Page 42 of Doll Face

“I guess we’ll see,” she said and then marched past him. Mauro was at the door to the Rolls and he opened it as she approached. Sliding into the back seat once more, she stared at Matteo until he faded into the distance.

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, Gianna dressed in a simple black dress with capped sleeves. She paired it with four-inch Manolo Blahnik shoes, the heels providing a staccato burst over the terracotta tiles inlaid with marble. Orianna’s villa had been in her family for generations, built in the traditional architecture of the time. Upgraded over the years, it still maintained warmth amongst the luxury. It rested overlooking the crystal-clear blue water of the Ionian Sea, breathtaking each and every time she looked at it.

She smiled and greeted the staff as she made her way across the villa, to the rooms that contained her security measures. Before entering, she knocked, and the door immediately opened. Caelian stepped back to allow her into the war room, as she called it, because it was here that their plan would begin to manifest.

“Do you have an update?” she asked the man sitting behind a bank of computers and monitors.

The tech guru, Seth, hummed a little as he glanced over at her. He’d been working as one of Pietro Romanelli’s cyber security men when Seth’s wife made one little accidental slip up, blabbing personal information about the Romanelli’s house to a friend. It had gotten back to Pietro, so he arranged for her to be taken, raped, and returned to her husband in pieces. A warning to everyone not to talk about the Romanelli syndicate.

Orianna had found many people like Seth, either former employees or just ordinary citizens affected by the crime Pietro unleashed on them. She brought them into her fold, forming an alliance all in the name of toppling the mighty kingpin. In the past three years, a plan slowly emerged, started when Orianna asked, “what would Macy Moore have done.” With a strong-willed determination, she had transformed into Gianna. Rising like a phoenix but seeking vengeance like the mythological Furies. Unceasing, judging, ready to give sweet revenge.

“Cameras? Audio?” she asked.

“Cameras are all operational, and the mics will definitely pick up any whispered words Pietro might say to Matteo,” Seth reported. “Caelian and I tested and retested them.”

“Mauro, pull me out of this upcoming shitshow after twenty minutes.”

He nodded in understanding.

She looked at the diamond encrusted watch on her wrist, noting it was almost time for action. The blatant wealth she now lived with unsettled her at times, especially when she remembered how Macy had worked two jobs just to survive, but it was a necessary prop when dealing with the mafia. The only good thing about having money was that she was now able to afford the medicine she needed.

“They just pulled up to the gate,” Seth said, nodding to one of his computer screens.

“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Showtime.”

She turned and left the war room, Mauro on her heels. Caelian had been instructed not to intervene unless she was in trouble.

A few minutes later, Mauro led the guests into the sitting room. The bifold glass doors were open, allowing the cool breeze from the Ionian Sea to blow inside. Gianna stood and held out her hand. Pietro took it and kissed the back of it, offering her a wide smile.

“You look just like your mother,” he murmured. “So very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replied. She wanted to rub the lingering saliva from the back of her hand, but couldn’t. She kept repeating in her head that she had to play a part. Her gaze flickered to Matteo, only to see he stared at her with carefully blank eyes. He gave away nothing about what he was thinking. Without her veil she was able to see the minute changes that three years had brought. His features were hard. His mouth unsmiling. The softness she’d once seen in him was nowhere to be found. “Please, have a seat. Mauro will be here shortly with refreshments.”

Pietro and Matteo waited to sit until after she sat before joining her. Pietro Romanelli stared unblinkingly at her, and it made her uneasy. This was the man who still starred in her nightmares. The monster lurking in the shadows.

“You have a beautiful home,” Pietro said, looking around. “Fabulous view.”

“Grazie,” she said. “My grandfather built it for my grandmother.”

For a brief moment, anger and resentment flashed over his features. “I met your grandfather. Savvy business man.”

“Yes,” she said. “He was.”

Mauro rolled in the dessert cart, which also held a carafe of coffee and a decanter with 30-year double cask single malt scotch. No surprise, Pietro chose the scotch with the prosciutto and provolone-stuffed peppadew peppers. Mauro fixed his drink and plate, then served him, leaning over to place the offerings on the glass top coffee table.

Matteo only chose coffee.

Once Mauro left, she let Pietro eat for a moment before getting down to the nitty gritty. “I believe you’re here because of the marriage contract my grandmother made with you.”

She glanced at Matteo, catching a look of displeasure that rippled over his face before he smoothed it over. He met her gaze, and she saw that anger and resentment from yesterday bubbled just below the surface. What did he have to be angry about? She was the wronged party. She was the one he had tried to kill.

Pietro nodded and set his glass down. “We are. I thought it might be prudent to finalize the wedding details. Unless…”

She cocked her head. “Unless?”

“Unless you’d be happier with me, instead of my son.”

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