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Even though the mansion in New York resides on a large property, it doesn’t match Tuscany's lush hills and sprawling valleys.
The cottage is a century old, and Aunt Aida renovated it while still maintaining its rich history. It’s also very small, so my father paid for two more cottages to be built on the property—one for us and the other for a bodyguard. He always sends me here when he’s having trouble in New York and worried for my safety.
I start my day on the cottage’s terrace, sipping espresso while enjoying the fresh air. My thoughts drift to Antonio, and I shake my head, remembering I basically told him to do a Where’s Waldo of my location in Italy.
He sent me a single text after the ball.
Villain: I will find you, princess.
That’s what I saved his name under in case anyone ever finds it. Everyone knows not to put real names in burner phones.
Antonio’sI will find you—that I, for some reason, keep reading in Liam Neeson’s voice—is a loose threat. Men in his world hardly have time to see their families, let alone travel across the world to find someone they want to fuck.
I never replied to his text, deciding not to make it easy on him. I already turned into Easy McGee that night when I allowed him to go down on me in freaking public.
Who even does that?
A woman desperately infatuated with the wrong man—that’s who.
I’m starting to understand Natalia’s reasoning for not walking away from Vinny. She knows he’s dangerous, but there’s a pull to him, shackling her, and she can’t break herself free.
That’s me with Antonio.
A girl obsessed with the villain.
Even though my family is cordial with the Lombardis, my father isn’t a fan. He once told me they were referred to as scum before Vincent succeeded his father. He cleaned up their name—the best he could. The Marchettis and Cavallaros are still the most respected families in the city though.
“Knock, knock,” Aunt Aida says, her Italian accent heavy. She makes a knocking motion while joining me on the terrace, where I’m lounging on an ottoman. Her linen pants blow in the breeze as she sits across from me.
“Good morning.” I smile.
“I made baked eggs and sausage.”
My stomach grumbles at the mention of food, especially hers. She’s a goddess in the kitchen.
Her olive complexion is free of makeup, and not one wrinkle materializes when she grins. “What would you like to do today?”
“Breakfast, then shopping.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She fusses with her black hair flying in every direction of her ponytail. “Felice is staying behind. He’s short-staffed on the field and has to put in extra time.”
My bed is calling my name after our long day of shopping.
Bruno and I tell Aunt Aida and Felice good night before strolling to our adjacent cottages. With matching stone and terra-cotta exteriors, they look nearly identical, but while mine has two bedrooms, Bruno’s only has one.
“See you in the morning,” he says before we go our separate ways. “Call if you need anything.”
“Good night,” I sing out.
When I enter the cottage, I shut the door and rest my back against it, taking in the space.
Every detail—from the exposed natural beams to the vaulted ceiling—was chosen by my mother. It’s cozy, understated, and sounlike the mansion. Both designed by her, both holding a special piece of her.
I shower and change into a silky nightie, and as I nestle into bed, the burner vibrates in my nightstand. I brought it to Italy, just in case, but had no expectations.
I collect the phone from the drawer and play with it in my hand. It feels so light in my palm. Nothing like my iPhone.
When I flip it open, there’s a text.
