Page 15 of Mafia Mistress

Chapter Five

Francesca

Light filtered into the room,streaks of blinding sunshine that roused me from a fitful sleep. I could barely bring myself to open my eyes.

All night I had tossed and turned, convinced the lock on my door would mean nothing to anyone who wanted to enter. Namely, someone with bright blue eyes and a nasty disposition who liked to kidnap and drug young women. The only way I’d been able to relax was knowing Giulio slept a few doors away.

I rolled onto my back and studied the plaster ceiling. If I were going to find a way out of this, I couldn’t stay in bed or hide in this room. I had to get out and explore, look for weaknesses. Try to come up with a plan to escape. Even if Giulio had resigned himself to this marriage, I certainly hadn’t.

Thankfully, the bathroom had been stocked with every toiletry I might possibly need, mostly high-end Italian brands we couldn’t get in Canada. The closet and wardrobe were full of clothes, from yoga pants to designer dresses. Even La Perla bras and panties, though I don’t know why they bothered with such sexy undergarments. No one here would see them.

I rose and dressed for comfort, choosing jeans and a t-shirt. The jeans were a perfect fit, though the shirt was a bit tight across my breasts. I decided to leave it on. Maybe my boobs might distract some of the guards from my escape efforts.

After I was ready, I slipped into the corridor. The house was quiet. Giulio’s door was closed, but I remembered the way to the kitchen so I started downstairs. Hopefully Ravazzani slept late like his son.

The smell of freshly baked bread made my mouth water. In the kitchen, I found Zia taking something out of the oven. She’d brought me tea last night and I instantly liked her. An older woman with grayish-brown hair, she was Ravazzani’s father’s sister, and had lived in the castle ever since her husband and son were killed years ago. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak much English.

“Hello,” I said as I walked in.

She smiled at me and held up the tray. “Ciao, bella. Caffé?”

I sat on a stool at the island. “Sí. Thank you.”

Soon she set a cup of espresso in front of me along with a basket of croissant-like things. “Mangia, bella. Cornetti.”

I couldn’t resist a pastry, especially a warm pastry. I might be a prisoner, but I wasn’t dead.

I was enjoying my third one when Giulio came in, fully dressed and hair styled, looking like a movie star. He kissed Zia’s cheeks and then reached for a pastry. “Buongiorno, Frankie. How did you sleep?”

“Like I’d been kidnapped from my home and brought to a foreign country.”

“Sounds about right,” he said with a half smile. “I’ll take you around the estate today. We can even sample some wine and grappa, if you’d like.”

“There are vineyards here?”

Giulio smiled at me. “Vineyards, olive groves, animals. Our soppressata is second to none. You’ll love it.”

“I’d rather go home.”

“Come on. You don’t want to stay inside all day.”

True, plus a tour would help me learn the property. “Okay.”

Heels on the tile caught my attention. I looked over to see a tall brown-haired woman stride into the kitchen like she belonged there. She was beautiful and thin, her tiny silver dress showing off a figure any model would kill for. The heels made her legs look even longer. Who in the hell was she?

“Good morning, Zia. Giulio. I just wanted to take one of Zia’s pastries on my way out.” Her accent wasn’t Italian, but I couldn’t place it. Eastern European, maybe?

Zia gave the woman a tight smile, but Giulio was slightly more welcoming. “Buongiorno, Katarzyna.”

The woman plucked a pastry out of the basket on the island then cocked her head at me. “You must be the fiancée.”

“I’m Frankie.”

“I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”

From the stove, Zia made a noise in her throat that sounded disapproving. Giulio put down his espresso cup. “Our driver will take you anywhere you want to go, Katarzyna.”

“I’m aware, Giulio. This isn’t my first time.” She rolled her eyes, though a smirk remained on her face. Strolling back the way she came, she looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Zia. Your pastries are the bomb.”

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