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I blink.
Wait.
So his family believes that he can’t come into a position of power—which, I know as a fact from my research into mob life over the past few years—is critical—unless he… marries.
And not only marries, but has children.
“What happens to a man who doesn’t marry?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremor in my voice.
But he only smiles and shakes his head. “No, doll. I’ve answered ten questions to your one, and that isn’t fair.”
A big of an exaggeration, but fine.
“Okay, what do you want to know about me?”
His eyes twinkle, the charmer at play. I half expect him to pull a snake out of his pocket.
“Your favorite color?”
I feel my cheeks flush. I’m not sure why. I swallow. “Red.”
“Red,” he says thoughtfully. “Why am I not surprised?”
“My mother said it was a whore’s color.”
He nods slowly. “Your mother either had a thing against whores or the color red.”
“Probably both.”
He nods. One thing about Mario—he’s hard to surprise. That’s a good thing.
I decide to try for another question. See if he’ll answer.
“And you race?”
He shrugs. “I do.”
I look out the window. “Your family owns restaurants and bakeries in the North End. Do you?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I happily taste test damn near everything they make.”
I smile at that. “I bet you do.”
“You’ll love my Nonna’s cooking.”
I give him a curious look. “You act as if I’m visiting you for fun, and you’re not dragging me up to your family’s home to interrogate me.”
He shrugs, gives me another smile, and wow, how have I missed that adorable dimple in his cheek?
“So far, doll, you’ve enjoyed my methods of interrogation, haven’t you? I can consider allowing that to continue.”
My heart beats rapidly at that.
“Sometimes I wonder, Mario. Do you have a serious bone in your body? Or is all of life play to you?” I don’t fault him for this. I have to admit, I kind of… love that about him.
Love. A dangerous, fatal word.
“I believe you saw a serious side to me tonight, didn’t you?”
I nod.
He looks out the window, and his voice drops an octave. “My father never believed I’d amount to anything, Emma. He thought I was an impulsive loser who didn’t like to get his hands dirty.” He shakes his head. “Just because I didn’t like his methods of torture and pain didn’t make me weak. Doesn’t,” he corrects. He sobers, his blue eyes no longer dancing. “I did what he asked me to do. I learned from the best. But I’ve also learned there are many, many different ways to achieve the same ends, and the ends don’t always justify the means.”
His voice is low, almost meditative at this point. I rest my hand on his knee.
“You speak in riddles, sir,” I whisper. But he doesn’t, not really. In a way, he’s telling me he isn’t like the rest. But is it really the truth?
He nods, before he leans in closer. “They’ve thought me worthless at times, Emma. They didn’t think I’d pull my weight as a Rossi man. That I wanted nothing more than fast cars, money, and pussy.”
I stifle a wince at that.
“Which is why you can’t get away from me, doll.” He threads his fingers through my hair and pulls, the tightening along my scalp like the scrape of nails on skin. Barely painful, but a warning of how quickly things could intensify.
“Can’t get away?” I ask, because I don’t know what to say to him, and I further don’t know how to respond. I want him to explain himself to me. “What do you mean?”
“You’re mine, Emma. You hold your secrets close to the vest, doll.” He leans in closer, his voice at my ear washing over me so it tingles over my throat. The warmth of his breath feels like a threat. “But we can’t keep it that way. You’ll have to tell me everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“You made your choice when you got into my car, sweetheart. And that choice is no longer yours.”
Before I can respond, the car begins to slow. I’m slipping. I never even saw us leave the highway and take the off-ramp, but we’re already pulling into the driveway of his family home.
The large, circular driveway seems simple and unobtrusive, but as the clouds part and moonlight streams onto the structure before us, I see it. The Castle, the most infamous family home in all of New England. Rumor has it that full skeletons are buried within the walls of The Castle, and that the grandfather that owned their home before they inherited it was known for keeping his victims buried in the basement. I wonder if that’s just made up, though.
It doesn’t look creepy or macabre. It looks… elegant. Refined. Inviting.
Just like Mario.
We cruise to a stop and Mario’s hand comes to my knee. “Stay right there until I come for you. From here on out, your life is in danger, Emma. Grave, grave danger. I will have to talk my brothers into allowing you to continue to live after what you’ve done. Do you understand me?”
