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BECKA
My knock was answered by a handsome young face. Possibly even younger than myself at the age 24. He had soft hazel eyes, light brown hair that touched the tops of his ears, and a trim lengthy body. Very easy on the eyes.
However, all that did nothing to change how uptight he looked, with his unyielding expression of displeasure. He resembled a rookie out to prove himself, and babysitting outside my door was not doing it for him.
“I want to talk to Arianna.” I made it a statement, not a request.
He said nothing. Then after taking a long moment to get an eye full of me, he stepped aside, allowing me to exit.
I started down the hall and drank in all the luxury that I hadn’t noticed the night I’d arrived. Whites and grays dominated the house, with pops of colors jumping out from the art and gold vases filled with fresh flowers.
I took extra time studying the art as we passed, instantly recognizing Arianna’s work. She was beautiful artist. She could paint anything imaginable, but her true passion was painting beautiful bodies.
Footsteps followed close behind me. I had a shadow. Not bothering to look back, I accepted the fact that me telling him to piss-off, would do no good. He was doing his job and I expected that this would be my new norm.
Not that I liked it.
When I reached the bottom of the elegant curved staircase dropping into the massive foyer, I realized I had no clue where I was going. I turned to my baby-faced prison guard with questioning eyes and threw up my hands.
He got the idea, pointing across the foyer to an entryway.
After entering the impressive formal dining area with a table large enough to seat thirty, he again pointed to a door on the back wall.
As I approached, the smell of food sucker punched me. It smelled delicious, making my stomach growl. I hadn’t eaten since before the club. That was almost two days ago. I drank the water Arianna brought me the night before but that was it. Now I felt like my stomach was rubbing a blister on my backbone.
When I entered the state-of-the-art kitchen my jaw dropped. It probably had the cooking capacity of a full restaurant. The smell of yummy food practically reached up and slapped me in the face.
Arianna turned around from the cooking stove she had been in front of and her eyes went wide with shock.
I moved slowly to the center island that separated us, taking a seat. It was covered in ingredients that Arianna was using to make some kind of frittata. She approached the other side, looking tiny as ever in her black tank-top and green shorts. Her long hair pulled into a ponytail.
We studied each other silently. Both uncertain who should start. There had never been so much silence between us before.
“Becka I’m…”
I threw up my hand to silence her. “I don’t need to hear I’m sorry again. I just need answers. And food.” Like, immediately.
She plated some of the steaming casserole that just came out of the oven and placed it in front of me. I dove in.
“Start talking,” I demanded between bites.
Arianna glanced at the guard who still stood by the door and gestured with her chin for him to leave. He hesitated before exiting, but I knew he was just outside.
“I don’t know where to start,” she admitted shamefully.
“How about Matteo? How did that happen?”
She sighed heavily, refilled my plate and braced herself on the counter. “It’s always been Matteo. Since I was ten years old.”
My fork froze mid bite. That’s not what I was expecting. “Start from the beginning. Wherever you think it will make more sense.”
“Ok,” she nodded. “I always had a suspicion that there was more to my dad’s business than just banking. When I was little I never noticed but, as I got older my curiosity got the best of me. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I took advantage of my dad being drunk, and got him to tell me what he did for the Russos.” A smile played on her lips. “He was so angry with me. Once you know things and pass through that door of knowledge there is no going back. You are in for life.” Her golden eyes met mine. I swallowed hard.
I’ve passed through that door.
“He told me he launders their money. All of it. He started out with one small bank when he came to America from Italy with my mom and family inheritance. But being as smart as he is, was able to expand at record speed. Apparently, his side of the family has been working with the mafia in Italy for decades. He came to the states hoping to separate himself from it. Lorenzo saw the potential and approached my father. There is no refusing Lorenzo Russo. He accepted his fate and worked to build an empire of banks and businesses to launder money for the Russos. Even some of my mom’s family in Italy are involved in banking now, under my dad’s supervision. My dad agreed that he wouldn’t launder money for anyone else. Now my dad has dozens of banks and businesses in multiple cities. My father is the best at what he does.”
She paused and I gave her a moment to gather her thoughts. Lord knew I needed a second to process myself.
