Page 17 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Please, call me Pippa. And I am sorry for giving you a fright.”

She shakes her head, laughing lightly to herself before offering me a seat at the counter. “No, it’s my fault. I should know better than to prance around like a loon in this place. There’s always someone lurking around every corner. Though I must admit, you’re far friendlier than my usual visitor down here. They’re all scowls and minimal words usually.”

“I can see that. They are not the most welcoming bunch of people, are they?”

“Not really.” She shrugs, her mouth downturned into a slight grimace. “But you get used to them after a while.”

“Have you been here for long?”

“Three years,” she tells me with a small smile before moving over to the kettle in the corner of the room. “My mom worked here before me, and when she got another job offer, I jumped at the chance. I grew up in this place, running around these halls, and I love cooking and baking, so I figured why not. Plus, the pay is pretty good too, so it was an easy decision. Though, I don’t think I should really be talking about my pay with my new employer, should I? Tea?”

“Yes, a tea would be great, thank you.” I smile gratefully.

“I’m Felicity, by the way,” she tells me, shaking my hand quickly before turning away to make my drink.

“Well, Felicity, it is nice to meet you and I am not really your employer, so I don’t think you need to worry too much about talking about money with me. I’d be a terrible boss, truth be told, and my accountancy skills would be even worse.”

She chuckles, sliding a cup of tea over to me while she drops down into the seat opposite. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Over the next hour, we chatter incessantly, and I am pleased to learn we have a lot in common. Perhaps I will not be so lonely in New York, at least not in this mansion.

My knuckles rap on the wooden door a few times, but no answer comes from the other side. Looking up and down the hallway, I am almost confident this is the room Margo said is Antonio’s office; though as the silence drags out, I’m thinking he’s not in there.

Twisting around, I start towards the main foyer of the mansion in search of anybody that can tell me where to find my husband, or at least give me a clue as to whether I can leave for the day.

With Papá being so paranoid about my safety, it’s become second nature to ask permission to go out for the day. When I turned eighteen, I probably should have fought him more on it, but it never seemed worth it.

I find myself back in the kitchen, but it’s empty, and Margo is nowhere to be found either. The whole mansion is quiet. Far quieter than I am used to, and I hate it. There are no sounds of my sisters chattering from the lounge when they popped in to visit—which was almost daily—or my father talking on his phone in his office, or even the patter of our housekeeper, Meredith, running around the floors, talking to herself while she got her daily tasks done.

It is just me, alone, strolling in the cold and quiet.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I wander the halls aimlessly, hoping to find anyone on my exploration. The décor is lavish and dark. If it is not made of wood, like the tables that sit in every hall with candle holders on them, it is black and ominous.

While I enjoy black as much as the next person, there is something eerie about the black candles and chandeliers, and the black flowers across almost every surface. It is hardly a welcoming sight, but perhaps in the Mafia, welcoming is the last thing you want your home to be.

“Pippa.” My hand halts on the portrait I was examining, an older gentleman who looks familiar, but I can’t place why. I turn to face Margo, pulling my hand away. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Sorry, I was trying to find Antonio but came up empty so I kind of just wandered around exploring,” I tell her with a shrug, but then at a thought my mouth turns down. “That is allowed, right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She laughs lightly, stepping towards me. “This is your home now.”

“It doesn’t really feel like it,” I murmur, my voice laced with sorrow.

“It will, over time. It’s all still so new to you, have some patience, dear.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I smile at her, though the sadness doesn’t disappear. Stepping away from the portrait, I start down the hall. Margo falls into step beside me, our shoes slapping against the hardwood as we make our way towards the foyer. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Antonio was actually, would you?”

“He’s probably out. But I know Leo is home. If you need something, he’s your best bet.”

Of course he is—the one man I need to avoid.

“Come on, I’ll take you to his office,” she continues when I do not respond. “He’s on the second floor of your wing, so at least he isn’t far if you ever need him whenever Ant isn’t around.”

“You call them Ant and Leo,” I comment, a little curious about that. Our housekeeper at home, no matter how friendly we were with her, would never have dreamed of calling my father by his name, let alone a shortened version of it.

“I’ve known them for most of their lives, we’re pretty informal around here as you’ll soon come to learn. I’m guessing things weren’t like that back home?”

“No. Informal is the last thing a person would ever call my father when it comes to his employees. His daughters, though, well that is quite a different story,” I answer, smiling fondly at thoughts of my father and my sisters.

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