I wish Doc was here. Whenever I have a bad dream, he gets me to draw a picture of it and then he stabs it over and over with his butterfly knife, tearing it to shreds as he yells,get the fuck away from my woman.
A crazy ritual, but it usually makes me laugh and always makes me feel better.
I wander toward my gilt-edged mirror and pick up a discarded lipstick, a pale pink that doesn’t really suit me, but it would look perfect on Emilia, Mr. Parker’s redheaded girlfriend.
I’ve only met her once, but I think of her as a kind of shadow twin. I was supposed to live under Mr. Parker’s heel, but the Velvet House boys kidnapped me at our wedding and made me their own. Now, Emilia is the one who lives with Mr. Parker, satisfying his sexual needs and listening to his ramblings.
I wonder who Emilia was before she came to him, what she dreams of, what food she likes. More than anything I want to rescue her, get her away from Mr. Parker. But it’s impossible. When I confided my fears in Bobby, he reminded me that the Bianchi contract goes both ways. Mr. Parker would be killed for messing with Velvet House, but I’d be killed for messing with Mr. Parker. And kidnapping would definitely fall under the category of messing with Mr. Parker.
“You have to hope she leaves him,” Bobby says. “He’s going to marry someone else, maybe she’ll be let go.”
I wanted to believe him, but I know it’s not true. I saw the look in Mr. Parker’s eyes when he was making Emilia go down on him in his limo. He thinks he owns her, and he’ll want to keep owning her no matter who he marries.
A wave of helplessness washes over me, a sadness only one thing can cure. I put down the lipstick and practically run downstairs to my cleaning cupboard. I pull out rubber gloves, a bucket, cream cleaner, and a package of fresh sponges. I fill the bucket with warm water, lace it with cleaner and then make my way to the dusty Morelli ballroom. I focus on an old fireplace and as I run my sponge through the grey dust and coal, the red and gold panelled wood beneath starts to shine.
When in doubt, clean it out.
It’s a little mantra I’ve given myself in the past year as I’ve slowly but surely worked my way through the whole Velvet House mansion. The boys were worried all my housework was OCD or some kind of traumatic response to being double kidnapped, and maybe it is, but it also works. When I step back and see something that was once full of cobwebs all gleaming and lovely, I feel a huge rush of pride. It’s tangible proof that I changed something. Made it better.
I wipe until my bucket of water is filthy, then I tip it out, refill it and start again. By the third bucket, I feel calm, by the fifth, I’m singing Dolly Parton. When the seventh bucket comes around, I imagine Zia Teresa. She’s smiling at me, proud of the way I’m handling myself.
That’s another reason why I like cleaning, it always makes Zia feel close. Of course, thinking about her brings me right back to Mr. Parker. He had her killed out of spite a year ago, robbing me of the only real mother figure I’d ever known.
I do a swift sign of the cross to Zia’s memory and wonder how she’d feel about where I am now. The cleaning she would approve of but my four boyfriends? The working in a strip club? The singing at a mafioso’s wedding?
“Hello, my ruby.”
I turn to see Eli lounging against the ballroom doorframe, looking perfectly elegant in a white linen shirt.
I hurriedly wipe my rubber gloves down my sides, as though that might make me more presentable. “Good afternoon, Mr. Morelli.”
“Afternoon,” he says, looking amused. “Have you been down here all day?”
“I… I guess so.” I turn and see I’ve cleaned out a huge space. The whole fireplace and most of the surrounding walls and floor. “Wow, I’ve really been working.”
“You have.” Eli swaggers forward, his wingtips clicking on the dusty ballroom floor. “You know I try my hardest to spoil you, Miss Whitehall, but whenever I turn my back, I find you toiling on my floors like a servant girl.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. What an interesting woman you are.”
I peel off my gloves. “You know cleaning relaxes me.”
“It’soneof the things that relaxes you,” Eli corrects with a wolfish smile.
I feel myself blush.
“Come mai il mio angioletto pulisce così tanto oggio?” he asks.And why is my little angel cleaning so thoroughly today?
Eli is speaking Italian to me more and more. He says it’s because I sound sexy when I reply but a part of me thinks it’s because it reminds him of his childhood in Naples. Either way, I’m happy to go along with it and my Italian has improved a lot.
“Avevo solamente bisogno di calmarmi dopo aver visto la mia matrigna,” I say.I just needed to calm down after seeing my stepmom.
Eli’s smile remains but his dark brown eyes take on a cold gleam. “Bella, I apologize a hundred times for what happened at Dreams and the news about the wedding. Never did I think you would be put in this position. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I fold my used rubber gloves over and place them on the floor. Coming from Eli it’s an extravagant apology. Usually, he’s very businesslike and tends to downplay accidents and mistakes rather than cause panic. That he’s being so nice makes my nerves spike all over again.
“January?” Eli prompts.
