by K. A. Ware
Notorious
A DeLuca Family Novella
K.A. Ware
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Bloodline
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by K.A. Ware
Copyright © 2016 by K.A. Ware
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Chapter 1
Marsala, Sicily
July, 1973
Elena
“Remember, you’re a ghost. You go in, clean, and get out. Keep your head down and your mouth shut and you’ll be fine. These are very powerful people, Bella. If you overhear something, you turn around and walk away,” my mother instructed as she fastened the buttons on my shirt all the way to the collar.
“Yes, Mama,” I whispered, clenching my shaking hands into fists.
She was just trying to scare me straight; it wasn’t going to be that bad. Mama had worked for the DeLuca family for years, and she was fine, just fine. I was just nervous about starting my new job; I couldn’t mess up. After Papa had hurt his back a few months ago, things had been tight. We needed the extra money coming in, and being the oldest of three girls, that burden fell upon me.
“You’ll be just fine,” she repeated, patting my cheek when she was done. “Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”
Mama kissed Papa and my sisters goodbye and shooed me out the door. I practiced keeping my head down as we trudged along the dirt road toward the bus stop in silence, watching as a thin film of dust covered my once shined shoes. They were my mother’s, a size too big and well worn. Everything I wore was from my mother’s trunk and hung slightly on my too-small frame. My homemade shift dresses with frayed edges and patched holes wouldn’t have been appropriate for the grand home of the DeLuca family, even if I was just there to clean.
The brakes squealed as the bus came to a stop in front of us and the door creaked open. An old man with drooping cheeks sat in the driver’s seat. He smiled brightly at me, his teeth yellowed, likely from the cigarette he held between two fingers. I smiled politely back at him, trying not to scrunch my nose at the smell.
Mama led me to the closest empty seat to the front, and we sat side by side. The heat in the metal box was sweltering, but I didn’t complain. Mama always said there was no use in complaining about things we can’t change. We bumped along the dirt roads of our village, picking up day laborers and travelers along the way.
Only very rich families owned cars in our small village—families like the DeLucas. I’d heard from a friend in school once that they had an entire fleet of cars, one for every day of the month. When I asked Mama about it, she told me it wasn’t polite to gossip and made me do the wash for the rest of the week as penance.
The engine whined as we climbed the large hill toward the DeLuca house and my nerves took up residence in my stomach once again. I wanted to do well for my family; I wanted to help however I could. That was why I had chosen not to go back to school in September. Mama had protested and held me off as long as she could, but a family of five could only live off a housekeeper’s salary for so long. Before Papa got hurt he worked down at the docks as a fisherman, and while we weren’t rich, there was food on the table and a roof over our head.
“Come on, we walk from here,” Mama said, urging me out of the seat.
I coughed as a cloud of dust surrounded us as the bus drove away. Once the air was clear again, I took in the house perched at the top of the bluff. Even though I couldn’t see it from where I stood, I knew the back half of the house overlooked the ocean. Papa had pointed it out once when I’d come down to the docks with him.
As we started to climb the winding road, I couldn’t help but stare. I could see the entire village from my vantage point. I’d never really considered my home as beautiful, but from the top of the bluff, it was spectacular.
“Come now; we don’t want to be late,” Mama said briskly. I caught the hint of nervousness in her tone and quickly closed the distance between us. I could admire the view on our way back home; I didn’t want to give her any more reason to worry.
A slick sheen of sweat covered my skin as we climbed, only to leave me shivering when the cool morning air kicked off the ocean, meeting my bare legs. I was breathing heavily when we made a final turn, and the sprawling front gardens came into view.
I tried to keep my head down, but my eyes were drawn to the enormous iron gate and the rows of lemon trees flanking each side. Without my permission, my feet started to carry me toward the gate. I was mesmerized by how green the grass was, not a single blemish in the pristine landscape.
“Elena!”
I froze mid-step and spun around.
“Sorry, Mama,” I said hurriedly and backtracked to where she was standing at the base of the walkway, hands on hips.
“You need to remember your place, Bella. We are here to work; we are not guests.”
“I understand, Mama.”
She nodded once and picked up her pace around the side of the house. She leads me through a much smaller gate and up a short cobblestone path to a nondescript wooden door. The servants entrance, of course. We were the help; we didn’t use the front entrance—ever.
