Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Which is why you’ll spend the rest of the time during Angelina’s confinement in Tuscany.” He looks up at Santo. “You’ll take her, Santo?”
Santo nods. “Of course.” He knows it isn’t a question, but a command phrased politely.
Romeo looks back to Marialena. “You have one hour.”
“Romeo.” Marialena’s face blanches. “No, I can’t —”
“You can and will,” he says with an air of final authority that we all know is immovable. “One hour, Marialena. One more word from you, and we leave now.” He turns to Rosa. “Will you question this as well?”
Santo speaks up. “You know she won’t, Rome.”
Rosa shakes her head. “No. I trust you.”
She has opinions of her own, as she should, but she’s not one to question authority or to upset things as they are. She’s grown jaded to the ways of The Family while Marialena still holds a candle for justice.
Marialena mutters under her breath as she stomps upstairs to pack.
Romeo turns to me. “Where are you taking Angelina?”
“The library.”
He nods, giving us permission. “Go.”
When we enter the library, so quiet, so removed from every other part of the house, Angelina sighs.
“Ugh, I feel terrible about this. Terrible. I can’t believe Marialena’s being sent away because of me.” She slumps into a chair and closes her eyes as if to staunch the flow of emotion.
I shrug. “It’s not because of you. She took that on herself. And believe me when I tell you, she’s hardly imprisoned in Tuscany.” She’s got friends galore, an entire suite to herself, and even a part-time job at the Tuscan springs. “She doesn’t want to go because he’s making her, not because she dislikes it.” I wave my hand at the tables, chairs, and books that fill the library. She opens her eyes. “Now go. Find something to read.”
I busy myself doing business on my phone. I hear insistent voices down the hall, rising and falling, and put my phone down to listen harder. The dogs bark to warn us that guests have arrived. From the library, I can’t see anything.
I wonder who it is. Guests rarely come here unbidden.
Romeo calls me.
“Yeah?”
“Get over here, Orlando. Regazza’s come.”
CHAPTER 17
“Journeys end in lovers meeting.” ~Twelfth Night, Shakespeare
Angelina
“Regazza?” Orlando scowls, staring at me but not seeing me.
I’m on my feet, my fists by my sides.
Elise Regazza? Did she make it here after all?
What did I think would happen, that she’d show up and we’d have a welcome party? She betrayed this family right along with me, and we both are suffering the effects of that choice. Only I have a talisman with the child I carry.
Elise has no such luck. They’ll kill her when they see her.
Orlando makes a gesture for me to sit, but I couldn’t sit now if he held a gun to my head. I shake my head at him, frantic, and take a step toward him.
“Just a minute, Romeo,” he says. With a scowl, he puts the phone on mute and places it in his pocket. He grabs my arm, swings his out in an arc, and cracks his hand against my ass. “Sit your ass down. It’s never been more crucial for you to do exactly what I fucking say. Sit. Down.” He punctuates each word with another stinging slap of his palm.
Should’ve gotten the doctor to lie to him and tell him to be more careful with a pregnant woman. Jesus.
I sit on my stinging ass, my heartbeat skipping erratically.
“I’ll be right down.”
He hangs up the call and faces me.
“What the fuck came over you just now?” He stands wearing a T-shirt and jeans, his feet apart and planted in his boots, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes him scarier than I’ve ever seen him. “You’ve been a model fucking prisoner and now you openly defy me? You saw what happened to Marialena just now.”
When he takes a step toward me, my pulse races. “Is she here? Elise?”
It would be the biggest mistake of all if she showed up here openly. My coming here and taking her place would’ve been in vain, if she isn’t safe, if I didn’t protect her.
Orlando shakes his head. “You thought when I said Regazza I meant your friend? No. It isn’t her.” He curses in Italian, faint splotches of red coloring his cheeks. “It’s her fucking father.”
Some might say Romeo’s a scary Don, and I’m sure if I heard stories of what he’s done, I might agree. And he is scary. He basically issued an edict for his sister’s exile from the country for questioning his choices, and I know he’s no stranger to murder. He scares me. I have a feeling a good discussion with Orlando about what Romeo’s done would only make that worse.
But he’s nothing like Elise’s father.
I spent my days as a child with Elise in the Catholic Church, attending every sacrament with her and her father as if he wasn’t a full-fledged criminal. We went to mass every Sunday. And I distinctly remember one sermon the pastor gave about Satan and his wicked ways. I stared at the statue of St. Michael, his beautiful wings on full display as he raised his sword and crushed the demon under his foot. I imagined myself under his protection, but that isn’t why I think of him now.