Page 36 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
Logically, I know if the wedding were to be called off, I’d never see Cristiano again. He has a life in Vegas and businesses to run; he’s only here to bury his father and be a best man. The thought sits like a lead weight in the pit of my stomach.
The house is enormous. So enormous, in fact, the word “house” doesn’t do it justice. It’s a complex. A network of opulent buildings connected by intricate covered walkways, terraces, and gardens. A doorman walks us through an entrance hall and outside, to a path painted yellow and white with the last of the snowdrops and the first of the daffodils. Birds twitter in manicured evergreens peppering a central garden.
Tess sucks in a breath and releases it with a low whistle. “Isthiswhere you’ll live?”
I can’t answer her for two reasons. One: I don’t know. And two: I can’t form a sentence—even a one-word sentence.
“I had no idea a place like this existed here,” Bambi whispers.
It’s clear this home, thiscompound, is worth more than most homes around here put together. Even the knobs turned by the doorman’s satin-gloved fingers look like they cost more than the average family’s life savings.
“It’s certainly unique,” I eventually say, forcing an element of wonder into my voice.
We’re taken straight out to a pretty terrace, where a long table has been laid with bowls and plates of delicious-looking seafood and salads. Three men stand at different corners of theterrace, each one talking on a phone. Only one I recognize—the one who never left Savero’s side at the funeral. I believe his name is Nicolò.
Savero looks up as we approach and slides his phone into an inside pocket of his jacket. It must be about ninety degrees out, but still, these men insist on wearing their suits.
“Welcome.” He strides toward us and makes straight for Allegra.
“Tony is on his way,” she explains. “He’s coming from the port.”
“Of course,” Savero replies before kissing her on the cheek. “I apologize for my no-show last week. I’d been looking forward to dinner, and Cristiano told me the spaghetti wasperfetta.”
Allegra has either the good grace or the poor sense to blush.
“Unfortunately, I had a pressing matter to deal with.” His expression sobers quickly, and I understand straight away. It’s an expression I’d hear a lot when eavesdropping on Papa’s conversations with Gianni. I gathered pretty quickly the “matter” was usually a person who’d betrayed the mob, and “deal with” was generally code for “shot in the head.”
I swallow and glance at Bambi, whose face has paled. I take hold of her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. I don’t know if Papa or Allegra have had “the conversation” with her yet—not so much about the birds and the bees but about clans, codes, and consequences. She’s about to be joined to the New York Mafia through her sister’s marriage, and she’s fourteen now, so it’s well overdue.
Savero pans his gaze to me, and my spine stiffens. “Trilby,” he says, casting his eyes over my outfit.
I felt bad for my aunt after she put in so much effort to welcome Savero, only for him to send his brother in his place, so I gave in to her nagging and compromised with a strappysummer dress in sunshine yellow and navy heels that lift me by a meager two inches. I’ve even straightened my hair.
“You look ... radiant.” He reaches for my hand and lifts it to his lips.
Every nerve ending I have fires up, willing me to run. “Thank you for having us,” I say mechanically. “Your home is beautiful.”
“Oh, yes. Stunning,” Allegra adds, having recovered from the unexpected compliment.
Savero walks us to the edge of the terrace, and we genuinely gasp at the view.
“This is spectacular,” Sera says, arriving at my side.
I look behind us to see Tess and Bambi tentatively giving their drinks preferences to a servant.
“Come,” Savero says. “Let’s eat.”
We help ourselves to small plates of antipasto and sit at round bistro tables. Everyone else settles into lighthearted conversation while I fight to keep the image of Franco as far from the backs of my lids as possible.
Thankfully, Papa arrives and shoots me a reassuring look. When he sits down next to Nicolò and another man I quickly figure is a capo, called Beppe, Savero edges closer to my side. I bristle when he lowers his face to my shoulder.
“Do you like the house?”
I swallow a mouthful of food and dab the corner of my mouth daintily, like Mama taught me. “I do. I like it very much.”
“You’ll be the lady of this residence very soon.”
I’m sure his words are designed to please, but his voice carries a foreboding note.
