Chapter 3 3 Lucia

Salvatore surprised me. I expected violence. I'd prepared myself for it. But this, this kindness? His attempt to understand? Was that what it was? I didn't like it. And I didn't like how my body reacted to having him so close.

When I heard him leave, I went to the outer room. My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten all day, and as appealing as a hunger strike seemed, when you were actually hungry, it lost some of its appeal.

I took the lid off one of the two dishes to find a thick steak, potatoes, and mixed grilled vegetables. I swallowed, salivating already, and sat down. Picking up the knife and fork, I glanced at the door before I dug in. If he returned, I'd be ashamed at having given in. Even if he kept his word and stayed away, when he saw I'd eaten, wouldn't it just be a second victory to him?

I placed a piece of the meat in my mouth. So buttery and delicious, it melted on my tongue. God, that made me not care what he thought. I took a second bite, then tasted the grilled potatoes spiced with rosemary and more butter. A bottle of wine stood open on the table. I poured myself a glass, sipping it before returning to the meat. I finished nearly my entire plate and took the wine with me to my room, locking the door behind me even though I knew he had a key. Of course he had a key. It was his house.

I sat on the bed and poured myself another glass. That comment had gotten to him, just like what I'd said in the car had. I didn't know much about Salvatore's relationship with his father, Franco, but I had felt Salvatore tense when Franco approached us at the church. I'd been guessing when I taunted Salvatore with my comment about being his father's puppet but didn't realize I'd hit the nail on the head. When I'd said it was his father's house, not his, I'd seen it again, that I'd gotten under his skin. I would learn more, watch their interactions, find and exploit their weaknesses. Maybe it was a matter of pitting son against father.

Then there was Dominic, his younger brother. I knew his relationship with Salvatore was strained, and I didn't like the way Dominic looked at me, but maybe I could use that too.

Salvatore had mentioned knowing how it felt to lose someone close. I knew he'd lost his older brother, Sergio, and his mother, both within a year of each other. I assumed they were who he meant. I felt like a jerk for a minute. I picked up my glass, drained it, and poured some more. Was he trying to connect with me over our shared pain or something? Why? What would be the point?

I lay my head back on the headboard and closed my eyes. I was tired, overwhelmed with emotion, jet-lagged, and exhausted. I'd cried over my father after the funeral once I'd been left alone here. Why hadn't I talked to him when he'd called? Why had I refused to see him when he'd come to the school? I knew he regretted what he'd done, selling me to buy his and our family's lives, but what choice had he had? I was a peace offering, in a way. An olive branch. The white flag of surrender to keep everyone else safe-my sister, my niece, my cousins, aunts, and uncles. It was the deal: no more bloodshed. We surrender. You own us.

I just happened to be the sacrifice.

Whose idea was it, I wondered, my father's or Franco's?

I swallowed two sleeping pills and finished the second glass of wine. Setting it on the nightstand, I pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. I wanted to sleep, to stop thinking about everything.

Darkness fell when I switched off the lamp, and I closed my eyes. My thoughts moved from Salvatore and Franco and my father to Izzy. The pregnancy had saved her, or she'd be the one here in this bed right now. They'd wanted her, the firstborn. I'd heard my father and my sister arguing, yelling like I had never heard him yell before. Not at us, anyway. That's how I'd found out she was pregnant. That was when Izzy had run away, leaving me to a fate that should have been hers.

I couldn't blame her, though, not when I thought of Effie. She was protecting her baby. But it didn't absolve her for leaving me without a good-bye. Without telling me the truth herself. She knew what would happen to me.

Those few words we exchanged at the funeral were the first we'd traded in the last five years. Maybe it was time to forgive her. I needed at least one ally, didn't I?

My head hurt the next morning. Probably a combination of too much crying, too much fighting, and too much wine.

A knock came on the door just as I zipped my suitcase.

"Come in," I said, expecting Salvatore but finding someone else.

"Car is ready," the man said. He was the same one who'd stood at the door after accompanying us up here yesterday. He moved toward my suitcase. I'd only packed one. It was a brief trip, and we'd be going back to the US today. I'd be going to my new home-Salvatore's home-in New Jersey.

"Where is Salvatore?"

"He was called to a meeting, left earlier this morning."

"What's your name?"

"Marco."

"What meeting, Marco?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

The man simply looked at me, letting me know he chose not to answer.

"Fine."

I walked out the door carrying my purse, leaving him behind to follow me with the suitcase. I went downstairs with my head held high, hoping most of all I wouldn't run into Franco Benedetti. As much as I hated to admit it, he scared me.

