Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Marriage.
The chances of me marrying anyone who would be faithful to me… who would really love me… are between slim and none. I’d be better off planning the life of a spinster, which doesn’t really sound half bad to me…
“It might be the only way,” Romeo says, stroking his chin.
He turns to Tavi. “Ottavio, I want you and Orlando to pull in all the resources you can find and compile a list of eligible men we might consider for her to marry.”
“Hello!” I finally speak up, my momentary meekness forgotten. “You’re talking as if I’m not right here.”
“We don’t have time, Lena,” Mario says earnestly. “You’re in mortal danger, sister.”
Mortal danger? My brother doesn’t use such terms lightly. He’s not prone to dramatics or exaggeration. If anything, he’s the one most likely to brush things off.
My stomach roils with nerves.
Mortal danger?
Outside the window of Romeo’s office, I hear the sound of cars approaching the newly procured security gates out front. My stomach lurches.
Could be anyone. Delivery, my sister Rosa or Mama returning from an errand, one of the nannies come to watch one of the children.
Romeo jumps to his feet and looks out the window, then curses under his breath as every guard we have stands at attention at the gate. I peer over Romeo’s shoulder to see not one, but three heavy black SUVs lined up at the gate just as Romeo’s phone chimes.
This is not good.
The sense of foreboding grows in my belly. Mario closes his eyes and mutters under his breath. Orlando swears to himself in Italian. Gloria meets my eyes across the room, frantic and wide.
And I know before they tell me.
It’s him. He’s come. I’ve hardly processed what’s happened and he’s already shown up at my doorstep.
Romeo puts the phone on speaker.
“Salvatore Capo asks for an audience, boss,” the guard says.
No.
Already? Did he follow us here? Maybe stopped for a cup of coffee to give us time to sweat it out? God!
Romeo’s lips thin. He draws in a shaky breath, then releases it. “He may enter with the occupants of his car alone. The others wait outside the gate.”
There’s a momentary pause, and then more muffled voices. Romeo looks at me before he takes the phone off speaker and puts it up to his ear. My brother pales when the voice on the other end speaks again.
I’ve… never seen Romeo so pale. It feels as if the sun stopped shining, or the moon has gone away. As if something in my world is off-kilter.
“Yes,” he says in a defeated tone. “Then they may come, too.”
He hangs up the phone. “Capo’s here. All of you to the Great Hall.” He reaches for my hand. I take it, his much larger, rougher hand engulfing mine. I haven’t held his hand in years.
A lump rises in my throat when he whispers to me, “I’ll do everything I can. I promise. Please know I’ll do everything I can.”
I don’t really know what he’s talking about. I don’t know what he means. But I’ve never been so afraid in my life. Something tells me Romeo’s best this time won’t be good enough.
CHAPTER THREE
Salvatore
I pass the gates at the Rossi family castle, impressed with the striking view of the time-worn home against the blue-green backdrop of Cape Anne. I’ve never been here before, but we all know about it. Passed on to the Rossis from family, The Castle is a point of pride. To this day, most of them take at least temporary residence here. Some live in Tuscany, some in Boston, and others are scattered throughout various places in New England.
I know because I’ve watched them. I’ve waited. I’ve bided my time.
Marialena makes her primary residence here, and that’s what matters.
Marialena.
Her name means “star of the sea.” Apt, then, that she lives in a castle by the sea’s edge.
A woman as stunning as the name she bears. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine. She’s set this battle in motion, and now I’ve come to capture my spoils of war.
Petite and vivacious, the woman begs to be tamed and vanquished. Mastered. Her thick, wavy, dark brown hair hangs to her waist like a modern-day Italian Rapunzel, waiting for her prince to come. I imagine wrapping that hair around my fist, the silky strands like a harness I’ll hold to capture her attention. I’ve thought more than once about those blue-gray eyes, the Grecian nose, and the whimsical chin she holds proudly with an air of defiance.
I’ll enjoy breaking that defiant attitude of hers. Showing her that mafia princesses don’t deserve to be spoiled.
I’ve done my homework. I know she’s graduated college but has only dabbled in various jobs since then. Whether that’s her choosing or her brothers’, time will tell. She’s slim and fit, well-dressed and fashionable, and makes up for her tiny frame by wearing death-defying heels. She wears Chanel and spends more on clothing than most people make in a year.