Page 17 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

Before I answer Matteo’s text, I pick up my phone and, on a whim, place a call. It rings twice before a gruff voice answers.

“Yes,” my brother barks down the line.

“Nice to speak to you too, brother dearest,” I say sarcastically.

“What do you want, Renata; I'm busy.”

“I just wanted to know why it seems that no one in this family thinks that I might need security.”

He sighs, and I can almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in impatience at my question. “You don't need it,” he says. “There's never been any hint of a threat against you. You're not in the business in any way, and you married someone who has nothing to do with any of that. If you want security, though, you can have it. I can get a detail assigned to you within a day.”

I think about what he's offered and realize it will come with strings. For a start, I wouldn't put it past him to ask them to fill him and my parents in on everything that I do. I bet it would be more like a spy team than a security team.

“That's alright,” I say. “I just wondered is all. I mean, our parents have security at the house, and Babbo has someone with him everywhere he goes. You have more men at the house with you and Cindy than some nations have as an army. Yet here I am, with no one.”

“Listen,” he says, and I recognize the anger in his tone. “The reason you're not in the business is because of this kind of thing. We don't want you at risk in the first place, and if you aren't involved in our life, then you won't be in danger. It's different for Mamma because she's married to our father and he's still, on paper at least, the boss of our organization. You don't have any power in the company, and you're not married to anyone who does. It means you're much safer than most.”

“You don't think that if someone wanted to target our father, they might decide to take his precious daughter?” I ask. I can't keep sarcasm out of my tone.

“Jesus Christ, Renata,” Nico seethes. “Either take a security detail or don't. I don't really care either way. You want the truth? I didn’t even know where the fuck you were after you left that useless, pampered, royal shit. Father should have organized it anyway, and I have no idea why he didn’t. The offer is there if you want it. Or, I can send you the money to organize it for yourself. Either way, just decide and stop your bitching. I’m fucking busy.”

“Fine. I don't want your stupid security anyway.” I hang up the phone without saying goodbye and resist the urge to throw it across the room. I stare for a long moment at the TV screen and wonder if I should bake a chocolate cake. No, I decide. If I'm going to say yes to this date, I don't need to be stuffing my face with more chocolate.

Picking my phone back up, I swipe my finger and open the text app. Then I write a brief reply to Matteo.

Thank you for the invitation, Matteo. I would love to join you for dinner.

His reply text comes only a moment later.

Great, I will pick you up at 8:00 PM on Friday. I'm just taking you somewhere casual, so feel free to wear whatever you're comfortable in. It's not swanky, but trust me, they have the best food. See you then. M.

I don't send a reply but love heart the message, so he knows I've seen it and liked it. Then I worry that he might read too much into the simple reply than was intended.

God, I need to get a grip. I'm a woman, not a sixteen -year-old girl. I need to talk to someone. I could talk to Jilly about this, but something tells me she won't really understand. She saw the wreck I was after the way Matteo played me, and she will be furious with me if she thinks I'm going to give him another go at wrecking my heart. I don't have many other friends that I could talk to, not about something like this. It can't get back to my family, which means I can't really ring Cindy because I know for a fact that she'll tell Nico.

Carol, I think. She won't tell Cindy if I ask her not to because it doesn't involve her goddaughter. With a smile, I head to my fridge and pour a small glass of perfectly chilled Chardonnay. Sipping at the delicious vanilla and oak flavors, I take a seat on the sofa, legs crossed under me, and call Carol’s number.

“Hello there, my darling,” Carol’s throaty tones drift through the ether to me.

I wonder where she is right now. “Are you still in Italy?” I ask.

“No, my darling, I'm in New York. Fashion Week. I have an invite from the editor of Visage magazine.”

Of course, she did. Carol is all kinds of fabulous. One week she's at New York fashion week with the editor of Visage, and the next she's at some sort of charity fundraising event with the Vice President of some European nation or other. Then the next week, she's back on the Italian Riviera, hanging out with all the handsome pool boys that she seems to surround herself with. Carol is who I would like to be when I get older. What a life the woman leads.

“Wow, that sounds like fun,” I say.

“It's pretentious nonsense,” she replies with a soft huff. “But you do get great goodie bags, so I thought, why not? I also quite like New York, and I can go to the galleries and museums, which I much prefer to this fashion nonsense. Don't get me wrong, I love clothes, but the whole catwalk thing makes me cringe. Anyway, did you ring for a chat, or is there something on your mind?”

I like how direct Carol is. She doesn't mess around, but she's not brusque or unfriendly in any way.

“I need to talk to someone before I burst,” I blurt out.

“Who is he?” she asks.

“How do you know it has to do with a man?”

“It's always to do with a man, my darling.”

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