by Portia Moore
“I didn’t want to marry her, but I did want to see that she was taken care of,” he says, seeing the look on my face. “I cared for her, even if I didn’t love her enough to want to be with her seriously. Regardless, she didn’t want to have the baby; she wanted to go back to college. So…” His lips press together tightly, his face a little paler than usual. “She had an abortion,” he says finally.
“Oh,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.
“And there were complications.” He looks out the window, his eyes suddenly sadder than I’ve ever seen them. “She died,” he says flatly.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry, Vincent.” I reach out to touch his hand.
“Sonya blamed me,” he confirms. “She was furious, heartbroken, worse than anything I’ve ever seen. My mother, of course, blamed Lucinda and said she would go to hell for killing her child. Sonya hated her for that almost as much as she hated me. My dad sort of blamed me.” He sighs, draining the last of his wine in a long gulp. “It was a very rough time in their marriage.”
I’m not sure if it’s regret over what happened with his parents or Lucinda’s death weighing on him.
“Once Sonya and I had both left, it eased things, I think. Even Sonya and my mother made amends after a while. But Sonya refused to speak to me again. Even now, we handle business through a third party. She’s never stopped blaming me for Lucinda’s death, and I don’t think she ever will.”
He waves a hand, clearly trying to brush it off. It doesn’t surprise me; Vincent has never been great with emotion. This is the closest I’ve seen him to being truly vulnerable in a long time, maybe ever.
“It was a long time ago. Like I told my mother, if Sonya still holds a grudge, that’s her problem. I made my peace with it.”
He says it dismissively, but I can tell that the memory still hurts him. I know I shouldn’t sit here, not saying anything, and I try to remember what I’d do if he were the old Vincent, the one I loved. I find myself moving forward without really meaning to, reaching out and taking his face in my hands, and he kisses me. His hand slides over the side of my face, into my hair, and he groans softly as I press my lips more firmly against his, sliding my tongue into his mouth to deepen the kiss. I try to shut my mind off…the thoughts of this man who is still here and thriving after all the mistakes he made, the people he’s hurt, still getting exactly what he wants.
“The family with you is the one I’m meant to have, and I can’t wait to start it,” he whispers against my lips. His hand slides down my flat stomach as he lays me back against the pillows, lingering for just a moment before sliding between my legs as he sets his glass of wine aside, starting to undo his belt.
I thank God with every fiber of my being that I’m on birth control.
In the morning, I wake up to the curtains being flung open and Vincent standing at the end of the bed, buttoning his shirt. He’s wearing dark jeans, which I rarely see him in, and a green button-down that sets off his eyes, the sleeves rolled up to show his muscular forearms with their dusting of black hair.
“Wake up, lazybones,” Vincent says cheerfully, yanking the duvet off of me. In a normal relationship, I’d snatch it back. But this isn’t a normal relationship, and the last thing I want to do is anger Vincent when he seems to be in a good mood.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I see that he’s laid out something for me to wear, and I fight down the sense of resentment that bubbles up. I don’t hate the dress he’s picked, a blue and pink floral sundress that I chose myself on a shopping trip, but I do hate being dressed like a child. I feel his eyes on me as I slip off my nightgown and shimmy into a pair of white lace panties and a strapless bra.
He walks up behind me, laying his hands on my waist gently, and drops a kiss on the back of my neck. “Better hurry up and get dressed, Poppy, or I might take you back to bed. And then we’d be late for breakfast.”
I quickly slip into the dress and glance over at him as I slide a pair of rose gold and diamond pave hoops into my ears. “Did you really mean that last night?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light and playful as I turn to face him. “About babies, I mean. That you can’t wait to have one. I wasn’t sure that you wanted children. I mean, I’m not even sure if--”
His face hardens a little, and I feel the pit in my stomach start to grow, my throat tightening with nervousness. “Of course I want children,” he says. The familiar coldness in his voice is back, making my heart sink. He walks towards me, running his hand through my hair as he touches my stomach with the other. “Not before we’re married; my mother would lose her shit. But as soon as we are, I want you off of birth control.”