The front doors stood open, letting in the bright sunshine and already too hot temperatures. I refused to glance around and kept my eyes on the car waiting outside, the driver standing beside it. Marco's footsteps followed.

I was almost out the door when I heard a small clicking sound and instinctively turned my head. There stood Dominic, leaning against the doorway to another room. He watched me, and I took a moment to look at him, to see him. He and Salvatore couldn't be more different in appearance. Salvatore was big and thickly muscled, whereas Dominic stood maybe an inch taller but not as wide, his build leaner. Salvatore had dark hair and olive skin. Dominic was blond and lighter skinned. His eyes, though, were a piercing, steely blue-gray so cold, they chilled me through.

But then he smiled a big smile. The change in his features became suddenly disarming.

Marco cleared his throat behind me.

I glanced back to find Marco's eyes locked on Dominic. Dominic only shook his head and disappeared back into the room he'd come from. I walked out the door and got into the backseat of the car. After loading my suitcase in the trunk, Marco climbed into the front passenger seat, and the driver started the engine. I glanced up at the mansion as we drove off, irritated that Salvatore hadn't come with me, wondering if I was being sent away again on my own, hating knowing I was a prisoner to his will.

I had a hundred questions but refused to ask Marco. I wouldn't let them know I felt unsure, uncertain. Instead, I sat in the backseat of the car and watched the small Italian villages roll by on the hour-long drive to Lamezia Terme International Airport. I would connect through Rome, and the combined flights would take over fifteen hours to get back to the US. Getting to Calabria was a pain in the ass. I remembered hating the flights when we'd come here as kids, and that hadn't change. I still hated the long trip. At least Salvatore wouldn't be on the flight with me. Although would Marco then accompany me?

At the airport, Marco opened my door, and I climbed out, the heat coming off the asphalt stifling after the air-conditioned car. The driver unloaded my suitcase. Marco gestured for me to go ahead, guiding me toward the check-in counter. The man seemed to know Marco. I noticed their small exchange when he handed over my passport and ticket, neither of which I'd been allowed to hold on to, as if I'd skip out on my own father's funeral and fly home. The desk agent took my bag and handed my passport and ticket back to Marco.

"This way," Marco said.

"You didn't check-in. You won't be allowed past security," I said.

Marco smiled. "I will hand you over to one of my...colleagues in a few moments."

Marco's Italian accent was distinct. Raised in the US, although I spoke fluent Italian, I had no accent. Neither did Salvatore.

"He will travel with you."

I would have been surprised if they let me go alone, honestly.

Used to having guards nearby since I was a little girl, I went along, ignoring Marco and the other man, whom Marco introduced me to and whose name I instantly forgot. We boarded our flight within the next half hour, and I settled in. I read the coverage of my father's funeral in the newspaper reports, saw my face in the photos along with Salvatore's and numerous others plastered across page after page of both local newspapers I'd picked up. We made big news here. The reining Mafia family, coming to bury their biggest rival. The daughter of the fallen man, now on the arm of the opposing family's son. Most of the articles actually told the story of how we'd met and fallen in love. That would be Franco Benedetti's work. It wouldn't look good to tell the public the truth.

I folded the paper and tucked it into the pocket of the seat in front of me. I closed my eyes. I felt my bodyguard's gaze on me, but I ignored him as best as I could.

With a three-hour delay in Rome, by the time we arrived in New Jersey and then drove the hour and a half to Salvatore's home in Saddle River, I was exhausted. Evening fell, and it took an effort to keep my eyes open, to take in the surroundings of my new home. I was grateful it was Salvatore's house and not the Benedetti family home.

Salvatore's estate was large and very private. Tall iron gates opened upon our arrival. Only moonlight illuminated most of the grounds, until we drew closer to the house, and I got my first glimpse of the mansion with its huge garage, outbuildings, and extensive and various types of landscaping lights. The grounds, from what I could make out, were expansive, with woods circling most of the property. It seemed to me that the driveway was at least a mile long before it finally circled at the main entrance to the residence. A woman came outside and waited for us. As soon as the car stopped, I climbed out on my own, needing to stretch my legs after so many hours of sitting. I'd grown up surrounded by wealth, but I'd never lived in a house this grand. It seemed pretentious of Salvatore, maybe another weakness. I walked toward the woman.

"Ma'am."

"Just Lucia," I answered, attempting to give her a warm smile. I'd need allies. I didn't want to be hated.

The woman smiled back and nodded. I turned to the guard who'd flown with me. He looked as tired as I felt.

"When will Salvatore arrive?" I asked, wanting information.

"I'm not sure."

"Come inside," the woman said.

