Page 10 of Promised to the Don of Naples
He came into the room already unbuttoning his jacket, tossing it over the chair next to mine like a man who lived there. Then he sat down, picked up my wineglass, and drank from it without asking, handing it back empty.
"Do you drink everyone's wine, or just mine?"
"Just yours. The rest I have to pay for."
"How romantic."
He laughed. Then he picked up the bottle from the tray and filled two glasses—mine and a fresh one for himself.
"Has Donna Beatrice told you about Friday's dinner yet?"
"She has."
"And about Bianca?"
I looked at him over the rim of the glass.
"She did. Said she was an old friend of the family."
"Donna Beatrice is diplomatic."
"And you?"
"I'm the brother. I can afford the luxury." He took a sip. "Bianca was my brother's woman for seven years. They never married, but she was his."
"Does she know I exist?"
"Of course."
"Does she know I'm having dinner with you on Friday?"
"Yes."
"And she's coming anyway?"
"She insisted on coming."
I set down the glass, looking at Raffaele more closely.
"Why are you warning me?"
He looked at me, for the first time without the crooked smile. The version of him I hadn't seen yet—the sottocapo version, the one who does the work his brother can't do in public.
"Because my brother won't warn you."
"Why not?"
"Because Luca thinks a forewarned woman prepares herself, and he doesn't want you prepared."
"What does he want?"
Raffaele drank and smiled again. The charming version came back full force.
"He wants to see how you react. He's been watching you for four days, cognatina. He doesn't say so, but he watches."
"And what do you get out of warning me?"
Raffaele set down his glass and tilted his head.