I stare at him in horror, but he doesn’t seem to even notice my reaction. “Good Catholics don’t use birth control anyway,” he says casually as he reaches for his shoes as if we’re talking about the weather and not getting me pregnant.
I can’t help it. I laugh at that, a sound that rises until it ends on a nervous squeak. Vincent looks up at me, plainly irritated by my behavior.
“You’re not devout,” I protest, and he rolls his eyes. “And I’m not even Catholic.”
“You will be before we get married,” he says coldly, standing up. “And it doesn’t matter if I’m devout. I want you pregnant after we’re married, as soon as possible. My mother should get grandchildren while she’s still young enough to enjoy them, and you’ll need something to occupy your time.”
All I can do is stare at him in shock, completely speechless.
“Hurry up,” he says shortly, turning to leave without so much as kissing me. “I’ll be downstairs. Breakfast will be served soon, and I expect you downstairs with me when Sonya and her boyfriend arrive.” He glances back at me. “And I expect you looking your best. Make sure you fix your hair. And not too much makeup. I don’t want you looking like a slut.”
The door shuts behind him hard, and I sit down on the edge of the bed, desperately fighting back the tears. I can’t breathe…getting married was bad enough, but a baby? I’m not ready to be a mother, and I’m definitely not prepared to bring a child into the world with Vincent.
Stupid, so fucking stupid! I think as I try not to start crying and ruin my mascara.
I’m stuck here in a foreign country with his family, all of whom adore him. I mean, my sister adores him for God’s sake. I have no allies here, no one who can help me.
I’ve never, in my entire life, felt more alone.
19
Zach
A black Ferrari is waiting for us when we step off of the jet, gleaming in the Tuscan sun. I shade my eyes with one hand as I heft my leather duffel over my shoulder, shaking my head briefly to clear away the feeling that all of this is some kind of insane mirage.
I’m in Italy. Undercover. With a woman gorgeous enough to be a Bond girl.
It’s like I’m in some kind of fucking movie.
I know I have to be focused, or else it’s going to be way too easy to get caught up in all of this.
“Come on,” Sonya says with a bright grin. “Get in.”
“You driving?” I laugh as I throw my bag into the backseat.
“Of course, it’s a Ferrari.” Sonya glances over at me, rolling her eyes as she slides into the driver’s seat.
“Fair enough.” As I slide into the passenger’s seat, she leans over to give me a quick kiss, and I return it without thinking. It’s the kind of kiss you share in an old, secure, intimate relationship—and that’s not the kind of relationship I should have with Sonya, or encourage.
It’s not something I meant to do, and I remind myself for the thousandth time to be careful.
Very, very careful.
We’re quiet for the first part of the drive except for the music on the radio, the top down on the Ferrari as we drive through the winding countryside. I’m content to sit and watch it go by. I’ve gotten luckier than I could have ever expected, all things considered. When I was a high-school dropout, I didn’t think I’d be anything outside of a
fuck-up, let alone an agent for the FBI. I never thought of going to other countries, and never in style like this. I didn’t expect that something like this would ever be in the cards for me even after getting my job—not for years, at least—yet here I am.
Of course, there were things I wanted even more back then that I had to give up—that still doesn’t make this worth it.
I’m going to have to be careful with obtaining information about the family and their business while I’m here. I’m far away from my handler, the agency, and even a few hours from an embassy that could help me. I’m a sheep surrounded by wolves; I have to stay on my toes. I can’t let myself be distracted by anything.
“So I found out that Vincent brought his fiancée with him,” Sonya says casually as we drive. I see her roll her eyes when I glance over at her.
“Did you think he’d leave her at home? When his mother is sick?”
“She’s probably just here for the vacation,” Sonya snorts, ignoring my question. “I’m sure she could give a shit. Vincent likes them young, pretty, and dumb. These men, I swear. If the pussy is older than 25, they think it’s dried up.”
