“Sto rincoglionito,” I muttered, keeping my eyes on the road.
“What did you say?”
I clenched my jaw. “Nothing.”
I couldn’t exactly tell her I’d just admitted I was out of my fucking mind, even though I was.
“And no, we don’t have time to tour Florence. Maybe next time.”
More like not in a million fucking years.
She sighed and continued to look out the window.
Twenty minutes later, as I pulled off the road onto a long private drive that wound up my parents’ mountain, my chest felt as if it were being squeezed by a boa constrictor. Clenching the wheel in both hands, I breathed slowly through my nose and fought the urge to drive head-on into a tree trunk.
Mountain was a loose term. The Apennine Mountains that formed the spine of Italy were more like rolling hills near Florence rather than the sharp, jagged Alps we’d seen from Venice. My parents’ “mountain” happened to be the highest point in the area just south of Florence—and the most secluded, surrounded by thick forests, vineyards, and olive groves.
“Oh my goodness,” Natalie muttered, sitting up straighter in her seat as we neared the top of the rise and my parents’ villa came into view. She turned shocked, deep blue eyes my way. “You didn’t say you grew up in a freakin’ castle.”
I shifted in my seat and worked like hell to relax my jaw. I hadn’t mentioned it because I didn’t even like to think about this place, and I’d never thought I’d be bringing her here. “It’s not that impressive. It’s what’s left of an ancient castle. What you see there was the keep. The wall crumbled hundreds of years ago.”
“It’s incredible.”
I didn’t think so. To me, it was a prison, but I kept my opinion to myself, knowing it would only unleash a thousand questions I wouldn’t answer.
I followed the road as it curved into the circular drive. A tall fountain sprayed water high into the air, and trees that were bigger than when I’d left surrounded us. Pulling to a stop between the fountain and the house, I looked up at the ancient structure, trying to see what she saw.
The aged stones rose two stories, with two tall towers rising on each corner of the structure, connected by battlements. There were very few arched windows on the front for security reasons, mostly up high, and someone had added window boxes below each one. Pink, red, and white flowers spilled out onto the warm rocks.
My gaze slid lower, to the massive arched, double front door with iron scrollwork, the twelve steps that rose from the drive to the door, and the large urns—two at the top of the stairs and two at the bottom—also overflowing with flowers, making the place look almost homey.
Almost. Too bad I knew what kind of evil shit went on behind closed doors in this place.
My anxiety hit epic proportions as I killed the ignition. “Remember what I said. No arguing with me. Follow every order I give you and stick close to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
My head swiveled her way. A warm, mischievous smile slid across her pretty face. “Not convincing enough? Would yes, master work better?”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re teasing me.”
Hers sparked. “I might be. Like it?”
Hell yes, I liked it. I liked her. Too damn much. I just hoped after this fucking trip, she still liked me.
I was just about to give in to the urge and lean toward her to show her how much I liked her when one side of the double doors on the house pulled open, and I spotted a young woman with a lithe build and long dark hair highlighted with one white streak rushing down the steps toward the car.
“Luc!” she yelled through the windows.
My anxiety shot sky-high when I realized this was just the first of many family reunions. As much as I wanted to sit in this car and never get out, I was out of options.
“Stay with me at all times,” I said to Natalie as I opened my door.
Ariana rushed around the car and caught me in a hug before I’d even closed the door. Warmth flowed through me. Of all my family members she was my favorite. And I’d barely seen her in the last twelve years.
“I’m so glad you’re home!” she cried in Italian, hugging me tight, then drawing back to peer up at me with wide brown eyes. “But I’m still mad at you for staying away so long.”
“I know,” I responded in English, not wanting to leave Natalie out. I was aware of her every move as she climbed out of the passenger side and closed the door to look over the roof of the car at us.
“You got old,” Ariana teased, following my lead and lapsing into English.
