Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
If Francesca is surprised to see Nonna Isadora, she doesn’t show it.
Nonna Isadora waves the monogrammed white handkerchief in her hand and all the servants quickly stream out of the room. When we are alone with her Nonna Isadora’s eagle gaze narrows on me.
I move forward and lightly kiss her veiled powdered cheeks. Ever since I can remember she has smelled the same. A special lavender and rose fragrance that she orders four times a year from Tuscany.
“Ciao, Nonna.”
“You raised a gun to Matteo?” Her voice is a husky whisper.
“Yes. He disrespected me.”
From the corner of my eyes, I see Francesca looking at me with shock, but the shriveled woman in the hard chair nods.
“That boy is as senseless as a rampaging bull, and I’m sometimes tempted to shoot him myself, but I detest attending the funerals of my own family.”
Her tone is mild, but the message is clear. We are blood, and our very survival depends on our unbreakable bond of trust and loyalty to each other. It is the iron-clad rule that made our family the undisputable winner in this business. No one outside the family is allowed in, and we don’t cultivate made men. My great-grandfather understood that they were always the first ones to turn and bite the hand that feeds.
Even spouses were only given positions of lesser importance. Their children were considered blood, but they themselves were not blood and hence could never be fully trusted. It is the rule by which I used to operate too, but where Francesca is concerned, it is I who have become the senseless rampaging bull. Even now my blood boils at the thought of that little prick thinking he could use my wife as bait. Fool.
Having made her point, Nonna turns her attention to Francesca and scrutinizes her.
“You’re too small, child,” she grumbles. “How will you manage my great-grandson and bear him many sons?”
“You of all people, should know that you can’t judge a person by their appearance,” Francesca quips sweetly.
I almost laugh at the flare in Nonna’s eyes, but a moment later, she laughs, a dry hoarse sound. People shiver at that sound, but Francesca smiles innocently at her.
“Come and kiss me,” she commands.
Francesca hesitates, then walks up to her, and tentatively kisses her cheeks. Nonna Isadora’s thin claw-like hand reaches out of her voluminous black sleeve and closes over Francesca’s hand. “I like you.”
Francesca’s eyes widen with surprise, and she glances at me uncertainly.
I shrug, masking my smile.
“That’s good,” she murmurs. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you finally.”
Nonna’s cunning eyes gleam. “I’ve heard a little about you, too. I hear you hated your father as much as I did. Is it really true you hated him so much you refused to spend a dime of his tainted money from the time you turned eighteen?”
Frances glances at me before saying, “Yes.”
I frown. Is that why she is returning the stuff she bought in Paris? Because she hates me that much?
“I also heard,” Nonna continues, “that you believe your husband is like your father. If there is one thing I can say with certainty, child, it is this. Your husband is nothing like your father.”
Francesca glances at me again, a strange speculative expression in her eyes. “You’re that sure?”
Nonna Isadora smiles. “Absolutely. You can take my word for it. Now go join the party. I won’t be able to attend, but do come and see me before you leave.”
Chapter Fifteen
FRANCESCA
Castillo Dimora is the perfect home for a formidable woman like Nonna Isadora. Ancient and full of dark secrets. If these gray stone walls could talk…
Valentino and I pass through the grand hall with thick dark beams in the ceiling and a truly massive fireplace. Centuries ago, I imagine a whole pig on a spit would have been roasted in it. I can hear the party music flowing in through the open doors, and my body screams to run the other way. I am not in the mood to socialize, especially after I found out that Valentino pointed a gun at Matteo, a sweet man more harmless than a fly.
At the airport yesterday he was funny and genuinely warm. What could have happened within a few hours that warranted Valentino threatening his own cousin with a gun? And all the while, poor Freya was in my room, trying to make me comfortable and welcome. I wonder what she must think of me now.
Despite what Nonna Isadora said, my husband is turning out to be exactly like my father.
I try to pull away from him, but he holds me tightly to his side.
He is a killer. How could I have forgotten so quickly? He probably kills as easily as I breathe and represents the dark path of life that I never wanted for myself. It’s a terrible thing to confess to, but I’m tired of lying about my desires and feelings. The unpalatable and unvarnished truth is: I’m so horribly attracted to him. I’m like a moth to a flame. My wings are getting singed and turned to ashes, but I cannot stop moving closer and closer to him even if it means my own destruction.