The thought of that should seem distant as I'm driven through the Roman sunshine two thousand miles from home. It doesn't. Fear of what might happen sits behind my ribs, a weight no amount of wishful thinking can shift.
Marrying a man as powerful as Gabriele might be the only way I can save myself and convince Orlov going to war would be a mistake. I just have to pray he'll want me as his wife. I can't fuck this up.
"Is Gabriele sensitive about his scars?" I ask. "How should I act?"
"Act naturally," Niamh advises. "He won't care if you're shocked. He'll expect it."
"So it's as bad as people say?"
"No. It's not pretty but I've seen worse. His eye is a mess but he usually hides it."
"Okay." I've prepared myself for the worst and I'm determined not to react too badly. "And what is he like?"
She considers for a moment, no doubt deciding what she's prepared to share. As well as being business associates, she and Gabriele are friends. She made it clear from the start that she's in his corner and not mine.
"He's intelligent, fair, ambitious. He doesn't suffer fools." The corner of her mouth twists in a wry grin. "But you're no fool, are you, Katya?"
"No, I'm not." I've done foolish things in the past, but I'm far from stupid.
"You won't find him an easy man, Katya."
I shrug. "I'm used to difficult men."
"A difficult husband is a different thing entirely."
Something in her tone suggests she speaks from bitter experience.
"Is that why you didn't marry Tony Morganti?"
Her jaw clenches and I realize I've fucked up. I don't know her well enough to ask about her personal life. Before I can apologize for overstepping, she shakes her head.
"No, there were other reasons for that."
I nod and turn to look out of the window as we pull onto a quiet, tree-lined street. We drive up to a set of tall, wrought iron gates which swing open as we approach.
As the car winds slowly up the long driveway, I notice several armed men patrolling the perimeter. That's somethingI'm used to, having grown up in a heavily fortified mansion in St. Petersburg. The vastness of the estate is also familiar.
What's different, however, is the sparseness. There's grass and a few trees, but there's no color anywhere, no flowers. There's nothing ornamental like a fountain or an arbor as far as I can see. The gardens are functional, a space to create distance between the house and the rest of the world, but I don't get a sense that anyone enjoys the place.
There’s no sound, not even birdsong. The place is shrouded in a funereal silence. It’s a shame. I love to sit in the garden with a glass of wine on a sunny evening, listening to the birds chattering.
I can’t help wondering about the man who lives here. Is he as bleak as his environment suggests?”
As we draw to a stop at the front door of the house, my stomach tightens. I breathe in and out slowly and the tension eases.
A man opens my door and offers me his hand. He's tall with jet black hair and piercing green eyes. He's pretty rather than handsome. Dressed in a beautifully tailored suit to fit his broad chest and long limbs, he carries himself with an air of confidence that tells me he's important. Gabriele's consigliere, perhaps?
I take his hand and let him help me from the car.
"I'm Lukas," he introduces himself, thankfully in English. "I'll take you to Gabriele."
He closes my door and the car moves off. My heart lurches.
"Isn't Niamh coming?"
"Do you need her to?"
Though I would probably feel safer with a familiar face in the room, this is something I should do alone.