She’s sure as hell right about that. All the men she works with have girlfriends who weren’t even alive in the ’90s.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be a strong woman in a business like this, Chase. One wrong step, and they eat you alive. Vincent thinks he’s had it so hard, just because our father liked me a little bit more, but he doesn’t know hard. It’s a fucking shark tank, and I’ve been swimming in the deep end the whole damn time.”
She’s loosening up around me. Venting as she would to a friend. That’s a good thing; it’s taken long enough. I need her to have that level of comfort around me, to be willing to open up. It’s how I’ll find out what’s really going on with Sonya, Vincent, and everyone they work with. It’s how I’ll get this job done and get my promotion.
I almost ask her what happened to cause so much animosity between her and Vincent, but I’ve gotten the impression she doesn’t want to talk about that yet, and I don’t want her to clam up. There isn’t time to ask her about it anyway because as we come around the curve, I see the estate in the distance.
There’s nothing I can think of to say at first—I’m completely stunned by it. I’ve never seen anything this extravagant in real life. The estate’s land seems to stretch for miles around, with seemingly endless vineyards in the distance. But the house is the most magnificent thing of all.
It’s a mansion, plain and simple. As Sonya pulls the car around it and parks in the gravel, I’m so fucking happy my cover story allows me to be as awestruck as I am. There’s no way in hell I could act casual about this.
“Long way from home, aren’t you?” Sonya says with a teasing smirk.
You could say that again. I feel like I’m on an entirely different planet.
When I turn to get my bag, there’s already a member of what must be the household staff reaching to collect our luggage, as well as a uniformed valet taking the keys from Sonya.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Sonya says, lacing her fingers through mine as she leads me towards the steps of the grand house. “My family has staff for everything. You won’t have to lift so much as a finger.”
I think that’s pretty fucking ridiculous, but this is just a way of life for Sonya. It’s a good reminder of the divide between us. I don’t think I would ever want to get used to something like this. I like doing for myself, taking care of myself and those close to me. I don’t want to be waited on hand and foot.
Although some of the luxuries are nice--the Ferrari’s fucking great.
“Bambina!” I hear the slightly hoarse voice of an older woman as the carved wooden doors at the front of the house fly open, and a short, round woman with grey-streaked hair comes out, her arms wide. Sonya lets go of my hand, going to her and embracing her as well. The two of them hug tightly as I hang back. “Piccolo bambina, bellissima bambina,” I hear the woman say, and Sonya laughs, kissing her on the cheek.
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Francesca,” she says with a laugh. “But I missed you! I’m so happy to see you again. Where’s Mama?”
“She’ll be out soon,” Francesca promises. “I told her the second we heard the car. Oh, Lorenzo, come and see! Sonya is here. And she’s brought such a handsome man, too!”
The older, slightly stooped man behind Francesca embraces Sonya, too, and then turns to look at me. “Who is this, Sonya, bella?”
“This is Chase,” Sonya says, motioning me forward.
Francesca arches one eyebrow. “So handsome!”
“Yes, very handsome,” Sonya says with a laugh. “Chase, this is Francesca and Lorenzo. They run the house for my aunt and uncle.”
Just then, as I’m saying hello, I hear the sound of clicking heels and look up to see another couple exiting—this one undoubtedly Gianna and her husband, except the woman stepping out into the bright sunlight doesn’t look sick at all. She looks gorgeous, hardly fifty if she’s a day, and I know from Vincent’s age she’s a lot older than that, at least. Her dark hair doesn’t show a speck of grey, swept up into a twist at the back of her head, and she’s wearing a fitted, knee-length dress that looks expensive and diamond studs in her ears.
“Sonya,” she says warmly, stepping forward and hugging her. “I’m so glad you’ve come. It’s been too long.”
“It’s good to see you, Sonya,” the man standing just behind Gianna says, but I can hear a trace of coldness in his voice. Interesting. Sonya had said that she was close to her uncle when she was growing up and that he’d favored her over Vincent to a certain degree. Whatever happened, it’s made things chillier between them. That much is obvious.
