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My heart thumps as she gulps, “I met Diana a long time ago. Our paths crossed through a mutual acquaintance. Even then, I learned not to cross her.”
“Why not?” Now I’m interested and she shivers, her head bowed as she kneels before me.
“She was at a party I went to, accompanying a man who she introduced as her stepbrother, but from the looks of it, they were a lot more than that.”
My blood boils as I think of the people who ruined my life and I hiss, “What happened?”
“Nothing, not really, but there were whispers about their involvement in mafia.”
“Why should that terrify you? You’ve danced with the devil for years.”
She shakes her head. “There is mafia and there’s them.”
I kind of get what she means because mainly when you come from a mafia family you abide by some kind of fucked up code. I’m guessing Mario Bachini writes his own and Diana is so twisted she goes along with it.
Desdemona shivers. “The man I was with that night was doing business with them. He told me he was in deep and couldn’t work a way out of it without cutting Mario into a share of his business. I’ve never seen a man so afraid and rightly so.”
“Why?”
“He was murdered that same night on his way home from my gallery. His heart had been cut out, just like the senator.”
I sit down, the disgust sliding through my veins like a river of damnation.
Desdemona looks up and pleads, “Help me, Domenico. They want Flora back. Apparently, she’s family and if I had known that from the start, I would never have employed her in the first place.”
“Why not?” I’m irritated beyond belief, and Desdemona says pitifully, “Because I want nothing to do with those murdering bastards. If I never hear of or see them again, I will consider my life well lived.”
“What did my stepmother say to you?”
Desdemona’s voice breaks. “That if Flora wasn’t on that plane later today, she would hold me responsible.”
“That’s it?”
I laugh out loud and the woman on her knees openly sobs. “Please, if I don’t send Flora back, I’ve no doubt I’ll end up like Senator Billings. That woman is a murdering bitch tied to an even bigger murdering bastard. Don’t make me a target, I beg of you, for old time’s sake.”
I’ve had enough of her whining and stand, casting a derisive gaze over the cowering, broken woman at my feet and snarl, “Then you shouldn’t have played with the bad boys if you can’t keep up. Now I’ll say it again, get your fucking ass out of my home and never even look in my direction again. If you think I’d ever send Flora back to those deranged bastards, you don’t know me at all. She stays here—with me and you can tell that to my bitch of a stepmother. In fact, tell her if she wants her darling sister to come and get her personally.”
As I leave the room, Desdemona’s pitiful sobs accompany me, and Pasquale straightens up as I head through the door.
“Anything I should know?” He appears mildly interested and I say with a sigh, “The usual family shit concerning my stepmother. Show the unwelcome whore out and make sure she knows not to return.”
Pasquale nods and heads into the room, leaving me to head back to the only place that interests me right now. Inside my prisoner.
* * *
The room isin darkness and dressed in anticipation. I can see Flora curled up in a ball inside my bed, apparently asleep. The fact she is breathing rapidly, and small cries head my way, tells me she’s dreaming and it’s not a pleasant one. I silently approach the bed and gaze down at a woman that, for some reason, I yearn to protect. I’m not sure why and merely put it down to the infatuation I have with her sister, or should I say, had. That infatuation is now firmly focused on this woman and as she shivers and cries out in her sleep, I waste no time in pulling her into my arms, causing her to wake with a start.
I hold her close to my body, loving how soft she feels, and stroke her hair, whispering, “You were dreaming.”
She sags in my arms, and I kiss the top of her head gently, causing her to shift a little closer. It’s so good to hold her, to care for her, something I can’t ever remember doing, even with Diana. It was a different kind of need I had for her. A greedy desperation to experience something other than pain for once in my miserable life. With Flora, though, it’s different. I want to reach out and seize her pain and crush it in my fist, to set her free and place a smile on her pretty face.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” I whisper huskily, still stroking her hair.
She sighs. “It’s ok, just painful memories that I’d rather not talk about.”
Hearing those words drive a dagger into my heart and I growl, “I want you to tell me everything.”
“You won’t like it.”
