Page 11 of Righteous Deceit

“Caterina.”

She ignores me.

“Enzo wouldn’t have set this in motion if he thought you’d be at risk. He protects his family.”

She looks at me, and I fight to ignore the curtain of tears shining in her eyes. “You’re wrong, it’s not the same. You’re a man, Diego. You’ll never understand risk the way we do. I’m not afraid for my life. Other things can be taken from me. Things I might not care to give, but have no choice either way. You couldn’t possibly understand, and that’s why we’ll never be the same.”

I should reach out and reassure her, but it would be a lie, so I give her the only truth I can. “You’re right. I couldn’t possibly understand the fear you speak of. But I can promise you this. If anyone, Salvatore Bianchi included, hurts you inthatway, you call me. I will be here faster than you can say my name, and I’ll destroy him. I won’t need permission or forgiveness from Enzo, Vinnie, or Leo because they’ll be fast on my tail, readying to go to war for you as well.”

Her tears fall.

“You are one of us, Caterina Rossi, whether you hold Bianchi’s name or not. Remember that because we will. Take as long as you need. I’ll take your bags in and talk shit with Narciso while you find a way to compose yourself, but I refuse to let you walk into that house in tears. You’re going to walk into your new home with your head held fucking high and that fire from earlier in your eyes.”

Without giving her an opportunity to respond, I unfold from the car and turn my attention to the underboss in front of me. “Narciso.”

“You’re late.”

I move to the trunk of the car. “Be grateful we’re here.”

“It’s like that?” He steps up beside me.

I ignore him. “I have a few bags here. Vincent has organized a few more things to be shipped over the next few weeks.”

Narciso takes two of the bags from the trunk. “Is she planning on getting out of the car?”

I shrug. “When she’s ready. I thought Alessia Bianchi would be here to greet her. It may have softened the blow.”

“It’s Lincoln.”

“What?”

“Alessia Lincoln. She’s widowed, not divorced.”

I raise an eyebrow in awho-gives-a-fuckgesture, and he sighs.

“Alessia is busy, and we aren’t in the business of softening blows, Diego. Best Caterina learns that sooner rather than later.”

He moves toward the house, and I follow. We don’t speak again as he walks through the monstrosity Salvatore calls a home.

Reaching a set of stairs, he gestures me up, and I maneuver Caterina’s bags, lifting both suitcases enough to carry them up the curving marble staircase.

I pause at the top.

“To the right.” Narciso is a step behind me.

The bedroom he walks us into has to be Bianchi’s. First and foremost, it’s fucking huge. A bedroom, living area, and bathroom all in one. My home in Manhattan would almost fit inside the space. Everything is black—the walls, the carpet, the curtains. The only splashes of color are the muted grays of the lampshades, bed linen, and the sofa in the room.

“They’re not even married.” I speak without thinking.

Narciso looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “And Salvatore’s not here. He wants her in his space, though. I’m just following orders.”

My brows pull together, and my grasp on Caterina’s bags tightens. “She’s too young.”

“I didn’t set this fucking union in motion,” he spits. “So climb down from your moral high horse. Who are you fucking kidding anyway? What did you expect would happen? Salvatore would lock her away in separate living quarters and let her live her life without interaction. She’ll be his wife. Jesus, Diego.”

He’s not wrong. They’ll be married. Who fucking knows what that means to Bianchi. I don’t know the guy. Just because I’m not into forcing women into my bed doesn’t mean he isn’t. Caterina is right. As a man, I have no idea of the danger attributed to an arranged marriage. For men, it’s inconvenient and bothersome. For the women in our lives, it can be downright fucking dangerous.

Narciso must see the hesitation on my face because he groans out in frustration. “Salvatore isn’t a monster,” he concedes. “He has no interest in forcing his way into the pants of an unwilling woman, no matter how fucking old they are.”

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