“Aunt Gianna.” Sonya embraces her gently as if she’s afraid she might break, and then steps back with a small frown. “You look fantastic.”
“And that makes you unhappy?” Gianna demands. “What kind of children have I raised?”
“You said you were sick,” Sonya reminds her gently. “That’s why I’m here.”
Gianna shakes her head. “A woman has to be dying to have her children come home. What a world we live in.”
“Gianna wants her family reunited,” the man behind her says, a dry smile on his face. “She’d stop at nothing to see you and Vincent under the same roof again, making amends.”
Sonya’s face goes blank, and I pick up on exactly what’s happened. Gianna isn’t sick at all—she just wants Sonya and Vincent to fix up whatever’s going on between them. As an outsider, it makes me want to laugh. It’s crafty, alright, and exactly what I’d expect from this family.
“If you wanted to see me that badly, you could have just said so,” Sonya remonstrates, but her voice is still soft. It’s clear she has a lot of love for Gianna. “But I’m here now.” She motions for me to come closer. “This is Chase. Chase, this is my aunt Gianna and uncle Ezio. But they’re practically my parents.”
I shake Ezio’s hand and then start to do the same with Gianna, but she’s looking at me with eyebrows raised almost into her hairline. “Well, isn’t he the catch, Sonya,” she says, smirking at me. “No wonder you brought him home to meet us. You’re planning on keeping this one, are you?”
I tense up, waiting for Sonya to tell them that it’s just a casual thing. But instead, she smiles a little. “You know I don’t keep anyone for long,” she replies teasingly. “But who knows? Maybe I’ll let this one stay.”
I know what my handler would say—the closer I am and the more serious she is, the more likely she is to trust me with the secrets of their inner circle. The Bureau would say it’s a good thing. But I’m not so sure. I’m a good agent, but I’m not a fan of manipulating women or leading them on.
I have to remind myself this isn’t the average woman; she’s the center of a major crime organization.
“Breakfast is being served in the courtyard,” Gianna says as she gestures for us to all walk into the house. “It�
�s such a lovely morning out. Wait until you see my flowers out there—they’re just thriving.”
I walk a little bit behind Sonya and Gianna, keeping pace with Ezio, Francesca, and Lorenzo bringing up the rear. I’m only half-listening to Sonya’s conversation, taking in everything around me. It’s like something out of a movie.
“Is Vincent down for breakfast already?” Sonya asks. I can hear some trepidation in her voice. I need to pay attention to what’s going on between the two of them because I might be able to use it to gain more information that will actually be useful.
“Yes,” Gianna says and then scoffs a little. “His fiancée is still getting dressed, I suppose. Vincent was down earlier, talking with Ezio.”
“So, you’ve met her already?”
“They came in yesterday afternoon. You should have heard what he called her! Such a silly nickname, ‘Poppy.’ She’s practically a child, not even twenty-one yet.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sonya says.
“She’s too young to make a good wife,” Gianna says tightly.
“You were young when you married Uncle Ezio,” Sonya tells her with a shrug. “And the two of you have done well over the years. Isn’t that right?”
“I was raised in a different time,” Gianna says stiffly. “Girls these days, they don’t know what it means to be a proper wife. How to support your husband. And marrying into a family like ours! They want the money and status, but not the responsibility.”
“That’s why I became a part of the business, instead of marrying,” Sonya says with a laugh. “I like the responsibility and my freedom.”
Gianna sniffs. “This little girl is nothing like you, trust me.”
“Of course she isn’t. If she was Vincent wouldn’t be marrying her?”
“She’s a silly girl,” Gianna says firmly. “But I suppose, one benefit of her youth and inexperience is that she’ll be easier to manage. Vincent doesn’t like input into his affairs. A more spoiled girl might be harder to keep in her place, especially with all these modern ideas about equality and such. But still, I’d rather he have picked a good Italian girl from one of the families.”
