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A gentle knock at the door tells me my staff has arrived to help me dress. At home, I didn’t have staff to tend to me like this. I could have if I’d wanted to, but I never wanted someone to help me do the things I felt perfectly capable of. Here, I allow it, because I don’t want to accidentally misstep, and it helps to have someone who essentially functions as a personal stylist. One might say it takes the guesswork out of things.
I glance at the time as Clarice, a twenty-something college grad with glasses on the tip of her nose and a wide grin, slides into the room.
“Oooh, I love that one. Ilovethat dress,” she squeals, clapping her hands. “It’s so gorgeous!”
“I hope I don’t spill marinara on it,” I say with a frown. “Oh! That reminds me!” I glance at the time. “Can you get me ready in fifteen minutes?”
I need time to make sure I can oversee the food as he instructed before my family comes.
Clarice cringes. “If you’ve already washed your hair…”
“This morning!”
“Okay, alright, let’s get a move on, lady.” She claps her hands, and I half expect little mice with scissors and a bobbin of thread to come running in. “Let’s get this done!”
Fifteen minutes later on the nose, I stand, sheathed in the nearly sheer fabric, my hair pinned up in an elegant up-do, impeccable makeup from mascara to highlighters to a lip stain she swears won’t wear off when I drink, and death-defying stilettos Salvatore bought me as a gift when we left the island. Even in these, he’s got half a head on me, but it does make me feel more powerful standing tall.
“You look amazing,” Clarice says. “Stunning! Your husband will want to marry you all over again!”
I give her a quick hug to thank her, then glance at the time, grab my phone, and head to the kitchen. “Thank you!”
I listen for the sounds of Salvatore or his mother nearby, but I hear nothing. Now that we’ve been married for a little while, Salvatore’s more comfortable leaving me on my own when he tends to business. As far as his mother, I just don’t trust her. And after what he’s told me about her… suffice it to say, it would be amazing if he managed to exile her out of the country when we have any children, because that woman is not coming within ten feet of her grandkids if I can help it.
I’m almost at the kitchen when I hear the low murmur of voices. One rises and one falls. I turn the corner to find Cristiano and Agnesia having a heated, whispered conversation. Cristiano gives me a lewd once-over.
“You look fabulous,” he says. His compliment feels oily and slick.
I allow my voice to go cold and detached. “Thank you.”
Agnesia walks away without a word.
Salvatore needs to ban these two and never let them near him again. One of them will betray him, if not both, and soon. They probably already have. While he doesn’t trust them, he’s led me to believe their relationships are complicated.Howcomplicated are they?
Staff flits about here and there, cleaning, setting the table, dusting, while I head to the kitchen. A nervous excitement buzzes around the group of kitchen employees until I enter the room. I smile brightly and give them a little wave.
Pierre, the plump and pleasant head chef, smiles at me. He worked in some of Tampa’s most elite kitchens before Salvatore roped him into coming here and working alongside him. Turns out it’s not his first mob gig, and as a result he’s one of the most trustworthy people Salvatore employs.
“I don’t normally allow other people to cook in my kitchen when I’m present,” he explained to me when we met. “But first, your husband does what he wants, so that was an easy answer. Second, he’s a joy to cook with.”
Joyto cook with, those were his exact words. Not sure I’d call Salvatore a joy about anything—okay, maybe afew things—but hey, if that works, it works.
“Mr. Capo’s asked me to oversee tonight’s food preparation.” I give them a smile. “You know how he is.” I wave my hand. “Do you have everything prepared yet?”
One of the older servers purses his lips at me. “Well, this is a first.”
I bristle, my spine stiffening and give him a frosty look. I’m not a confrontational person usually, but my husband has expectations and I have a very specific role to play.
“Excuse me?”
He picks up a wooden spoon and gives the pot a hearty stir. “I said this is a first. It isn’t often Mr. Capo micromanages the kitchen staff.”
Oooh, no he does not.
I draw myself up to my full height, which is definitely assisted by the stilettos, and give him what I hope is a piercing look. I may be a pretty laid-back girl in general, but once again I remember I was raised by Tosca Rossi.
Jared passes behind me. When we were unable to locate his mother, I begged Salvatore to let him stay with us. He’s been a huge help around here, and a comfort to me when Salvatore’s busy. He winks at me and gives me a nod before he slips away unseen.
My voice takes on a sharp edge, though I keep my tone polite. “Mr. Capo asked his wife to ensure everything is prepared for his guests. Since his guests happen to be my family, I was more than happy to honor his request.” I tilt my head to the side. “Is there a problem here?”
