Mafia Kings: Valentino: Dark Mafia Romance Series #6 by Olivia Thorn

Mafia Kings: Valentino: Chapter 34 As it got close to sunset, Isabella said she was tired, so she went back to the house with Ludavica and all the women.

Three of the foot soldiers went with them, but the fourth stayed with me.

As a guide? A bodyguard? A jailer? Who knew. Maybe all three.

He was dour, that was for sure. He had a particularly bad male version of Resting Bitch Face - 'Resting Bastard Face,' I guess, with a grimace like he'd just bit into a lemon.

He looked like he was in his late 30s, but when I asked him, he said he was only 27.

Life was hard in Sicily, apparently.

But the weather was great. It had been around 85 degrees Fahrenheit in Palermo, but up here in the mountains, it was in the mid-70s.

Since there was nothing better to do - no phone, no internet, no TV, no nothin' - I decided to go exploring on my own.

Well... with Resting Bastard Face along for the ride, anyway.

The 'gardens' I'd walked through with Isabella (and 3000 of her female in-laws) had mostly been a bunch of different plants the kitchen used for spice and herbs, along with fruit trees and sornamental bushes with red berries. Everything had the scraggly look of plants that could thrive in an arid environment, which Sicily definitely was.

I left the gardens and headed out into the rolling hills.

You could literally see for miles. Lots of craggy grey boulders poking up out of patches of green; the rest was dry brown fields.

"Do they grow something here?" I asked RBF (short for Resting Bastard Face).

"Grain," he said dourly.

Talkative guy.

From far away, I heard the clanking of cowbells. A half-mile away, maybe more, a bunch of them dotted one of the hillsides, grazing amongst the boulders.

In the far distance - quite a few miles away - there were a couple of small villages: one to the east, and one to the south. I doubted more than 500 people lived in either one. I could only tell they were east and south because the sun was setting in the west, a ball of golden light disappearing behind the clouds on the horizon.

Between the villages and Don Vicari's, there was the occasional crumbling stone building with a collapsed roof and walls falling in.

But there was one stone building pretty close to the property, maybe half a mile away, that was in excellent shape. It was old, yes, but it still had shutters over the windows, the wooden door was closed, and the roof was obviously well-maintained.

Thinking it was a horse stable or something, I turned to RBF. "What's that over there?" He just shook his head somberly.

"What?" I asked.

"It is not for you," he said in his thick Sicilian accent.

Now I really was curious. "What's in there?" "Ask Don Vicari," he said coldly, then gestured with his hand back to the main house like, THIS way.

I thought about ignoring him and walking over to see for myself - But decided I would get my answers later.

I could just imagine Niccolo laying out another rule: Never argue with a Sicilian with a shotgun.

Especially when you're unarmed, and he doesn't particularly like you.

We returned to the house, where a servant escortedto my bedroom.

It was just as rustic as the rest of the place: exposed wooden beams and white plaster walls.

There was a stone fireplace, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a rickety brass bed.

Back in my family's house in Tuscany, our walls were decorated with art from the last four centuries.

Here in Sicily, I had a framed print of the Virgin Mary with her heart in flames.

Fuckin' great.

My suitcases were waiting for me, but I didn't unpack - not yet.

It felt like giving in... like admitting defeat.

Part ofstill believed something might happen and I could get out of this nightmare.

The day I unpacked my clothes was the day I gave up all hope.

Instead, I went to the bathroom to wash up.

Everything inside was ancient: a toilet with the water tank several feet above the commode, a claw-foot tub (no shower), and a single narrow sink on a pedestal.

I turned on the water and splashed water on my face. At least it was nice and cool.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Coming," I yelled as I toweled off, then walked over.

When I opened the door, there stood Ludavica - Isabella's servant girl.

What the fuck? I half-wondered if she was there to try to bang- But the sullen expression on her face didn't seem to be pointing in that direction.

Not that I would have, anyway. I was still depressed about Caterina - and even if I hadn't been obsessing over Cat, banging your future mafia wife's servant was an excellent way to get a hot lead enema.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"I'm very protective of Isabella,” she said coolly.

Her voice was deeper than I would have thought, and kind of raspy. I liked it. A smoker's voice, though I didn't picture her as a smoker.

"...uh... okay," I said, not sure where this was going.

"I just want you to know that if you hurt her... ever... either now or anytduring your marriage... if you hit her, or abuse her emotionally, or demean her in any way... Don Vicari won't have the chance to do anything to you, because they'll find you bled out in your bed with your dick cut off. Capiche?" WHOA.

Normally I would've been pissed off at a guy for talking tolike that - But it was kind of funny coming from a 5'1" girl in an apron.

I grinned in spite of myself. "Is that how Sicilian servants talk to future husbands around here?" "This isn't a joke," Ludavica seethed. "Do not even think of hurting her." I put up my hands like she was mugging me, though I couldn't stop grinning. "I'll never harm a hair on her head.

I swear on my father's soul." Ludavica looked atdistrustfully... then nodded once, like she was satisfied with my answer.

She turned to go - "Hey, could I ask you a favor?" I asked.

She looked atwarily. "What?" "Could you grabone of the books Isabella likes? Maybe that Car person - "Rupi Kaur." "Yeah, that's the one." "You want to read poetry by Rupi Kaur," she said incredulously.

