
Tommaso doesn’t need to raise his voice or look back at him. Davide jumps, dropping my small suitcase, and hurries after him.
My father grips my wrist and says tightly in my ear, “Look your fucking best.”
Then he takes my mother and drags her back to wherever the guests are, and she flashes an apologetic smile over her shoulder before they disappear through the arched doorway.
Sighing heavily, ignoring my fatigue and my aching cheek from my father’s slap, I pick up my suitcase and carry it up the stairs.
I have no idea where the bedrooms are or which one is mine, but I guess I’ll figure it out all on my own…just like everything else in my life.
Chapter 3
Tommaso
Ten minutes earlier
“Whatdoyouthinkthey’re conspiring about?” Marco asks quietly and nods toward the group in the corner, taking their time getting a drink. “I don’t like how Caruso is so chummy with the Pisani family.”
I agree. Franco Caruso is small fish and low on the food chain to be hosting not just me, the head of this territory, but the Don and his heir of the ‘Ndrangheta’s founding family.
Vincenzo throws his head back at something his father says, and his booming laugh fills the room. His eyes meet mine, and he lifts his wineglass to me. Dipping my chin and lifting my bourbon, I acknowledge him back.
We’re roughly the same age, but we’re very different men. He prefers to lead like his father, Emanuele, issuing orders and letting his underlings do all the work. He’s a tall, broad man likeme; however, his love of rich food and wine will eventually catch up with him if he’s not careful.