“And you got tall.” She had to be at least five-nine now. The white streak in her hair was also more prominent, starting near her part to fall down the left side of long dark locks, no doubt making her stand out among the crowd. The last time I’d been in Italy, three years ago, she’d been off at school. Before that… I racked my brain…
Shit. I hadn’t seen her in six damn years. Back then, she’d been just a teenager and Natalie’s height.
I glanced over the hood of the car toward Natalie. “This is my little sister, Ariana. Though not as little as before. Aria, this is Natalie.”
Ariana slipped an arm around my waist and walked with me around the car to meet Natalie. “Mamma said you were bringing a woman, but I didn’t believe it.” She let go of me as we stopped near Natalie. Ariana held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Luc’s never brought a woman home before.”
Natalie lifted one brow and glanced at me with a smug grin. The victorious look sent heat all through my groin. I sucked in a breath because that kind of heat would only get me—and her—into trouble here.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Natalie said, shaking Ariana’s hand. “This is a beautiful place.”
Ariana opened her mouth—probably to give Natalie a history lesson on the property—but before she could get a single word out, the double front doors to my right opened, and the rest of my family spilled down the steps.
“Bastardo!” Dante rushed toward me with a laugh and caught me in a tight hug, his mismatched eyes—one a deep brown, the other a lighter green-hazel combination—sparking with excitement. “I thought you’d died and gone to hell,” he teased in Italian.
That pressure tightened around my chest. I was in hell. Or about to enter it.
My gaze immediately skipped to Natalie’s bright smile as she spoke with my sister. She was the only thing keeping me sane at the moment. An angel in a sea of all this wicked depravation. I just hoped to God she stayed innocent, and that by bringing her here, I wasn’t corrupting all that goodness I loved in her so much.
“Not dead,” I managed, again in English, patting Dante on the back. He’d grown too. At twenty-four, he was nearly as tall as me now. His thick dark hair—shaggy and hanging around his chiseled face—and athletic build were the same, though. “At least not yet.”
Footsteps sounded on the steps, and I glanced past Dante as my mother approached. She held out her arms. “There’s my boy,” she said in English. “Come and give your mamma a kiss.”
The tight ball of nerves in my gut urged me to grab Natalie and run, but I knew we were already trapped. I couldn’t get out of this any more than I could get out of my fucking position with Covet. And I didn’t want to start this trip off on the wrong foot by causing problems. I had to be on my best behavior so nothing would happen to Natalie.
I let go of Dante and moved toward my mother. “Mamma.”
She grasped my face and kissed both my cheeks then drew back and looked up at me with pale eyes. “I knew you’d be a smart boy.” Letting go of me, my mother angled slightly away, and I noticed a young blonde woman behind her. “This is Maricella. Dante’s friend.”
The way my mother said friend told me exactly what this woman was to Dante. My gut tightened even more as I reached out a hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you.”
“You as well.” Maricella didn’t shake my offered hand, just bowed her head, careful not to make
eye contact with me. But I saw the way her gaze skipped past me, toward Dante, and the way she lowered her head even more in response to their unspoken communication, then silently stepped back up the stairs away from the group as if she’d imposed on something she shouldn’t.
I glanced at my brother, and my anxiety melded with a simmering anger I knew I had to keep under wraps. But, fuck, I didn’t want this girl anywhere near Natalie.
That pressure in my chest squeezed so hard, I wasn’t sure I could continue to breathe. I looked toward Natalie, still speaking with my sister, and wondered how far we could run before we’d be found. Then I heard my father clear his throat from the base of the steps, and everything inside me turned to ice.
Slowly, I looked his way. My father’s hair was more silver than black now, but his gray eyes—exactly like mine, even down to the same coloboma iris defect in his left eye—were as hard and cold as I’d ever seen them. He motioned me forward like a fucking child.
“So the prodigal son finally returns home,” he mocked in Italian with clear contempt.
I let the dig pass without a response. I was determined not to cause trouble this early in my visit.