I shrugged. "Isabella anddon't really have much in common, so I thought it might be a good start if I read something she liked. You know... so we can talk about it. But don't tell her about it. I want to surprise her." Ludavica looked atlike I'd just ripped off a disguise I'd been wearing, and she was mildly shocked to see who was really underneath.

"I'll see what I can do," she mumbled.

"Thanks." Ludavica nodded... looked atone last time, like I'd pulled off a strange magic trick... and then walked away.

I waited ten minutes for Ludavica to bring the book, but she didn't show. Guess she had issues slipping it out from under Isabella's watchful eye.

It was dark outside, but it was still very early - around 9PM.

Since I didn't have a TV or phone - and no way to entertain myself in my room except for rubbing one out - I started wandering the halls of the house.

The floors were hardwood. They'd been waxed recently, but the wood was scarred and pitted like it had seen a lot of wear over God knows how many years.

The walls were a mix of grey stone and white plaster, with exposed wooden beams in all the ceilings. The only pictures on the walls were religious icons and hunting stuff - like a shadowy painting of dead pheasants hanging up in a row.

The furniture was a mixture of patterned cloth and creaky leather upholstery.

The house was mostly silent, with the tick tick tick of a grandfather clock the loudest sound.

Just like Isabella said, there were no televisions in the house. Or any computers, for that matter.

Don Vicari liked living in the fucking Stone Age, I guess.

I smelled something good from the kitchen - garlic and onion sautéing in butter - and I opened the door to look inside.

A couple of older Sicilian women, probably in their 50s, looked up atwithout saying anything.

As I closed the door, a fresh jolt of heartache hit me.

I realized that I'd gone into the kitchen back hso many times, I'd half-expected to see Cat there... And when she wasn't, it hurt.

As I walked through the house, I kept thinking of San Vittore, the prison where Dahad served his time.

I'd only visited once, but it had made a searing impression on me.

San Vittore was hell on earth. The stench... the screams... the ugliness...

Don Vicari's house was nothing like it. It smelled clean, like floor wax. It was quiet. And despite being plain and old-fashioned, it was nice enough to look at.

But despite the differences...

They were both prisons.

And unlike Dario, it seemed I would be here for life.

SHIT...

WHY didn't I say 'yes' and marry Cat? "There you are," a deep voice said behind me.

I twitched in surprise and whipped around.

Don Vicari was standing in a doorway behind me.

"Heh," he laughed in that humorless way, like I was an idiot he found vaguely amusing. "You don't have to be scared of anything around here. None of my enemies are stupid or insane enough to set foot on my property." "You just startled me,” I said defensively.

"Mrm," he grunted with a smirk, like he didn't believe me. "Tomorrow you'll go meet Rocco in Pozzallo. He'll take you around and show you what to do." "Okay," I agreed, seeing as there wasn't much else I could do but agree.

"Better get to bed." I raised one eyebrow. "It's barely past nine." "Yeah, but you'll be leaving at five. They'll have breakfast for you ready in the kitchen at 4:30." "In the morning?" I asked, stunned.

"No, in the afternoon," Vicari said contemptuously. "Of course in the morning. Pozzallo's three hours away." JESUS.

"Okay... so where am I staying tomorrow night?" Vicari frowned like I was stupid. "Here." I stared at him in shock. "You wantto drive three hours there, then three hours BACK?!" "You won't be driving. One of my men will take you." "What am I supposed to do in the car for six hours?!" He shrugged. "Watch the scenery." "Can I get my phone back so I can at least have it on the trip?" I asked hopefully.

"No." "Then how am I supposed to be able to wake up at 4:30?" "There's an alarm clock in your room. Use it. We don't take kindly to lateness or laziness around here." Then he turned and walked off.

I stood there in shock.

Wonderful.

Welcto Sicily.

When I got back to my room, a black book with white drawings of two bees on the cover was lying on my pillow.

I picked it up and read the title: Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur.

Ludavica had cthrough for me.

Although the prospect of reading poetry was about as appealing toas eating plain oatmeal.

The title was in English, so I flipped through the pages - Everything inside was in English, too.

Great.

I could speak English really well – Papa had made sure we had the best tutors money could buy but?TM wasn't a fan of reading in general. Reading in English was even further down the list.

I picked up the little brass alarm — clock on the nightstand and spent a few minutes fiddling with it, trying to figure out how it worked. I'd never seen one before in real life – only in movies. Trust an asshole like Don Vicari not to have raalarm clocks.

After setting the alarm just slightly past the current tand m successfully getting it to go off (JESUS CHRIST THAT'S LOUD), I set it for the next morning and stripped down to my boxer briefs for bed. As I slipped under the sheets - not like our luxurious sheets at home, but soft enough - I thought about what the next 24 hours held for me.

Getting up before it was dark...

A three-hour car ride...

And poetry.

Three of my favorite fuckin' things in the whole wide world.

That was sarcasm, if you didn't catch it.

Then my mind drifted to getting up early back at hfor an entirely different reason, and I thought about my actual favorite thing in the world: Fucking Cat.

Looking into her eyes as she came.

Hearing her scream - The way it felt to bust inside her without a condom - FUCK.

I had to stop thinking about her...

Otherwise it was going to be a long fucking night.