Page 7 of His to Honor

Giulia lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Everyone takes orders from your brother, Matteo. I’m no different. Now, tell me where I can sleep. We’ll discuss what happens next in the morning.”

I don’t want to consider what she means by that. Though I’d rather not have her here, I can’t send her away at this time of night. There’s only one small hotel in the village and I doubt they have twenty-four-hour check-in.

“Upstairs, second on the left.”

Though I wasn’t expecting guests, the housekeeper, Rosalia, keeps the whole house in pristine condition. I know she has all the bedrooms made up. She’s probably hoping my sister will return. The atmosphere was a lot lighter when Olivia was here, but, of course, that was before the Montalbano girl was killed. I sent my sister to stay with our cousin Damiano in Florence in case Sofia’s family comes looking for revenge. They made it clear they blamed my presence in the village for her death. They’re right, of course. This is a peaceful place. If I hadn’t been here, the Rossis wouldn’t have come.

“That’s it?” Giulia huffs. “You’re not going to offer to help with my suitcase?”

“No, and don’t bother unpacking. You won’t be staying.”

She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. I know that look. She’s determined to defy me. “We’ll see.”

I don’t have the chance to set her straight. Spinning on her heel, she flounces from the room, leaving me with the urge to bend her over and spank her ass again. Disturbed by the thought, I head back to the living room and pour myself another vodka. It’s cheap shit that burns my throat as I swallow it down, but I’ve developed a taste for it.

As I flop onto an armchair, there’s a thudding sound on the stairs, Giulia bumping her suitcase up the steps. I should have carried it up to her room, but I don’t want her to get the mistaken idea she’s welcome here. As much as I want to make up with her after the stupid things I said at Johnny’s funeral, now is not the time. I can’t have her around me, not if it might put her in the crosshairs of my family’s enemies. She can stay tonight, but tomorrow morning, she’s gone, whether Antonio likes it or not.

CHAPTER 3

Giulia

Every summer when I was a kid, I spent a week at a cabin in Maine. Until I was eleven, I went with my mom and dad. After she died, my dad started to bring along my half-brother, the product of an affair he’d had with a Colombian whore. You’d think that would be awkward, but I got on well with Philip from the start. It wasn’t his fault my dad cheated, after all.

Whenever we went to Maine, we had the most incredible time. My dad may have been a shitty husband, but he was actually great with his kids. Sure, he was strict, but he was fair, and he never lashed out in anger. On our vacations to Maine, he could put all the mafia bullshit he was involved in aside and really let his hair down.

Our cabin was on Flagstaff Lake. My dad loved it there. He couldn’t get enough of the water, being in it, on it, just looking at it. He taught us to swim, to fish. We went kayaking. We explored tiny, uninhabited islands and built campfires. It was like one of those classic kids’ adventure books.

After Dad married Valeria, we stopped going to the cabin. She isn’t a fan of the great outdoors and she didn’t want us going up there without her. Maybe she feared my father would find another Colombian hooker in the wilds of Maine and get her pregnant. She isn’t willing to turn a blind eye to my dad’s indiscretions like my mom was. If he so much as looks at another woman, she raises hell. I hate to admit it, but I respect her for that.

I went back to Maine a couple of times after that, with Matteo’s family. It was a totally different experience. Their cabin was more of a mini-mansion. Where we’d made do with sleeping bags and rickety old camp beds, the Volantes slept on Egyptian cotton sheets. It was nice, but there was always a certain tension within their family. Their father was the boss of the Volante Organization and even though he was good to his kids, they were always aware of his position.

My dad objected to me going to a remote cabin with the Volante boys, but Valeria convinced him. I think she hoped one of them would do something inappropriate and have to marry me. I think she saw me as the heroine of a Regency romance, ripe for plucking. It was why she persuaded my father to put off finding me a husband for so long. She had the idea that, given time, Matteo would realize he wanted more than friendship with me. When it didn’t happen, she looked for another match. I think she chose Johnny as punishment for my failure to land a bigger prize. That move backfired on her.

I loved the landscape in Maine, but the view from my bedroom is something else. As I stand on the balcony, looking out over the valley below, it’s actually hard to breathe. The sublime beauty of the countryside is almost overwhelming. I can see why so many poets have drawn inspiration from it.

Checking my phone, I see it’s seven-thirty. My stomach rumbles as if to confirm it is, in fact, past the time I usually eat breakfast. I snap a couple of photos of the view, then head into the bedroom. Often when I’m not in my own bed I don’t rest easy, but last night I slept like a log. The bed is a huge four-poster with cream floral sheets. The walls are painted a pale yellow, and the carpet is a cornflower blue. It’s a very relaxing place to be.

I glance at my suitcase, which I didn’t bother to unpack last night. It’s not because Matteo told me not to bother. I was just too tired after the long flight and the sixty-minute drive to get here. I decide not to get dressed. My pajamas, comprising of red cotton pants and a white t-shirt, are comfy and I want to convey the message to Matteo that I intend to make myself at home.

Leaving my phone on the nightstand, I head downstairs. The house isn’t huge, but it takes me a couple of minutes to find the kitchen tucked away along a narrow corridor behind the staircase. I don’t mind that I got a bit lost. It gave me a chance to get my bearings. This house is gorgeous. There’s an enormous living room, a dining room, a media room, and, of course, the study where I encountered Matteo last night. The less I think about that, the better. What I allowed him to do to me is mortifying. I have no idea why I didn’t speak up sooner and tell him who I was.

When I walk into the wonderfully spacious kitchen, which has a huge table at its center, I find a young woman there. Probably not out of her teens, she has long black hair and flawless olive skin. I really hope Matteo isn’t fucking her.

My sudden entrance seems to startle her. She clutches the knife she was chopping melon with to her chest.

“Hi, I’m Giulia.” I offer her a reassuring smile. “I’m a friend of Matteo’s.”

Hopefully, this girl speaks English because my Italian is dreadful. My grandfather used to pepper his conversation with a few words here and there, but the language hasn’t been passed down through the generations. Despite my heritage being Italian on both sides, I’ve only been to the country of my ancestors once. We came when I was fourteen, to attend the funeral of a great-uncle I’d never heard of. My dad used it as an excuse to have a few days’ vacation. I picked up a few phrases, but unless I need this girl to tell me where the bathroom is, I’ve got nothing.

“I’m Rosalia, the housekeeper.SignoreVolante didn’t tell me he was expecting a guest.”

I take a seat at the large farmhouse-style wooden table. “He wasn’t expecting me.”

“I see.” She purses her lips. “He hasn’t brought a woman back here before.”

Her obvious disapproval tells me she’s got the wrong idea about me. “I’m not someone random woman he hooked up with. I’m a friend from New York.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought…” She waves her hand dismissively. “Never mind what I thought. Is this your first time in Italy?”

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