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CHAPTER 15
Emilia
Being a lady of leisure is nice in theory. I’ve often imagined how I would spend my days if I had all the time in the world to do as I pleased. I pictured myself reading, dabbling with new recipes in the kitchen, fixing up my house to make it the sort of cozy sanctuary I’ve always dreamed of.
The reality is different. It takes only three days of drifting aimlessly around the apartment before I’m bored to tears. I’ve picked up and put down more than a dozen books. None has held my interest past the first few pages. I used to love my romance novels, but I’m not in the mood for them right now.
Occupying myself in the kitchen hasn’t happened either. Alessandro has a housekeeper, Greta, who comes in three times a week. The formidable, silver-haired Swede informed me it’s part of her job to stock the freezer with the prepared meals we’ve been eating. She acted as if I’d mortally offended her when I suggested it was unnecessary, so I let it go for now. I don’t think I’d get much pleasure out of cooking in Alessandro’s kitchen,anyway. It’s tiny, with barely any counter space. I need room to lay out ingredients and a decent stove to cook with. The galley kitchen provides neither.
It’s also proving trickier than I expected to start making the apartment my own. Alessandro gave me free rein and an unlimited budget to do whatever I want with the place, but I have no idea where to start. Being in a foreign city, I don’t know which stores to visit. It’s irrelevant, anyway, since Alessandro has insisted I remain in the apartment until he eliminates whatever threat it is we’re facing. His mother has promised to drop by and do some design planning with me, but she isn’t free until next week. The Volante matriarch has an active social life, it seems.
For a woman like me, who’s used to working, it’s frustrating to have nothing to do all day. With a heavy sigh, I recline on the black velvet chaise in the living room. It looks like it belongs in a courtesan’s boudoir, but it’s incredibly comfortable. Alessandro has fucked me over the back of it twice, giving me the most intense orgasms both times. Perhaps when I redecorate I’ll save this and put it in one of the guest bedrooms. It has a certain sentimental value, after all.
Alessandro hasn’t mentioned my grandfather’s will again, but he told me funerals have taken place for those killed on the night the house was attacked. I have mixed feelings about missing the services. On the one hand, I regret not having the chance to pay my respects, especially to Maria, who was always kind to me. On the other, I’m glad I didn’t have to face everyone knowing what I do now about my grandfather.
Tears prick my eyes as I consider whether I’ll ever see my homeland again. I quickly blink them back as the door opens and Tomaso steps inside. He’s younger than I first thought,probably my age. His features are sharp, but his mop of unruly blond hair softens his appearance. Alessandro appointed the poor man my babysitter, which is surely a comedown, even from his regular job as a driver. At least when he’s conveying my husband around town, there’s a chance he’ll see some action. Here, in this fortress of an apartment block, which is owned by the Volantes, nothing ever happens.
“Miss Volante is on her way up,” Tomaso tells me.
“Oh. Thank you.”
He nods curtly and leaves, a man of few words. None of my husband’s men are the chatty type, at least not around me. I guess they’re afraid of letting slip something they shouldn’t. Or maybe they don’t find me interesting enough to bother with. Either way, I’m getting desperate for conversation. The brief exchanges I have with Alessandro in the fleeting moments when he’s home don’t satisfy my need to connect with another human being. Well, not on an intellectual level. As far as the physical goes, I have zero complaints.
Swinging my legs off the chaise, I stand as Olivia breezes into the apartment. She rushes over to greet me with a kiss on each cheek. Already, it’s like I can breathe again. I hadn’t realized until this moment how suffocating loneliness can be.
“You look fabulous, Emilia.”
I glance down at my outfit. I paired black cropped trousers and a cerise chiffon blouse. My hair is loose, hanging over my shoulder in waves and I’ve got only the barest hint of makeup on.Fabulousis an overstatement, but I accept the compliment with a smile and take in my sister-in-law’s casual look. Given the ease with which she wears silk dresses and skyscraper heels,I imagined she never wore anything else. Today, however, she has on slim-fitting black jeans that look like they were painted onto her long legs and a white off-the-shoulder top. With her hair scraped back into a ponytail and a natural makeup style, she looks more like a college student than a Mafia princess.
“I’ve come to take you to lunch.”
A flutter of excitement makes my heart skip a beat and then realization creeps over me.
“Have you checked it’s okay with Alessandro?”
“No, but I told Antonio I was coming over to take you to lunch and he was fine with it.”
Hmm. I get that Antonio is the head of the family, but I know my husband considers himself the ultimate authority in our household. He won’t be happy if I go out without making sure he’s fine with it.
“I think we should check with Alessandro.” I flash Olivia an apologetic grimace.
She rolls her pretty blue eyes. “Okay, call him.”
“Eh, I don’t have his number.” I chew my bottom lip. “Or a phone.”
The purse I had with me on the night Alessandro brought me to America has disappeared. I don’t know whether he has it or if it got lost along the way. I keep forgetting to ask him about it.
Olivia frowns. “So how are you supposed to get in touch with him if you need something?”
I shrug. “Ask Tomaso, I suppose.”
Shaking her head despairingly, Olivia digs her cellphone out of her pocket and finds Alessandro’s number. She hands me the phone. “Call him.”
I press the button and after a few moments, Alessandro answers. He sounds irritated and a little out of breath. It makes me wonder what I’ve interrupted.
“Livvy,” he says curtly, “what do you want?”
“Uh, it’s not Livvy. It’s me, Emilia.”
