Page 24 of The Mad Don
She would do.
She would do very well, actually. She knows how to read a room. She knows how to handle herself. I would handle any surprises myself, but just as a backup, or even a shield, she would do.
I look at the captain.
“Tell the Russian girl to be ready tonight. She’s coming with me.”
“Yes, Don Mondi.”
He turns to leave. I speak again in Italian.
“And if you say anything stupid to her, or if you look at her wrong, I will pluck out your eyes.”
He nods and walks out.
I sit in the quiet for a moment. She makes me act out of my mind, and I do not know why I like it. I have no good reason to like it. I chuckle to myself and stand.
I walk to Lucia’s room and open the door quietly.
She is sleeping. She has been sleeping most of the last week. After the last attack, the new doctor put her on something heavier, and her body has been taking it as permission to disappear. I sit on the edge of her bed and stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers.
Her skin is warm.That’s something.
“I’m stepping out tonight, Angel.”
She doesn’t stir.
“When I get back, I’ll sit with you. We’ll watch one of your shows.”
I lean down and kiss her forehead.
“Soon,” I whisper. “I promise, I’ll get you help.”
I close the door behind me.
* * *
That night, I wait by the car, tapping my foot on the ground, and I check my watch. The driver stands by the passenger door with his hands behind his back, pretending not to watch me check the time for the third minute in a row.
Then the front door opens. She steps out.
I stare at her. I told the staff to put her in something that would do at the Marchetti estate. She needed to blend in with the ladies there. I didn’t want her to look like an obvious backup; that job was for Fabiano. They followed instructions. Her hair is up. The dress is black, low at the back, and cut above her knees. There is a small purse in her hand. She is wearing it well.
She looks delicate. Our eyes meet, I whistle, and stretch my hand out to her.
She walks past it and gets into the car.
I laugh under my breath and get in beside her. She is pressed against the far door, her body angled away from me, her purse is on her lap like a small shield.
I reach over, take her by the waist, and pull her against me.
“You look stunning,” I say. “If I say so myself.”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t look at me. Her jaw is tight.
I let my eyes drop to the neckline of the dress which is not as modest as I told the staff to make it. The curve of her breasts pushes against the fabric, and something hot moves under my ribs. I think about the men at the estate who will see her like this. The thought turns sour fast.
I take her face in my hand and pull her chin toward me, and I bite her mouth. I want it to bruise. I want the inside of her lip toswell so that when she smiles at any man tonight, she will feel it and remember whose teeth put it there.
