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He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and slides it across the table. I glance at it then back at him. "You’re not worried about who I’m going to call?"
He raises a shoulder. "Should I be worried about who you’re going to call?"
"Answering a question with a question." I huff. "You know how annoying that is?"
"Do you want to use my phone or—" He leans forward, and I snatch up the device.
He chuckles as I pull up his list of contacts. I find the one I want and click on it. The phone rings once, twice, then, "Pronto!" Hello! a woman’s voice answers.
"Nonna," I murmur.
Opposite me, Christian stiffens. I keep my gaze averted and focus on the voice at the other end of the line. "It’s me, Aurora," I add.
"Well, of course, it’s you," Nonna says in a sharp voice. "Considering it’s not Christian, and you are calling from his phone, it would have to be you, I’d assume."
The silence stretches a beat, then another. "Can I come over and visit with you tomorrow?"
Nonna stays quiet. Shit, is she going to refuse me? Does she suspect there’s an ulterior motive to my wanting to meet her? Well, of course, she does. She’s sharp, that woman, but is she going to turn me down or—"
"Three pm, tomorrow, my place. Don’t be late."
She clicks off, and I lower the phone to the table. Only then do I raise my gaze to Christian’s and flinch. His blue eyes blaze as he glares at me. "I hope you know what you’re doing, Flower." He lowers his voice to a hush. "While the Sovrano brothers may be rattlesnakes, our nonna is the eagle who can take any one of us out if she chooses."
I tip my chin, "I only want to get to know her. After all, she is a very important person in your life."
"You expect me to believe that?"
I raise a shoulder. "You can believe whatever the hell you want." I reach for my cup, then remember I’ve already drained it. "You’ll need to drop me off at her place tomorrow by three pm." I grab his phone. "Thanks again, for the chocolate."
Rising to my feet, I walk toward the door. My heart pounds and I’m almost out of the room when he calls out, "Flower, don’t expect me to bail you out of this one."
I scowl at him over my shoulder. "Trust me, I can take care of myself."
10
Aurora
Famous last words. I stare at the two-story villa that Christian had dropped me off at. He had refused to come in. He had walked me to the door, knocked on it, then, with a look that told me I was crazy to be walking into the lioness’ den voluntarily, he had told me that he’d be back in an hour to collect me—then he had pivoted and left.
I run my sweaty palms down the fabric of my dress. I chose my most conservative outfit—a high-collared, long-sleeved dress which ends somewhere below my knees. It’s the dress I wear to church with my family, and as such, it seems appropriate to wear to meet someone who’s the equivalent of the Almighty when it comes to the Sovrano family. The seconds stretch by, and I shift my weight from foot to foot. Despite the weather being relatively mild, a bead of sweat slithers down my spine. I close the distance to the door and raise my hand to knock on it again, when it’s flung open.
A wizened man, clad in a dark suit, scowls at me. He looks me up and down and sniffs. What the hell? "I’m here to see Nonna." I tip up my chin. "My name is Aurora Garibaldi."
He scowls at me, then steps back and jerks his chin. I brush past him, and he shuts the door behind me before indicating that I should follow him. He walks down the hallway and into a beautiful living room that has furniture that must, surely, be antique. I glance up to find paintings on the ceiling—honest-to-goodness frescoes. I take in the beautiful mirror that takes up most of one wall, the comfortable yet beautiful sofa set that is pushed against the opposite wall, and even more gorgeous paintings on the walls. All, clearly, originals, though I can’t really identify who the artists are.
"This way," the butler, or whoever he is, urges me from the doorway that leads into the next room. I follow him into what seems to be the library. Books line the walls, there’s a fire burning in the hearth, and opposite it is a coffee table, on either side of which are two armchairs facing each other. Nonna is seated in one. She glances up as the old man approaches her.
"You didn’t tell me you were expecting guests," he fumes.
Nonna arches an eyebrow. "I don’t have to tell you everything."
"I’m the one who has to cook and serve your meals, so yes, I do need to know when you’re expecting someone to visit."
"Uh, if it’s that much of a bother, I don’t need anything to eat or drink—"
Both Nonna and the old man raise their hands at the same time. "Basta." Enough, they say in unison.
I blink and purse my lips, as the two of them are engaged in some kind of a face off.
