Page 5 of The Capo's Nymph
Matilde
During our flight to Chicago, I’d finally told Gia of my father’s deathbed confession and the twin sister I must find. She promised to help me if she can, but the admission left me feeling vulnerable when I’m already nervous about today.
“Gia! What a lovely surprise,” a lovely older woman cries when we step into the foyer of Nico Morelli’s impressive townhome. My suspicion that she’s Caterina’s mother is soon confirmed.
Zeta Morelli warmly welcomes me, but the heavier footsteps of men approaching makes me tense. Gia’s husband is unpleasant with beady eyes that roam freely; however, it’s the other man who reminds me I’m a lamb entering the lion’s den.
With broad shoulders, Nico Morelli towers over me and everyone else in the room in his tailored, three-piece suit. A flash of muted silver cufflinks catches my eye before I notice his gold wedding band. His shoes are polished to perfection and not a single strand of his dark hair is out of place, but the black stubble covering his strong jaw is thick. He doesn’t have the Trio tattoo across his throat like the men in Las Vegas. I’d heard some get it over their heart instead. Flustered, I steer my thoughts away from picturing his bare chest.
Sofia’s term was accurate. His scar is memorable. Imperfectly healed, from the edge of one eyebrow, barely missing his eye, through his cheek, it extends downward until it abruptly turns and ends about an inch from his ear. It must have been agony when he was cut.
Yet, it doesn’t repulse me. I find Nico attractive in a severe sort of way.
After crisply greeting Gia, he stares at me for several uncomfortable seconds. I stare back, mesmerized by the way his slate gray eyes bring the stormy sea to mind.
“Benvenuta, signorina,”he says at last. The deep rumbling sound of his voice causes my cheeks to heat, and I force the expected words past my lips while fidgeting with my borrowed suitcase.
“Gia,” Zeta says, breaking the tension. “Nico and I will give you a moment of privacy with your husband while we show Matilde up to the nursery so she may meet the babies and settle into her room-”
“No.” Nico’s brusque refusal is a thunderclap. “She’ll meet the twins, but she’ll live with you, Mother.”
That wasn’t the plan. Am I in danger of losing this position already? Silvio expects information.
The faint sound of a baby crying floats down the stairs, and Nico’s jaw clenches. “She can watch the children when needed, butthischild requires supervision, and the last thing I need is another dependent to raise. My decision is final.”
Child? Supervision? Dependent? I’m a great bother to him, am I?
For the first time since my father died and upended my life with his final words, anger burns through everything else, and I’m tempted to wallop Nico Morelli with my suitcase and walk out the door.
What is wrong with you, Matilde?Not only is the man still grieving for his wife, but he’s also the future Capo of Chicago, a dangerous man.
“Shall we go up then?” Zeta asks, taking my arm. “It sounds as if the babies are stirring from their nap, and you can refresh yourself after your flight.”
Nico steps forward, taking my suitcase and leading the way. I shoot one final glance at Gia before following him up the polished steps and down a carpeted hallway.
Before we reach the nursery, Zeta is interrupted by a phone call. “I apologize. My husband is calling about his doctor’s appointment.”
Nico’s expression tightens. “Go ahead,” he tells his mother, who slips into an alcove to answer the call.
My attention drifts to the double doors standing open at the far end of the hallway, revealing the primary suite. Ash gray walls and a large painting hangs over the enormous bed. The black, pinch-pleat duvet looks impossibly thick and soft.
“That’s not my children’s room.”
Turning, I realize Nico caught me staring.“Mi dispiace, signore.I mean, sir.”
“Call me Nico. How much do you know about caring for infants?”
“Some.”
He scowls. “Some? Am I meant to guess what that means?”
His sharp tone rattles me. What do I tell him? I know very little about infants in truth, but I can learn. I took care of the lambs on the farm after all, and they’re babies, too. “I watch the… I have helped, um…”
“How well do you speak English, Matilde?”
“I get better. I-”
“Keep working on it. My children will speak English far more than Italian, and I won’t have them sounding ignorant when they do.”
