Page 76 of Mafia Mistress

That scared me like nothing else.

As the waves continued to batter the yacht, I clung to the bed and prayed, queasy and miserable. I could only wonder, had Fausto known the storm was coming? Was this his way of punishing me?

* * *

Fausto

When the stormabated at daybreak I was in the helicopter, flying toward the water. The wind hadn’t completely died down, and the pilot struggled to keep the craft righted. I didn’t care. I had to get to the yacht.

There had been no way to reach her last night, or I would have gone. But the wind had been too fierce, too sudden to risk a small speedboat or the helicopter. I hadn’t even been able to reach her by phone to reassure her, as we’d lost service early on in the storm.

I knew the yacht was sound. Nothing, not even a category five hurricane, could capsize a boat that big, equipped to handle rough seas. But for someone not used to the ocean, a storm such as the one last night could be terrifying. I hated that I put her through it. Instead of letting her come back to the castello, I’d left her on the yacht, alone and with no way to reach me, surrounded by a crew that spoke little if any English.

Bastardo!What had I been thinking?

The night had been a sleepless one. I paced and worried over Francesca. At dinner, Zia had given me an earful about my treatment of Francesca, hissing, “Vecchi peccati hanno le ombre lunghe.” It was true. Old sins did have long shadows, and I knew that what I’d done would have long-lasting repercussions.

While I regretted leaving Francesca the instant I departed the yacht, I could not weaken and reconsider. I intended to live with the consequences, good or bad. Of course, if I had known about the storm, I would have handled things differently. I prayed she would forgive me.

As we approached, the yacht was still, the waters once again calm. I held onto the door handle, tossing my headset onto the seat next to me, and as soon as the helicopter touched down, I was out and racing along the deck.

A lump of fear lodged in my throat as I opened the suite’s door. Francesca was sprawled out on top of the bed, limbs askew, asleep in one of my dress shirts. My shoulders relaxed slightly, until I got close enough to see the dried tears on her cheeks.

Something in my chest turned over.

I found a soft blanket in a drawer. Carrying it to the bed, I crawled next to her, gathered her to me and covered us both. She sighed and nestled closer, her eyes never opening, and I sagged into the mattress, exhausted. I should have been here last night, as we’d planned. Or we should have been in my bedroom inside the castello. My anger over her disobeying me was not an excuse for isolating her and scaring her half to death.

Marco had tried to tell me as much on the ride back to the estate yesterday, but I hadn’t listened, so full of my own importance that I couldn’t see reason. I closed my eyes, determined to make this up to her. I wanted my sweet girl back.

Though I meant to stay awake, I must have slept because movement at my side brought me out of a deep fog. I felt her edge away, and I instinctively reached for her. “No. Non muoversi,” I mumbled, telling her not to move.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she said, her voice distant, and I released her.

She was gone for quite some time. I was beginning to worry when I heard the latch. I pushed up to my elbows as she emerged, her face clear and freshly washed. She stood by the side of the bed and crossed her arms. “When did you arrive?”

“At daybreak, when the storm abated. Dolcezza—”

“No, Fausto. You do not get to call me that. Not anymore. You left me here. I was all alone,” her voice cracked as it trailed off, and I was on my feet instantly.

Crossing to her, I pulled her tight to my chest. She pushed back, trying to get away, but I didn’t let her. I held her tight, whispering, “I am sorry, Francesca. Mi dispiace. Perdonami, bellissima.” I repeated it again and to my astonishment she broke out into tears, her fingers clinging to my shirt.

The sound of her misery tore me apart. I kissed the top of her head and sat, holding her on my lap. “You’re safe now,” I told her. “You are safe. Nothing will ever hurt you.”

“I was so scared.”

“I know, but you were not in danger. This boat could never capsize.”

“That is what they said about the Titanic,” she said, her face buried in my throat.

The Titanic hadn’t capsized, but I didn’t say as much. “You were safe, though I know storms on the water can be very scary.”

“I was terrified. And I got sick. Twice.”

“Oh, piccolina.” I squeezed her, hating myself even more for not being here. “I am so sorry.”

“All because I wore a bathing suit you didn’t like.” She pushed off my lap and stood, glaring down at me. “I hate this. I don’t want to be your mistress or your prisoner or your daughter-in-law. I want to go home.”

I would never allow it, not yet, but I suspected she didn’t want to hear that at the moment. I had to use honesty and finesse to coax her anger away.

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