“Papà. You look well,” I added in English, making it clear to the whole family that was my preferred language for this visit.
I let him air-kiss my cheeks, but we didn’t embrace, and he showed no signs of affection, but I was used to that. I was the sinner. The disgrace. The disappointment because I’d never wanted this life. He took great joy in making sure I never forgot that.
Silence settled over us as I grappled for control over my bitter resentment. When Dante cleared his throat, I realized even Natalie and Ariana had fallen quiet.
I quickly looked toward Natalie, standing on the other side of my sister. “Everyone, this is my”—Shit. I did not want to introduce her as my girlfriend or friend. I didn’t want them to know anything about our relationship, because they’d twist it into something vile for their own purposes—“assistant. Natalie,” I said to her, “you already met my sister and my mother. This is my youngest brother, Dante, and my father, Antonio.”
“It’s nice to meet all of you.”
Natalie stepped forward and shook Dante’s hand. I forced myself not to bolt toward her as my brother’s assessing gaze slid over her curly hair and down her curves.
Luckily, my mother grasped her hands, pulling her away from Dante, and kissed her cheeks. “Welcome to our home. How was your trip?”
“Fine. A little long.”
“Then I’m sure you’re ready for some fun.”
I forced back the panic those words stirred inside me, and watched as my mother let go of Natalie with one hand and turned toward my father. “Antonio, say hello to Natalie.”
My father was a big man—as tall as me, but broader across the shoulders. At sixty, he was still in great shape, mostly from the hours he spent walking through the vineyard on the property, but he was every bit as intimidating as he had ever been. My stomach twisted tighter as my mother pushed Natalie in front of him.
Tension hung like thick smoke in the air as my father’s devious eyes skipped over Natalie’s face and body. After an excruciating silence that only made me want to scream, he finally said, “So this is the woman who’s monopolized my son’s time on his business trip. Welcome to Castello Salvatici, Ms. James.”
“T-thank you.” Natalie flushed as my father held her hand between both of his much larger ones.
I couldn’t remember if I’d used Natalie’s last name when my mother had ambushed us yesterday, but I wasn’t at all surprised that my father knew it now. I drew in a quick breath that did nothing to alleviate my unease and forced myself to stand still. But all I wanted to do was rip Natalie’s hand away from his and never let the sonofabitch touch her again.
“Come.” My father finally released her and turned. Placing his big hand at the small of her back, he ushered her up the steps, never once looking my way. “Have you ever been in an Italian castle?”
“No, never,” Natalie answered.
“Well.” Pride and something that made the hair on my nape stand straight swelled in his voice. “Then you must have a tour.”
My adrenaline shot through the roof, and I jerked up the stairs after them. Just inside the grand foyer, my mother caught my arm, pulling me to a stop.
“Luciano, I need your help,” she said in Italian.
Panic surged inside me as I watched my father all but pushing Natalie farther into the house. Ariana must have seen the fear in my eyes, because she hustled after my father and Natalie and threw me a pointed look that said she’d stay with them.
I breathed a little easier as all three disappeared under an archway—but not much. My irritated gaze dropped to my mother. I knew what she was doing, and I didn’t like it. No doubt she’d already been ordered by my father to let him get Natalie off alone.
“What?” I snapped in English.
My mother’s pale eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone, young man. I’m still your mother.”
I sucked in another breath that did shit to cool me down. “Sorry. What do you need?”
My mother’s expression softened, and she linked arms with mine. “Come into the kitchen with me. Rosabel is anxious to see you.”
Rosabel was the family cook, and she’d worked for my parents since I was a boy. Reluctantly, I let my mother pull me down the two sunken steps, through the living room, and under a different archway that led to the kitchen.
