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“Love runs in the opposite direction of me, Neomi. It’d be a waste of my valuable time to even look for it.”
I’d be a fool to believe otherwise.
* * *
I lookat Benny from the passenger seat on our ride to this mystery meeting. “Why do you always drive?”
We’re in a new, shiny Escalade. This morning, a man towed the bullet-ridden Range Rover, and two of Benny’s men dropped off our new SUV.
“Do you prefer we try another form of transportation for a destination fifteen miles away, where you can’t take a train?” Benny replies.
I slap his arm. “That’s not what I meant. Almost every boss I know has a driver. But you don’t.”
“I’m not a boss.”
“You’renext in line. Tommaso has a driver.”
A brief silence passes before he answers, “I don’t like others in control of where I go.”
“So, it’s a control thing?”
“That, among other things.”
“What are the other things?”
“Natalia was kidnapped by a man loyal to my father for decades.” His skin bunches around his eyes. “I’ll never put my life in someone’s hands unless it’s my father or Luca. And I doubt either would want to take the job of my chauffeur.”
I don’t know the entire story of Natalia’s kidnapping, but sorrow floods me. I was terrified of beingalmostkidnapped. I can’t imagine what it’d feel like if it actually happened.
Natalia’s kidnapping led our fathers to set our wedding date. Cristian wanted the Cavallaros on his side. The deal was similar to what they’d made when Cristian wanted revenge for Benita’s murder—my father’s loyalty and connections.
Benny turns on the road leading to the mansion and brakes at the gate. He makes small talk with two guards before the gate opens, and we drive through. Today is the first time I get a good look at the mansion. My other visits were in the evening. The first was when I was stressed about marrying Benny, and the second when I was covered in blood, post-kidnapping.
The mansion is almost half castle, half cathedral, and I don’t think any New York architecture can compete with its uniqueness. It belongs in medieval times—during the Romanesque era. You hardly pay attention to the immaculate landscaping since the towering home holds all your awareness with its stone walls and high arches.
Instead of driving toward the circular drive, Benny makes a quick right onto a small private road hidden between two rows of trees. He parks behind a black Mercedes on the side of the road. The Mercedes’s doors open, and a man and woman step out.
Curiosity trickles through me as we exit the car. The man rubs a chubby hand through his graying hair and chews on a toothpick while we walk toward them. The woman straightens the collar on the blazer of her pantsuit, and her brown hair is in a low bun at the base of her neck.
“This is Giles, the architect who built my father’s home, and Dorinda, an interior designer,” Benny introduces. “We are building our dream home here. You tell them what you want, and they’ll create it.”
“You’re building a house for me?”
Benny shakes his head. “I have too much business to do to build you a home.” He signals back and forth between Dorinda and Giles. “I’m paying these two to do it for me.”
Even though it might appear rude, I turn my back to the two and lower my voice while smiling at Benny. “Is this your way of saying you like your wife?”
“This is my way of saying I want my wife to be the happiest woman on earth, and if a new home makes her happy, I’ll build her a new home.”
We’re interrupted by Benny’s phone ringing.
He fishes his phone from his pocket, checks the caller ID, and answers. “Yeah?” He repeatedly nods, listening to the person on the other line, and ends the call.
“That was Raul,” he tells me. “He found something in my office at Seven Seconds. I’ll be back soon.”
My pulse picks up. “What did he find in your office?”
“I have no idea.”
