I close it all down and draw back to look at her.
I knew I’d have to test her. And I’m sure this will be the first of many such tests.
So why do I feel a sense of betrayal? What did I expect?
Placing my hands on either side of her on the desk, I cage her in and lean in close.
What she sees in my eyes must frighten her because hers go wider, and she leans as far away from me as she can.
“If you want information on my brother, all you need to do is ask me. Don’t go behind my back and don’t lie to me. Do you understand?”
She looks surprised but nods. “I didn’t think you’d tell me,” she says, her voice sounding hoarse like her throat is dry. Or maybe that’s relief I hear.
I study her for a long minute, then step away, giving her space.
“I have a meeting with your father, but I’ll have a driver take you back to my uncle’s house.”
Her eyes search mine like she can’t fucking believe it’s going to be this easy.
“Thank you.”
I hate being lied to. I fucking hate it. And I hate being lied to by someone in my own house. It’s what brought our family down once. The thing that ripped it apart. I won’t have it again.
Granted, Gabriela isn’t with me by choice, but she will be my wife. If she’s fucking this Alex asshole, I will put a stop to it, and I will punish her. I will not be deceived. And my wife, no matter the circumstances of our marriage, will absolutely not sleep in any other man’s bed. Ever.
I hold out my hand, palm up, and give her a false smile, amazing myself with the calm exterior because inside, I want to wring her pretty little neck.
Her eyes haven’t left mine, but it takes her a long moment before she places her hand inside mine and rises to her feet. I walk her out of her bedroom and down the stairs to the front door. I call one of my men.
“Take her home,” I tell him in Italian, not making any acknowledgement that I know she understands what I’m saying while she keeps her face blank as if she doesn’t understand a word.
The soldier nods, gestures for Gabriela.
She takes a step, but I catch her by the wrist. I step to her and tilt her face up to mine.
She stares up at me probably wondering if I’m changing my mind or playing some trick on her.
“Sleep well,” I tell her, and lean down to give her a long kiss on the mouth. Our first.
I don’t force her lips open. I don’t slide my tongue inside. This isn’t that.
Instead, I imagine Judas’ betrayal of Jesus, not that I consider myself a martyr. Far from.
But I think about that kiss in the garden.
Because for as soft as her lips are and as sweet as she tastes, I know she will betray me tonight.
14
Gabriela
I’m flustered by that kiss. As one of Stefan’s men drives me back to his Uncle Jack’s house, all I can do is think about that kiss.
Why did he do it? It was wholly unexpected and unnecessary.
My mind slips back to Clara. To how beautiful and sophisticated and polished she looked. How confidently she gave me her hand and how carefully she chose her words.
She knows the circumstances that bring Stefan and I together. I have no doubt of that.
And the way he answered—or didn’t answer—about her and the fact that I even asked—because I don’t care—pisses me off to think about it. That, and it embarrasses me.
Why did I ask anyway? What do I care who he’s fucking as long as he doesn’t touch me?
As we pass through the gates of the gothic mansion and drive toward the front door, I note that the opening of the temporary fencing where the truck drove through this afternoon is still unguarded. It strikes me that it is. Wouldn’t that be more of a threat against intruders than the front gates?
But maybe Uncle Jack isn’t a target.
Is Stefan?
I realize I’d never thought of that because if Stefan is a target, does that make me one too? And as the boss of a mafia family, there must be a constant threat against him. I mean, I know of at least one man who would kill Stefan Sabbioni if he could. My father.
We pull up to the front door and I have to wait for the driver to open my door because it’s locked.
I feel like a child, but I climb out and pass him into the house. I don’t speak to anyone and no one speaks to me. They’re just a bunch of soldiers and I’m sure their orders don’t include making small talk with me.
As I make my way slowly up to my bedroom, I make a note of where everyone is, and pretend to be curious about the construction if anyone asks why I’m peeking my head into the sealed off living room.
Tools, work tables and dust cover the room and the furniture is set against the far corner under multiple dust-cloths. I glance back, but none of the soldiers have come to check up on me.
I need to go upstairs and change my clothes, grab the money. I plan on giving it to Alex and his aunt. I’m sure they need it, considering he no longer works for my father and I remember being at his aunt’s house years ago. She’s not well off.
I wish I could just walk out right now, but I hurry up the stairs and put on the same sundress I’d had on earlier, along with a pair of flip flops. Not ideal but they’ll do. I hadn’t actually packed before leaving Palermo.
After I’m dressed, I let my hair down because the pins are digging into my skull. I just drop them where I stand, and finger comb my hair, which is wavy now from the tight twist. I find the tear in the lining of the duffel that I sewed shut a few nights ago.
I pull at the stitching until it gives and dig my hand between the layers to find the Ziploc I’d stashed there. I pull it out, eyeing the wad of cash, a credit card and my passport. A fake one. Alex had it made for me. The currency is American, not Euros, but it’s still money.
I don’t know why I take the passport with me. I just need the cash because I’m not planning on running away, am I? Stefan would find me. Or my father would. I wonder which would be worse.
I take the credit card out of the Ziploc then tuck the bag into the little clutch which is too fancy for my sundress but it’s all I have. I leave my iPod and the European charger I picked up from home in the clutch.
It feels strange to mess up the bed, stuffing the pillows under the covers in case anyone peeks in, so they think I’m sleeping, but this isn’t the first time I’ve snuck out. I’m a pro.
Although I guess if I were a pro, I wouldn’t have to sneak out now because I wouldn’t have gotten caught the other night.
Wishing I could call an Uber, I walk back out into the hallway after checking that it’s clear and creep back down the stairs and into the dusty living room. I stop when I hear two men talking but their voices fade as they pass somewhere inside the house.
I make my way to the temporary door, open it and think how easy this is. Something niggles at me about that.
I never did get a reply from Alex to say it was okay that I come, but I just need to at least drop off the money. That’s all. Apologize in person. I don’t know. All I know is I owe him because he has two broken legs because of me.
Those are the thoughts that I busy myself with as I step out into the dark night. I hug my arms to myself even though it’s not cold and, after making sure the path is clear, I hurry toward the large truck parked near the fence, scoot around it and a few moments later, I’m on the street walking quickly away from the house wondering how I was able to do it, counting my lucky stars.