I followed her in, looking around the house-my new home-for the first time. The large circular foyer led off in several directions, one of which had to be the kitchen, considering the delicious smell coming from that direction. I could see the living room through a large archway. At the far end stood a wall of glass, and large doors led to a patio. Dim, colorful lights shone off the glass-like surface of the swimming pool, inviting even now. The rest of the interior doors stood closed. I turned my attention to the large marble staircase leading to the upper floor.

"Are you hungry?"

I shook my head, stifling a yawn. "I'm just very tired."

She nodded. "I'll take you to your room."

I touched her elbow to stop her before she turned. "What's your name?"

"Rainey."

"Rainey. That's a pretty name."

"Thank you."

I figured her to be in her early forties. It felt strange to have her wait on me. I'd always hated that, actually. I felt uncomfortable and awkward even with servants. I didn't mind a housekeeper or cook, but a servant felt different.

I followed Rainey up the stairs and toward the double doors at the end of the hall. I assumed that was the master bedroom. My heart thudded as we approached, knowing he'd expect to have me in his bed. Of course he would. Why not? What sense would it make for him to take possession of me but not fuck me?

But before we reached the foreboding doors at the end, we turned to the right, where Rainey opened a single door.

"This one's yours," she said, switching on a light and gesturing for me to enter.

The room was huge and richly decorated with heavy dark curtains draped from each of the windows. Exposed brick made the space appear darker and gave it a masculine flair, but I liked it, especially the large fireplace I wouldn't have need for just yet. Rainey pointed out the bathroom, which I barely glanced at, because my gaze had fallen on the large, four-post, king-size bed in the room with a thick duvet and overstuffed pillows at the head.

"Shall I help you unpack? We've already moved your other things into the closet."

"Other things? Oh." I'd forgotten. Salvatore had had my things packed up and brought here a few days ago. I didn't have much, hadn't needed much at a Catholic school, but what I had was neatly organized in the open walk-in closet Rainey stood at the entrance of. "I'm actually tired. If you don't mind, I think I'll just have a shower and go to bed."

"Of course."

She closed the closet doors and moved over to turn down the bed-another thing I didn't like. I could turn down my own bed.

"Thank you, Rainey," I said, dismissing her.

Once she left, I went over and peeked inside the closet. Huge. The racks were full and contained my clothes as well as items that did not belong to me. I checked the size of a dress. Four. He'd probably bought them for me. Or had them bought. I couldn't see Salvatore Benedetti shopping.

Apart from the bathroom, there stood another door Rainey hadn't pointed out. I walked over to it, but when I tried to open it, I found it was locked. I'd ask about it tomorrow.

I went into the bathroom and saw the separate shower as well as a bathtub set in the middle of the large space. It was old-fashioned, one with copper feet and fixtures. All surfaces were sparkling clean, and on one of the shelves stood several of my favorite brands of shampoos and body washes. Even bubble bath. I hadn't had a bubble bath in years. I decided I'd have one instead of a shower.

I turned the taps on in the bath, checked the temperature, and poured in the soap, watching as champagne-pink bubbles began to appear almost instantly. I found a hairclip in one of the sink drawers and piled my hair up on top of my head. The deep auburn mass would fall to the middle of my back when I let it down. As I undressed, I checked out the rest of the space. Everything was high-end, from the gold-veined marble on the floor and countertops to the copper fixtures on the taps. A stack of towels stood on a shelf. I touched them. Soft and luxurious. Brand-new.

The bath filled. I turned the water off and dipped a toe inside. I caught my reflection in one of the two mirrors. I'd lost a few pounds in the last two weeks. I ran almost daily, and at 5 feet five and 120 pounds, I was healthy with long, lean muscle, small but pert breasts, and a bubble butt. That was the yoga. The sisters at the college actually allowed a woman to teach classes three evenings a week, and I never missed a single one. It was that and the running that kept me sane, that kept me from tearing my hair out in frustration at how life had turned out for me.

I sank slowly into the bath. Steam rose off it, but the warmth felt good compared to the relative coolness inside the house. They must have had the air conditioner cranking, since it was July and the heat outside was stifling, with the evenings offering only the slightest relief. I wadded up a small towel and lay my head back against it, closing my eyes. Between the heat and my exhaustion, I must have dozed off, because the sound of someone clearing his throat startled me awake.

My eyelids flew open, and I caught my breath when I saw Salvatore standing just inside the bathroom, watching me.

"Jesus!" I sat up, instinctively covering myself, although it wasn't necessary. The bubbles created a barrier between us. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"I knocked, but there was no answer."

He wore dress slacks and a button-down shirt he'd undone to where I could see the gold chain circling his neck. A small cross hung from it. It took me back five years, seeing that. I remembered noticing it, concentrating on it when I couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

I flushed and glanced away.

