Page 218 of Merciless Desires

Silvia wasn’t in the kitchen. A different woman was there, smiling at us like she knew who we were. She was stretching pasta like it was second nature to her.

“What can I do for you?”

Annabella peeked over at me. “I want risotto.”

“I can make it for you,” the woman said, dropping the pasta onto the floured counter. “What kind would you like?”

“Marcella makes me cheesy tomato risotto…”

The strange woman in our kitchen wiped her hands on her yellow apron covered in cherries and nodded. “Cheesy tomato risotto, delizioso.”

Annabella sat at the island counter and scrutinized the woman as she made risotto. The woman had short silver hair and warm brown eyes. She wore earrings that were almost the same color as the cherries on her apron, like she had purposefully tried to match them.

I stayed in the kitchen with my youngest sister while she waited for her lunch. My job was to look after my sisters, and I would have been punished for leaving Annabella alone with this stranger.

Where the hell was Silvia? She had worked for our family for sixteen years, well before Annabella was born, and while Mamma was pregnant with Gisella. She was our family.

“Marcella.”

Papà stood in the whitewashed stone archway with his hands in his pockets. He nodded at me, a silent command to follow him.

I peered over at Annabella and then back at Papà before I leaned over to kiss the top of my sister’s head. “I’ll be right back.”

I rose from my seat and did as Papà requested, trailing behind him until we reached the den. He turned toward me with his face twisted in a grimace that he wiped away with his thumb.

“You will accompany me to an important supper tonight.”

“Yes, Papà.”

“I need you to be on your best behavior, Marcella. This is a very important event that we will be attending.”

“Yes, Papà.”

Papà’s jaw set firmly. “There is a new dress for you. On your bed. Wear that. Be ready at six.”

I agreed a final time, and he walked away. Our conversation was finished. He wasn’t normally this…cold. He was a harsh man—strong-willed, as he liked to say—but he had always been warm, especially toward his girls.

Mamma had said that Papà’s heart was split into four equal sections, one for each of his girls. He had loved us all equally, but I wasn’t sure if that was the case anymore. He was distant, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of work…or because of Mamma.

Gisella lingered on the stairs, grinning when she saw me leave the den. “What was Papà saying to you?”

I ignored her, knowing damn well she had been listening in on my clipped conversation with Papà. She already knew.

“You’re going to a supper? What supper?” Gisella was hot on my heels as I moved down the hall, stopping at my door. “Who is going to be there? Who is going?”

“Gisella,” I groaned. “I don’t know.”

She forced a frown. “Papà didn’t mention anything to me. He didn’t buy me a new dress.”

I reached forward and pressed a finger against the tip of her nose. “Because you’re too young.”

“I’m fifteen,” she whined, following me into my room. “How old were you when you started going to these…things?”

“I wasn’t fifteen.”

I had been sixteen. The first time my papà had taken me to any sort of event for the organization had been a nightmare. Men more than twice my age had been watching me, their gazes lingering far too long on my teen body. The next time I had attended an event was after I turned eighteen.

Gisella darted across the room and plucked the backless red dress off my bed.

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