Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
She’s fucking gorgeous.
“You’re lying.”
She tries to scoot away from me, but that only makes me grip her harder. “You’re gonna be in my bed, Elise. You’ll have my babies and take my name, and not too long from now. No lies.”
She turns her face from me, and my eyes focus back on the road. But I don’t miss the way she swipes under her eyes, or the colder tone her voice takes. “I had a favorite once, but I don’t anymore. It lost its appeal to me. You?”
Interesting.
I shrug. “I like anything I don’t have to cook.”
“That’s interesting for a guy that owns restaurants.”
I shake my head. “I own pastry shops, not restaurants. Orlando’s the restaurant owner.”
“Ah. You don’t like cooking?”
I shake my head. “Nah. I’ve got plenty that would do it for me anyway.”
“Orlando likes cooking.”
“Yeah.” It’s like she’s taking notes on who does what, so she can catalog us in her mind. Fair enough.
“Well, that works. I do like cooking. And I like everything here,” she says. “I’m literally starving, so anything and everything goes.”
I find a quiet trattoria I know well, far off the beaten path. They know who I am, and quickly secure the most secluded table for us before they bring us the wine menu. I order ribollita, a thick stew with vegetables, potatoes, and beans, panzanella, a dish made with bread and seasonal vegetables, and pistecca alla fiorentina, a simple but hearty steak dish. We finish our meal with a light ensalata.
Elise holds herself erect and answers everything I ask her politely, but doesn’t initiate any conversation herself. She wipes her mouth with the corners of her white napkin, thanks me, and smiles at the end of the meal, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
She’s doing everything right, but she isn’t here, isn’t really with me. In the distance, sad music plays, the lilt of a violin and a sad, mourning thrum of strings. A soundtrack to our story.
I shouldn’t care about her pain that she can’t help but show, but I do. I’m finally here in Tuscany, with the woman who’s going to take my ring, but she’s only here physically.
I know that look in a woman’s eyes. I’ve seen it before in my mother and my sister Rosa.
She’s mourning.
Why?
Does she mourn for her father? He was a filthy, conniving, traitorous asshole and I doubt he treated her well, but blood runs thicker than water. Even I miss my old man once in a while.
Maybe she mourns her past life that she’s said goodbye to.
Does she mourn the death of her bodyguard?
I remember when I called the hit that ended his life. Orlando’s Angelina railed at me for what I did. She sobbed, telling me that I’d killed the only man Elise had ever loved.
She only confirmed for me then that I’d done the right thing. Elise had no business loving her bodyguard. She was a betrothed woman from birth and knew that. Though she didn’t know who she’d marry, it was no secret that one day she’d be chosen for marriage by her father to someone suited for her. That someone was supposed to be my brother.
Still, I can’t logic my guilt away. I’ve learned to mute it after what I’ve done, because of who I am.
It’s best if Elise never finds out I had anything to do with Piero.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, a faint color painting her cheeks when I catch her eyes. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
I shake my head and look away.
I can’t care about this. It doesn’t matter. Life in the mob for both of us means a life of resignation. We find joy when we can, which is why my brothers and I eat well, drink heartily, and fuck often and hard. Sometimes, pure carnal indulgence is a good distraction.
It’s the least we can do.
Fucking hell, I wish I didn’t have to wait that much longer to be with her.
Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe I want to fuck her before then. What happens in Tuscany…
I haven’t fucked a woman in goddamn months. Mario’s tried to persuade me, and even Romeo urged me to go with Santo into Boston and pick up a girl. Said it’d take the edge off.
Nothing takes the edge off.
I get the check and pay for our food when my phone rings.
“Yeah?”
Uncle Leo. “Tavi, the morgue’s ready for you.”
I glance at the time. “They’re two hours early.”
“Opened up especially for you.”
Jesus.
I didn’t want to take her with me to do this errand. I wanted to shop with her, get her what she fucking needs, then keep her under surveillance nearby when I did the dirty work. Something simple, mundane. But now, we’re too far away for me to follow those plans. “I’ll have to take her with me.”