Page 86 of Promised to the Don of Naples
Per la sposa che sposerà un morto.
I went cold.
"Tonio."
"Sì, signora."
"Take it to the padrone now."
"Sì, signora." He hesitated half a second. "Is the signora all right?"
I looked at him. I looked at the nine armed men I could see from there, looked at Luca's great-grandfather's lemon trees, looked at the trellis down at the far end, where a man had once almost kissed me and I'd turned my face away.
Five weeks.
"I am," I said. And that's a lie the size of Vesuvius, I thought. "I'm just fine. Go."
I went up to the study.
Acquaviva was on his way out. Bald, round glasses, brown leather briefcase under his arm. He stopped to let me pass and gave a minimal nod of his head.
"Signora Moretti."
"Signor Acquaviva."
His eyes met Luca's, inside the room. It was quick, the kind of look two men exchange when they're closing a net around someone.
Acquaviva went down the stairs with the briefcase, and I went in.
Luca was standing by the window. The lilies were on his desk, still in the cellophane. He hadn't had them taken away.
"You saw it," I said.
"I saw it."
"Was it him?"
"It was."
I took a deep breath. That man was going to destroy me and I was going to let him—no, that man was going to protect me and I was going to let him.
The confusion was new. The confusion was the new bride.
"Five more weeks," he said, low, without turning his face from the window. "Five, bella mia. Hold on for five weeks."
"And Matteo?"
"After the nonna."
"Why?"
"Because the nonna can read a man before the man opens his mouth. And I want her to read your brother before I decide what to do with him."
I bit my lower lip.
"Luca. Give me the key to the cellar." He didn't say no, but he didn't say yes. "Think about it."
"Bella mia, I haven't thought about anything but you since I found you asleep in that armchair right there."
