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She brushes her hair behind her ear. “So you want to fall in love the right way?” A softness to her voice communicates everything she doesn’t in that simple query. Her greatest wish phrased as a question.
I want to shake her. She can’t be that naive. She was never going to fall in love the way the fairy tale had formed in her mind.
“I don’t want to fall in love at all,” I tell her honestly.
Twisting in her seat, she loosens her seat belt to give herself more room. “You don’t believe in love?”
I frown at her. “That’s not what I said. Of course, I believe in love. Have you seen your sister and Necktie? Or Gabriella and Lorenzo? It’s hard to deny its existence when it smacks you in the face whenever you open your eyes.”
“If you believe in it, why do you reject the idea for yourself?”
Her voice is always so gentle and unassuming. Uncertainty sits behind every word she speaks, and I wish she’d grab hold of that bite she just introduced me toand find belief in herself.
I scratch the back of my neck. “I don’t want to be responsible for another person.”
She looks outraged by my declaration, and it’s my turn to sigh.
“I’m not saying that my hypothetical wife will be dependent on me in any way. But when you enter a relationship, a dependency forms, whether you care to admit it or not.”
That settles the storm in her dark eyes. “I guess you’re not wrong.”
I laugh at her inability to tell me I’m right, slowing the car as Bianchi’s house comes into view.
A sharp gasp escapes Caterina’s mouth, and before I can second-guess myself, I drive past it.
“Than—”
“I’m only driving around the suburb once more to give you time to ready yourself, Caterina,” I snap. “I’ve been tasked with you arriving safely at Bianchi’s door, and I intend to fulfill my obligation.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“I didn’t do it for you,” I lie. “I did it to save myself from the panic attack ready to seize you.”
I ignore the way she stares a little too long at my profile.
We spend the next fifteen minutes in complete silence. I drive through the streets, admiring the homes and architecture of Caterina’s new hometown. It’s a beautiful city, and I hope that even if she chooses to reject her marriage, she doesn’t do the same to her new home. She could be happy here if she let herself.
Caterina breathes purposely for the additional minutes of her journey. She whispers to herself, soft enough that I can’t hear what she’s saying. While grateful not to be privy to her inner thoughts, I would be interested to know what motivational garbage she stuffed down her own throat because, by the time we arrive at the large cast-iron gate of Bianchi’s mansion again, she’s calm and collected. Or she’s managed to disassociate. Either way, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I stare up at the intricately designed front gate. I’ve never met the boss of the Chicago outfit, but I can already tell he’s an obnoxious asshole.
“We have company.” Caterina points at my window without looking at me.
I put my window down and lift my chin at the somber guy in the dark suit wearing an earpiece staring down at me.
“Help you?”
I can’t see a weapon, but I don’t doubt for a second he’s carrying.
“Diego Greco. I have Caterina Rossi with me. Narciso and Alessia are expecting us.”
He takes a sizable step back, lifts his phone to his mouth, speaks into the device, waits for a beat, and then nods his head once. Moving to the edge of the driveway, he inputs a code into a concealed keypad before waving me on as the gates open.
I lift a hand in thanks, rolling up my window and inching the car forward.
“Not a bad prison,” I murmur, but Caterina refuses to acknowledge the sprawling property before us. Her eyes are cast downward, at her knees, and she keeps them that way as I cruise toward the front of the house.
I park directly outside the front door. Narciso stands casually on the front steps, a cigarette held lazily in his right hand.