To say Rosabel had been more of a mother to me as a kid than the woman currently on my arm was an understatement. She’d snuck me cookies and treats whenever my parents hadn’t been looking, and every time I’d been punished for not doing things the family way, she’d slipped playing cards and comic books into my personal prison to keep me entertained. I hadn’t seen her in years—the last time I’d been in Italy, I’d met up with my father in Rome, avoiding this hellish home—and I was looking forward to feeling her bountiful arms pull me in for a real hug.
But my anxiety over where my father was taking Natalie and what he was telling her was still sky-high, and my gaze kept skipping toward every doorway and arch we passed, waiting for them to reappear. We hadn’t even been here five fucking minutes and the bastard had already isolated her from me.
I wanted to wring his miserable neck. I wanted to grab on tight to Natalie and never let go. Neither of those things was feasible now.
All I could do at this point was pray that Ariana stayed with them and didn’t let Natalie out of her sight.
I had zero appetite.
In honor of my visit, Rosabel had cooked a lavish feast that included multiple courses: the antipasti with meats and bruschetta drizzled with garlic and olive oil from the grove on the property, the primo consisting of a wild mushroom risotto, the secondo which included roast leg of lamb and locally grown grilled vegetables, the formaggi e frutta plate of Tuscan cheeses and fruits, and the dolce—my favorite—tiramisu and cappuccinos.
I watched Natalie, seated kitty-corner from me across the long table, during each course. She sampled the foods set in front of her, but I could tell her appetite was as small as mine. And the nervous looks she kept sending me didn’t help my anxiety any.
I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her privately since she’d returned with my sister and father from their little “tour.” She’d seemed okay when she’d joined the rest of us in the dining room, albeit nervous, and I couldn’t tell if my father had said or done something that had unsettled her or if she was just feeding off my stress. All I’d gotten out of Ariana before we’d been ushered to sit was that everything was fine.
Fine was not a word that calmed my racing pulse. If I didn’t get Natalie up in a locked bedroom soon, I was afraid I might have a massive coronary.
“Natalie,” my mother said from her end of the table where she sat to my right. “Do you not like your tiramisu?”
“Oh. Um.” Natalie set her spoon down on the linen tablecloth. Cand
lelight drifted over her smooth skin where she sat next to my father, as far from me as he could put her. I knew she’d been placed there on purpose so my father could talk quietly with her without my interference. Again, her worried gaze skipped to me before darting to my mother. “It’s wonderful. I think I just filled up on too much risotto and lamb.”
I knew that was a lie.
My mother smiled and scooped a dainty bite of dessert from her plate. Sconces were lit on the stucco walls around us, lending a warm, relaxed feeling to the room, but I was strung tight as a drum.
“I’m sure you’re not used to all these courses,” my mother said. “In America, I hear you eat quickly.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Natalie’s gaze darted back to mine before quickly moving away again. “We’re always in a hurry, I suppose.”
My father lifted his fourth glass of wine and leaned back in his chair at the head of the table near the massive stone fireplace, angling Natalie’s way until the hair on my nape tingled. “Always amazes me when I’m there. Americans do not understand that food is to be savored, not rushed.”
“That’s because life moves faster in America than it does here,” Dante muttered to my left as he sipped his cappuccino.
Maricella sat between Dante and my father, but she hadn’t spoken since the meal began, and every time I looked her way, I noticed her eyes were downcast.
Natalie hadn’t missed it either. Each time she glanced at Maricella, I saw discomfort in her blue eyes.
“Well, I think America sounds wonderful,” Ariana said across from me as she scooped up the last of her dessert. “Especially New York. Luc, how do you like the apartment on Fifth Avenue? Benito said it encompasses the entire thirty-fifth floor. I can’t wait to see it.”
My father’s hardened gaze shot right to Ariana, and in Italian, so Natalie couldn’t understand, he said, “You will not be going to New York.”
Ariana slumped back in her chair with a frown, but she didn’t look at my father. She stared at me with a see what I have to put up with? look on her face.
The Fall (House of Sin Book 2) Page 7
