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“No.” My answer is immediate. “I was only marrying him to save my father.”
“His sister worked with you at the salon, right? The brunette who told me your age.”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Is she how you met Caruso?”
“She’s his twin, so I guess in a roundabout way. My dad did business with him, which is how the engagement came about, which I’m sure you already know.”
He nods. “Just wasn’t sure what made Caruso so eager to help your father. I wondered if he maybe had feelings for you?”
I think back to the way Giosuè treated me. While he never struck me, there were signs it was bound to happen sooner or later. I know because he acted the same way my father did.
“Dolcezza?”
“Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts. No, he didn’t have feelings for me. I really don’t know why he wanted to marry me. Heck, I don’t know why he wanted to help my father, either. Like, what was he getting out of it?”
It’s the first time I’ve voiced the thought out loud. WhatwasGiosuè getting out of marrying me? I don’t have a ton of money. Nowhere close to what his family has. I don’t have a ton of connections. Nothing that would entice him to go after me and certainly nothing that would make him pay off my father’s debts.
I continue, “I know arranged marriages are common in our world, but those unions usually have some kind of benefit for both parties.”
Alessandro asks, “Did you ask your father?”
“I did once, but he wouldn’t answer.”
“Why didn’t you press him?”
“I did my best not to set him off and that would have set him off for sure.”
“Set him off?” There’s a hard tone in his voice.
My cheeks are warm. “Yes.”
“Did he hit you,Dolcezza?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does.”
I dip my head.
Shame fills me and my eyes water. Alessandro sets his cards down and leans forward, hugging me tightly.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Isabetta.”
I hug him back, sniffling. “I’ve never told anyone.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
I lean back, wiping my eyes. “Okay. Enough tears. Do you have a two?”
He settles back in his spot and glances at his cards. With a wry smile, he hands a two over. Slowly, he unbuttons his black dress shirt.
“Ohh,” I drag out the word. “Going for a big piece right off the bat.”
“I am.” He tosses the shirt to the side and asks, “What would you like to know?”
Across his lower stomach are big bold letters that spell out Hades. He has a lot of tattoos, but this one has always stood out to me.