“Put your sweater there and put this on,” she said, motioning to a row of hooks before handing me an apron. I complied without saying a word. I wasn’t to speak unless directly asked a question while we were at work.
“Take this,” she said, offering me a bucket full of cleaning supplies. I followed behind her as she showed me around the house, explaining in hushed tones what would need to be done in each room. The house looked plenty clean to me; I couldn’t imagine why they would need maids to come in and clean every day.
“The kitchen is through here, and then the dining room on the other side. Down this hal
l and to the right is the terrace and the gardens,” she said, pointing down a long hallway to the left. Turning, she pointed at the hallway on the opposite side. “Down there is the library on the left and Mr. DeLuca’s study is on the right. Under no circumstances are you to go in there, do you understand?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she narrowed her eyes at me, and I nodded instead.
“Good. Now, these stairs lead to the bedrooms. Again, you don’t go up there unless I tell you to do so; understood?”
I nodded again immediately, not even trying to voice my agreement.
When she was finished giving me the grand tour, my head was spinning. I’d never been in a place with so many rooms, and that was just the first floor; there were at least two more above and a basement cellar. I was forbidden to go anywhere other than the main floor for the time being, which was fine by me—I was sure I’d get lost if I tried to venture any farther than the main halls.
I saw two more women donning white aprons matching mine come through the small door that led to the servant’s entrance and supply closet. They didn’t say a word, just nodded in my direction and headed deeper into the house.
“You remember where the library is?” Mama asked, and I nodded. “Good, that’s where you’ll start. Dust all the shelves, wash the windows and wipe down the desks and tables. When you’re done, come find me in the kitchen.”
Nodding again, I turned and headed down the hallway. I felt like my head was going to fall off if I had to nod one more time. I wasn’t a particularly chatty person, but not being allowed to talk at all was proving to be much harder than I’d anticipated.
The door was ajar when I approached; I peeked my head in to make sure it was vacant before I shouldered the heavy wood door all the way open. I smiled at the sight of shelves and shelves of books, inhaling the slightly stale smell of worn pages as I walked to the middle of the room. There had to be thousands of books lining the walls, and if I had the time, I’d love nothing more than to curl up in the comfy looking armchair by the window and read every one of them. I’d always loved books—the lives you lived between the pages were nothing short of magical. You could be anyone, do anything; the possibilities were only limited by the author’s imagination.
Sighing heavily, I came out of my fantasy and got to work. The sliding ladder affixed to the tallest shelves made dusting rather easy; however, there was no such ladder to help me reach the windows.
I balanced precariously on the arm of the chair and strained to reach the top arch of the window. I was almost certain that I shouldn't be climbing on the furniture, but given my short stature, it was the only way I was going to reach it.
“Do you need some help?” A deep voice rumbled from behind me.
I was startled into losing my footing, my arms windmilling in an attempt to regain my balance. It was no use; I was going down. I squeezed my eyes tight, preparing for the impact, but there wasn't one. Instead, a pair of strong arms caught me in a cradle just before I would’ve hit the ground.
The scent of lemon soap and ocean air surrounded me, causing my head to swim. My heart was thundering in my chest, and I struggled to catch my breath. A deep rumble of laughter vibrated against my shoulder which was pressed against a strong chest. Cracking my eyes open, I looked up to see the grinning face of a ridiculously handsome man. At first, I thought it was Giuseppe but soon realized the man holding me was much too young.
He must be the son, Vincenzo.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. But if it’s all the same, maybe use a stepladder next time,” he said, placing me back on my feet.
“I apologize,” I whispered, straightening my skirt and apron while keeping my eyes fixed on the ornate carpet. My heartbeat hadn’t slowed. In fact, if it was possible, it was beating more wildly the longer I stood there, feeling the heat of his stare.
“I'm Vincenzo,” he said, confirming my suspicions. When I didn't respond, he hooked a finger underneath my chin, raising my face until my eyes were forced to meet his. “What's your name?”
He’d asked a direct question; I had to answer.
“Elena,” I whispered, not confident that my voice wouldn't break if I tried to speak more clearly.
His dark brown eyes bore into mine, and for just a moment, I felt a tingle of fear run through me, but then he smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and a pair of bright white teeth flashed against tan skin.
“Elena,” he rumbled, letting the word roll over his tongue.
