Page 32 of The Beast

“Was it arranged? Did he marry you for what your family could give him?” Nonna leans forward with interest as Jasmine looks away and says in a weaker voice. “Yes, but…”

“But nothing. I rest my case. I’m also guessing you were a virgin on your wedding night.”

Jasmine looks down and Nonna says triumphantly, “You must know that Alessandro will do whatever it takes to make you fall in love with him. I am asking you not to for his own good. He will be seen as weak among our enemies and a fool. If he takes another man’s wife, soiled goods, as they say, it will be seen as bad business. I’m sorry to be direct, but I must lay my cards on the table at the beginning before it’s too late.”

I’m not sure how I answer her, but I do, and I gather all my dignity around me and say firmly, “Your request has been noted, but you forget one thing.”

“I doubt it but continue.”

“I may have lost my memory, but I’m not stupid. Firstly, I am in no position to start anything with another man when I don’t even remember my husband. For all I know, we were in love and happy and he is out there looking for me. You say he’s dead…” I fix her with my own hard glare and snap, “Why should I believe you? I’ve never met any of you and you could be playing me for a fool. So, in answer to your question, I didn’t ask to be brought here. I don’t remember your grandson, not really, and as for falling in love and marrying into this family, I’ll pass on another wedding before I discover what happened to my husband. But one thing you should understand, Mrs. Majerio…”

“Go on.” Nonna regards me with interest as I hiss, “If I did fall in love with Alessandro, I wouldn’t let tradition get in the way of that. The life you speak of is cold and unfeeling, but I want more than that. I don’t want to be a mafia wife locked in an emotionally retarded contract just to produce the next cold-blooded killer, so if anything, I pity you making that your life’s work.”

I am fuming with anger. How dare she warn me off something that isn’t even a thing, anyway. The soft laugh beside me tells me Jasmine agrees, and I’m surprised to witness a twinkle in the eye of the woman who riled me up.

“Well said, Winter. I can see why my grandson wants you. Just consider what I said. It will become clearer the longer you spend here. You will discover how life works in Sicily and conclude I’m right. It’s nothing personal, my dear, just business. I hope you understand.”

She stands and says pleasantly, “Allow me to show you both to your respective rooms. I’m guessing you would like to freshen up, or possibly take an early night. Tomorrow will be a brighter day for everyone and Winter…”

She smiles as if she’s the sweetest old woman in the world. “Anything you need, come and find me. I want your stay here to be a good one, despite what you’ve just heard.”

As we follow her out, Jasmine rubs my arm in a show of solidarity, and I offer her a tremulous smile. That was a battle I wasn’t expecting, and she could have probably saved her words because until I find Winter, I’m in no position to fall in love with anyone, even my gorgeous friend who has somehow been my guiding light through the madness.

Yes, there is something about Alessandro Majerio that is telling me that I have arrived in the middle of our story, and I wonder what the ending will bring.

CHAPTER17

ALESSANDRO

We follow my grandfather outside and the usual buggy is waiting to take us the short distance to the headquarters. It’s the building set some way from the house that he prefers to conduct his business in. A huge space constructed to look like a separate house, but inside the rooms are concrete and steel. The old Italian façade of a traditional building is a cunning disguise for what goes on inside.

As we exit the buggy, the cameras set up all around the perimeter follow our progress and as we enter through the huge oak studded door, I take in a breath of pure evil. Tormented souls, centuries old, scream at us to go back because one thing’s certain in this crypt of the damned, you only get out if my grandfather says so.

Angelo is silent as we make our way down the dark, foreboding corridor to a steel door at the end, which is one of many that occupy this building. Offices, cells and the hospital, as my grandfather refers to his torture chamber, all make up a floor plan any realtor would run from screaming for salvation.

“Buona sera, Don Majerio.”

The enforcer nods with respect and my grandfather says in his deep authoritarian voice, “Antonio, I trust our guest is waiting.”

He nods and swings open the door, allowing us to pass through and I blink in disbelief when I see the unexpected frail body sitting in a wheelchair in the center of the dank, depressing room.

Strip lighting gives no indication of what time of day it is, and the polished marble floor is the best possible surface to clean the remnants of a person’s body from life.

The walls are concrete and appear old and crumbling under the weight of the horrors it’s witnessed through the years. However, the current resident of this halfway house to hell commands my attention because slumped in the chair and appearing as if he died already, is Massimo Delauren.

Once powerful Mafia Don feared and respected throughout the world is hovering between hell and damnation as he appears to be dead already.

“What’s this?” I hiss and my grandfather shrugs, heading over to the wheelchair and jerking his thumb toward his guest.

“What’s left of a tyrant, I’m guessing. Whatever your woman gave him did our job for us.”

“What do you mean?” Angelo growls beside me because this is an anti-climax of the most frustrating kind.

A man steps forward who hovered close to the walls, wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard of all things.

“Um, Doctor Giovanni, sir.” He stutters, glancing between us all and my grandfather says pleasantly, “Luca, why don’t you bring my grandson and our distinguished guest up to speed on the patient’s progress?”

Clearing his throat, the doctor looks down at his clipboard more for reassurance, I’m guessing, because both Angelo’s and my own anger are filling the space with rage and retribution.

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