“You must be Donatella.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.” She unceremoniously drops her tray on my bedside table before hurrying to fling the curtains open. “Eat something, please.”
Bemused by her curtness, I examine the veritable feast she’s laid out before me.
“How long has it been since…” Since my so-called boyfriend signed me away to a mafia don. “Since I arrived here?”
Donatella has to climb onto the windowsill in order to reach the window latch. Her efforts are rewarded with a delightful breeze entering the room.
“Couple of days, give or take.”
My stomach rumbles in confirmation.
As if hearing it too, Donatella chastises me, “Eat.”
I don’t wait to be told again as I help myself to the pastries, jams, and fruit before me. I even enjoy the English Breakfast Tea, despite never having been partial to it before.
I focus on all the textures in my mouth, anything to distract myself from formulating a thought beyond satisfying my seemingly insatiable hunger.
When I finally lean back from my meal, it’s to find Donatella examining me.
Feline, I think, is the best way to describe her. I can almost imagine her tail flicking around in discontent. Only, she’sshaped more like a chubby little housecat than a panther or a lion.
“I should have woken you yesterday.”
I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that, so I just shrug instead.
“I’ll run you a bath,” she decides a second later, turning on her heel to approach one of the other doors in the room.
It reveals a large en suite. A free-standing bath sits with pride in the middle of the room, seemingly already stocked with more toiletries than I could use in a lifetime.
I slide off the bed to take a closer look. “What is this place?”
“Mister Moretti’s brownstone.” Donatella raises her voice over the sound of the running water.
“I figured that much out for myself, thanks.” I regret the snark in my tone as soon as Donatella shoots me a glare. “I meant, how big is it? Are all the rooms like this?”
“If you behave, I might give you a tour later.”
I ignore her and leave the bathroom to examine the final unopened door in my room.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised to find a fully stocked walk-in wardrobe. I think my room alone is bigger than Claudio’s entire apartment.
As I explore, my hand reaches out to touch the soft sleeves of the seemingly thousands of coats that hang in the closet.
“Four floors, three bedrooms, five bathrooms, and a gym,” Donatella’s chirping voice says behind me. “One of his more modest homes.”
I raise an eyebrow at that. “So this isn’t his only place of residence?”
Perhaps Rocco won’t be staying here after all. I’m not sure why I suddenly feel so disappointed by this. If anything, he would only make things more complicated for me.
“It’s his only home in Brooklyn. His mansion in South Africa is my personal favorite. But the villa in the Canary Islands is also right up there.”
Right.BillionaireItalian don. How could I forget?
“Your bath is ready,” Donatella announces without missing a beat.
With one last longing look at the unexplored wardrobe, I follow the housekeeper back into the en suite.
