Arabella intercepted me as I left the dining room. “Would you like me to start a fire in the green room, Dominico? It makes it cozy in there.”
Cristo santo, did she have to try so hard? My collar was suddenly tight, and I hooked a finger in it, popping the button as I freed the material from my throat.
“Don’t go to any trouble.”
Her face fell.
I wanted to kick myself. She was as much trapped in this as I was. I didn’t have to go wounding her.
Unclenching my fist, I held my hand up. “Wait, Arabella. Cazzo, I’m sorry.” I sucked in a breath. “A fire sounds lovely, but…we need to talk.”
Arabella shot a glance back to the dining room then nodded.
“This—” I gestured between us “—is never happening.I won’t marry you.”
Relief softened the pinched expression around her eyes. “Grazie a dio,” she breathed.
I jerked slightly. “You aren’t…upset?”
Arabella shook her head, dark hair clouding around her face. “The only reason I’m nice to you is so that the signora doesn’t bite my head off. But no, I don’t have secret feelings for you.”
“Ouch.” I laughed roughly. “You wouldn’t be nice to me?”
“I don’t know you!” she breathed. “You left when I was still with my parents, and I’ve spent the last few years hearing how wonderful a husband you’ll make. I’m not impressed.”
I snorted. “Well, don’t worry. You won’t have to find out.”
Arabella pursed her lips. “How are you getting us out of it?”
“Not sure yet, but don’t let it keep you up at night.”
“Thanks.” She grinned. “Now! Don’t you have a phone call?”
I left quickly, but not before seeing the look of relief lighten her features. She was just a product of my grandparents’ tutelage. The perfect mafia princess. Delicate and pure.
But maybe not wholly unprepared for the shitstorm that was this life.
It was funny to think that she probably grasped better than my grandparents what was happening. There was no time to mess around with parties. This madness had to end. They needed to wake the fuck up. My grandfather needed to retire before he sank us all. But how did I take down the don without it being an act of treason?
Maybe it was time to call my mother. Her brother, the don of New York, might be very interested to know how things stand here.
Walking fast down a back hall, I turned a corner and then another. Phone in hand, I sent my mother a text message, asking if she would be available for a call later tonight.
Her response came a moment later.
Mama: Call when you can, caro.
I smiled.
I hadn’t been able to see her yet. Perhaps a short trip to the Hamptons would be possible one of these weekends. Swiping a hand over my face, I tried to formulate a plan to make thathappen—
And nearly ran into a willowy object.
Gloved hands reached for me for balance. I caught them, holding them tightly.
Magnolia struggled. “Let me go! Someone will see us.”
“You shouldn’t walk these halls alone,” I murmured. “You never know what kind of monsters live here.”
