Page 81 of Mafia Bride
It takes a minute, but I eventually get out the right combination of words to make him smile and snap his fingers. Celia appears out of nowhere, her usual speed, and Santino orders breakfast. Eggs, potatoes, bacon, and coffee. Just like I asked for.
Celia bows her head slightly and disappears into the kitchen.
“Understanding is not enough,” he says. “You will relearn to speak Italian.”
“I can take it at school.”
“You’ll learn from me, this summer. And when you’re with me, in front of people, you will listen, only. If they ask, you will be a dumb American. Never let them see you understand. Agree to it.”
I can’t formulate a situation where I’d need to play dumb. Wouldn’t the king want a proud Italian wife, not an American?
Will I ever understand his life? Will I ever want to?
“Okay.”
“Buon.”
He’s about to leave to go do whatever he does when I’m not around, but I stop him with a question.
“Do you remember the day we first saw each other, in the hall? I was 12.”
His eyes widen, then move over the pool, away from me.
“You remember,” he says softly.
“You were hard to forget.”
“Always obsessed with me,Forzetta?”
The sun’s behind him, and I can only see his outline. I can’t tell if he’s joking or being a narcissist.
“Hardly. You were terrifying.”
“Am I still?”
I pause, debating how to answer, as I look at his hands clutch the towel around his neck. The hands that hurt my ass so badly I couldn’t sit the next day. The same ones I want to search under my panties again.
“Sometimes.” Now I look over the pool, because even though I can’t see his expression in the shadow, I can’t bear the intensity of the gaze that burns through me. “You didn’t stay for dinner or anything.”
“I had business with your uncle.”
“That’s what you say when it’s mob business.”
A tension cloaks him. I can feel the threat in his posture, but I’m not afraid. He might hurt me, and I might want him to.
“Was I your business?” I ask. “Did you come for me?”
“No.”
I don’t think I believe him. How long has this arrangement been in existence? The day I was taken, Zio told Zia I was never theirs to keep. Have they been waiting for this day for all these years? Did they stop encouraging me to speak Italian and push me towards my dreams of being a nurse to save me from this life or prepare me for it?
Did they want me to fight back? To escape?
“But you remember me. A twelve-year-old in the hallway before a business meeting. How many like me could you have seen?”
“Your eyes caught my attention.”
Bullshit.