"I fell asleep, I guess."

"It's dangerous to do in the bathtub."

"Yeah." I pulled my knees up, making sure the bubbles still hid me. When Rainey had told me this was my room, I'd assumed we weren't sharing it. I'd assumed the double doors had led to the master. Had I misunderstood? "What do you want?" I tried to keep my voice friendly. Salvatore seemed to process the question slowly. He looked like he had a thousand things on his mind. Was it the meeting he'd been called to?

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead shook his head and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. It made me think of his brother, of how different they looked, and thinking about his brother made the water suddenly feel cold.

"I wanted to check on you, see if you needed anything," Salvatore finally answered.

"I'm fine." I wanted to ask if we were sharing the bedroom, if it was his, but couldn't bring myself to just yet. "Where were you? Marco said you had a meeting."

"I did."

A wealth of information.

"How close are you to your cousins, Lucia?" he asked, coming a little farther inside the bathroom and leaning back against the counter, ignoring my question entirely.

"Odd question. Why?"

"I'm curious."

"I don't know. Not particularly, at least not in the last five years." I wasn't going to tell him that Luke had been keeping me in the loop with the goings-on of my family while I was at school. Besides, it wasn't like he told me anything Salvatore would be interested in.

"So you didn't talk to Luke once a month over the last five years?"

"Am I being interrogated?"

He folded his arms across his chest and studied me closely. "Do you need to be?"

"What are you talking about? Luke is my cousin, we talked, so what?"

"You didn't talk to any other member of your family, not even your sister."

"Christ, you were keeping tabs?"

"I was keeping an eye on my property, yes."

"Oh, right, your property." I glared at him. "You do know I'm a human being, right? That we typically aren't referred to as property."

"I don't think there's anything typical about our relationship."

He stepped over to the tub, and I leaned back, covering my breasts. He didn't touch me, though. Instead, he sat on the edge and dipped a hand in the water.

"You and Luke good friends? I saw the way he looked at you at the church."

"He's my cousin."

"Not by blood."

"What are you implying? What, are you jealous?" The moment I said it, I knew there was truth to the statement. I saw it in the slight shift of Salvatore's eyes. In his momentary hesitation before answering.

"I want to be sure you realize you're as good as a Benedetti now. Want to be sure your loyalties are where they belong."

"Just because I was forced to sign that stupid contract doesn't mean my loyalties suddenly shifted. I am not a Benedetti."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Water's cooling." He rose to stand. He wiped his hand on a towel. "Get out of the tub," he said, without looking at me.

"I'm not getting out with you here."

"I want to have a look at what I own." He said the words purposefully and unfolded one of the plush bath towels. He held it out before him but remained several feet away, so that I'd have to walk toward him to reach it, giving him a full view.

"What exactly is this? What do you want, Salvatore?"

"Just what I said. I want to see you. Naked."

"You want a look at what you can't have?" Flimsy words, and I knew it. He could take whatever he wanted. I just, for reasons that had no basis in reality, didn't think he would. And I was determined not to give him this particular power over me. My heart pounded against my chest as I slowly rose, suds clinging to me as I stood. "You want to see?" I asked again, seeing how his eyes darkened as they raked over me before returning to mine. His attraction to me, mine to him, this cruel sort of push-pull between us, I would use it. I would be stronger than it, and I would use it. I climbed out onto the bath mat and stood before him. "Have a look, then. Get your fill," I bit out.

Salvatore's throat worked as he swallowed. Without a word, he stepped toward me, held my gaze, and wrapped the towel around me. His hungry eyes held mine, meeting my challenge, posing his own as he dried me, his handling of me rough, the soft towel now scratching at my breasts, my sex. Once he finished, he stepped back, letting the towel drop to the floor.

"Now I can have a proper look."

He did, gaze pausing at breasts and belly, hovering at my naked sex. Again, he swallowed, then met my eyes once more.

I stood still, watching him. Watching his eyes. They burned, the blue darker now, sparkling like blackest onyx. Something raged behind them, inside them. Something that screamed for release even while it reduced me to flesh alone, to a thing, an object possessed.

Was this some sort of contest, some game? If it was, I lost, because I blinked first, looking away, unable to maintain the contact.

"Go to bed." He turned to leave the bathroom but stopped at the door.

I swooped down to grab the discarded towel and held it against myself, shielding my body from his view.

"And Lucia," he said, turning to look at me and taking a step back inside, back toward me. "Don't do anything stupid."

He rubbed his hand across his mouth, that rage behind his eyes burning now.

"I will punish you if you betray me."

He turned on his heel and walked out the door.

I sat down on the edge of the tub, trembling.