I’d never heard anyone speak my name that way, slow and deliberate. I felt the blush creep up my neck and heat my cheeks, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. My embarrassment growing to be too much, I turned my head and took a step away from him.
Hustling over to my supplies, I snatched up the wood polish and started wiping down the desks and tables. The sooner I finished my job, the sooner I’d be able to get away from this boy. He was unlike any boy I’d ever met; he made me nervous and excited, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
These are dangerous men, Bella. Keep out of their way and they won’t pay you any mind.
Mama’s words echoed in my head as I finished, gathering my supplies and headed out the way I’d come.
Chapter 2
Marsala, Sicily
August, 1973
Vincenzo
I watched her lug the heavy basket of freshly washed laundry through the back door and into the heat of the day. I’d been watching her for weeks now; something about her quiet demeanor drew me to her. Her innocence was palpable. There wasn’t anything flashy about her, just a subtle and true beauty that I doubted she saw in herself.
I’d tried to strike up a conversation with her a few times, but she politely dodged my questions, focusing on whatever task she was doing. Not this time. I’d come up with the perfect in after seeing her in the library the other day.
She’d thought she was alone, but I watched as she let her hand glide across the spines of a row of books and plucked one off the shelf. She stood there for a full ten minutes skimming the pages before replacing the book. After she’d moved to another room, I’d gone in search of the book she’d been reading. I was shocked to find that it was In Cold Blood by Truman Capote.
She’d sealed her fate with that choice, a seemingly innocent girl drawn to the horror in that book was the perfect match for me. She was exactly what I wanted, and I would have her—whatever the cost.
Book in hand, I made my way outside to where she was hanging the laundry to dry in the sun. The fresh grass silenced my footsteps as I approached her. The sun was at her back, casting a shadow of her silhouette on the sheet that separated us. I crept forward, wanting to catch her off guard—the look of shock on her face when we first met was something I wanted to see again.
She moved on to the next line, and I silently rounded the sheet until I was standing directly behind her.
“Elena,” I whispered right next to her ear.
She screamed and spun around, getting tangled in the sheet she was hanging and losing her balance once again. I tried to catch her, but she was flailing and instead we both ended up in a heap on the grass, twisted in the damp laundry.
“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless from beneath me.
Lifting up, my arms braced on either side of her head as I smiled down at her. “I was just coming to say hello.”
“But why’d you sneak up on me like that?”
I laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re startled.”
A blush rose in her cheeks, and she turned her head to the side. “This’ll need to be re-washed,” she said, starting to wiggle around to extract us both from the confines of the tangled sheet. The feel of her body writhing beneath me had my mind running wild and the blood rushing through my veins.
“Stop,” I ordered a little too harshly. She froze, huge brown eyes staring up at me in fear. “Relax, just let me,” I said more softly. I didn’t mean to scare her; I just ne
eded her to stop moving before I embarrassed us both.
Reaching down, I began to pull and tug, finally releasing our legs so that I was able to get to my knees. Tucking one arm around her back, I lifted her off the grass and unwound the last of the sheet, freeing us both.
“Actually,” I said, helping her to her feet, “I was bringing you something.”
“Bringing me something?” she repeated, smoothing her skirt.
“A book, I thought you might like to borrow it.” I snatched the book I’d brought with me and offered it to her. “I saw you looking at it the other day.”
She took it from my hand, and her blush returned more fiercely. “You were spying on me?” she asked, peeking up at me from her lashes.
“Not spying. I was noticing you,” I said, grinning.
She didn’t say anything more, just looked down at the book, refusing to make eye contact with me again. That wouldn’t do. Reaching out, I lifted her chin like I’d done when we’d first met.
“Talk to me,” I prompted.
“I really shouldn’t, I have more work to do.”
“You can spare five minutes; besides, I’m basically your boss, right? So if I tell you to take a break, then you can without feeling guilty.”
Shifting on her feet, she nodded but again didn’t say anything.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing her hand and leading her to a stone bench a few feet away. “Have you read this one before?” I asked once we sat.
“No,” she said simply, not giving me any more to work with.
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“A family that got murdered, right?”
I nodded. “But it’s so much more than that; it’s about the town, the family, the murderers all rolled into one. It’s a portrait of how a single action can have a deep and profound impact. It’s fascinating.”
“It sounds amazing, but I can’t,” she whispered.
