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I smile at him without humor. We are both aware who just lost control of his emotions, and it wasn’t me.
“Thatone, as you call her, is my wife, and as such, she deserves respect. Even from you, Martelli. Just as I offer my respect when it comes to your wife.”
I do not return the “friend” reference. We are not, and never have been, friends.
He inclines his head. “Agreed. Respect for our wives. Though it will only be a matter of time before you do stray from her bed. The likes of Julia Veneto, and others equally beautiful, are readily available at any time for men like us.”
He’s correct in regard to the availability of women. I wield great power in my position, as does Martelli himself. Power is a huge aphrodisiac. So too is money. And the fortunes we add to on a daily basis are immense.
My sexual appetites in the past are well known, and I have never been short of willing bed mates. But now that Bianca is in my life, I cannot imagine lusting after any other woman.
Even when she ran from me, before I found her and brought her home from Cleveland, I did not take another to my bed. My obsession with her was the reason I swam thousands of laps in that damn pool above my club. Day after day. And the reason I barely slept until I had her back beneath my roof once again.
Whether physically in my life, or in my thoughts as a ghostly specter while she was gone, she filled every space in me until there was no room for anyone else.
There is no one else.
I know deep down that I have somehow met my match in Bianca. As unlikely as it seems, she has carved a place in my heart.
And now that she is back, I will never let her go.
* * *
Bianca
I don’t wantto leave Rio in there with Martelli. I don’t trust that snake of a man, or his intentions toward my husband.
And I’ve likely just made the situation worse. I shouldn’t have prodded our host with that stupid comment. If he took offence earlier, simply because I corrected him over my name, God knows what he’ll do in regard to the jibe I just delivered about his daughter.
But he riled me so badly I couldn’t help myself. I meant what I said, too. His daughter, who I’ve discovered tonight is a year younger than Angel. During the speeches, Martelli’s future son-in-law was introduced, and I saw the expression on that poor girl’s face when an old man who looked to be in his seventies stepped up to join her on the stage.
She is clearly not on board with marrying someone close to sixty years her senior.
I hope I haven’t made things worse for Rio, by making my disgust for arranged marriages known.
It’s pot and kettle, really, when I consider the circumstances of my own marriage. Not arranged, but forced. Far worse, when you consider it that way. At least Martelli’s daughter will have time to get used to the idea. And perhaps, like Angel, she’s always known her fate, and simply accepts it as the way things are done in this world.
I make a mental note to talk to Rio about Angel and try to ensure that whoever is “chosen” for her is at least a half-decent person.
Carlos Rossi is waiting when I return to the ballroom. He pounces as soon as I reenter through one of the arched openings. I just manage to hold back my sigh. The night has been interminably long, and I’m more than ready to head home with Rio.
Home.
I realize with a start that I am thinking of the Boston estate as home. Is that because I know Emilia is there, and wherever my daughter is, so too is my home? Or is my growing connection to that place something less tangible?
I don’t have the chance to ponder. Rossi takes my elbow and leads me through another archway into an alcove slightly quieter than the raucous main area. Booze has been flowing all night, and the screams of laughter and conversations now are far louder than when Rio and I arrived.
“I wanted to take the opportunity to apologize properly to you, dear Bianca. We have not had the chance to speak much beyond our short exchange at the meeting in Boston.”
There is reproach in his tone, and I detach from his grip. I study the lines and wrinkles of his face. I hadn’t really noticed at the meeting, probably because I was too nervous that evening to notice anything much at all, but he looks a lot older than I remember, and it has only been a few months.
Is he waiting for Rio’s hand to fall? For his time to be up the moment he is no longer seen as useful to my husband? I know firsthand how it feels to live in constant fear. It ages you far more quickly than nature intends.
“When you disappeared from Augusta and my men could not find you,” he says, “you left me no choice. I had to come forward voluntarily and tell your husband at least something, or my whole family could have been wiped out of existence when he discovered my involvement.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up a hand. “I would not have come forward at all, if you had not disappeared. I would have protected you with my life. For your mother Rina’s sake, Bianca.”
My heart lurches. He reallydidlove my mother.
