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However, the only person on my heels is my new husband. I turn around to stop him, and that's when it happens. Recognition of who's in charge.
Alessandro's height, his insanely handsome face, even with a scar indentation trailing into his beard. It's not as noticeable from afar, a few shades lighter than his complexion, and it makes me wonder about its origin. He has power bleeding from every pore. He has the power to stop me in my tracks.
Every step Alessandro takes closer to me is another step I take away from him. The position my family has me in is nothing like the danger I feel standing in front of Alessandro De Luca. Until there aren't any other steps for me to take.
My back presses against the side of his car with his driver standing a few feet away, making sure to keep his eyes on everyone and everything else but us. I wonder if Alessandro will kiss me again. My body craves his touch, his closeness, but logic warns me not to fall so easily.
"I'm taking you home, mio dolce."
"Don't call me that," I warn him, but he stops my words with a single finger to my lips.
"I'll call you what I want because we need everyone who knows and everyone who doesn't to believe that this marriage is real. Now." Alessandro sighs, reaching behind me to open the door. "Get in the car, Evelyn."
My heart races as I slide onto the softest leather seat I imagine is possible for car upholstery. It's the glitz and glam side of this life. The perk of shielding your eyes to what truly happens behind closed doors, in the darkness of crime-ridden nights in the city that never sleeps. This life glamorizes selling your soul for the sake of loyalty.
Alessandro walks around the back of the car and shares a few words with his driver before they both get in for us to head to a brownstone in Midtown Manhattan. The drive is quiet, and so is Alessandro as he scrolls through various screens on his phone. An email here, a text message there. It makes me wonder who he's communicating with and about what. Is he going to treat me like a wife, or is this just for show for anyone who needs to see?
When Lorenzo opens the door for me, Alessandro is already outside the car. He holds his hand out with his eyes moving from one point to another up and down the street. His driver, I assume soon-to-be consigliere, has the same diligent gaze, as if they're identifying everyone walking by.
The building in front of me is the same as the two beside it, blending in with the red and brown brick brownstones that draw an obscene amount of money on the real estate market. I know because, technically, Alessandro lives in the vineyard. The underboss of another Mafia don lives, eats, and breathes in a property my Family should own.
When his large hand engulfs mine, I find myself scanning faces too, following Alessandro up a flight of stairs and through a large black door. The bustling sounds of Manhattan fade away as soon as that door closes, and I'm left in awe.
The entire first floor is luxurious but simple. The dark brown bricks continue inside along an exposed wall, where a gorgeous floating white staircase leads to the second floor. There's a black door with a smoky glass pane and a silver doorknob to my left that I reach out for before Alessandro stops me.
"Lorenzo is going to show you around. That's my office. You're not allowed in there without my permission. Anywhere else in the home is free for you to explore. Lorenzo." Alessandro nods at the man who is in every sense his version of Jenkins. This also ends our conversation as he opens the office door and disappears behind it.
"Lorenzo? You have a last name?" I ask him.
"Portero, Mrs. De Luca. If you'll follow me." He gestures toward the open living room. The dark wood floors are warm as I step out of the heels I've been in since six this morning and carry them as we move through the home.
Lorenzo Portero is solid in his stature. Dirty blond hair is styled straight back, maybe an inch long and out of his face. He walks with his head held high, light brown eyes on everything, and his hands are clasped in front of him.
"There's a tablet on the sofa that controls the thermostat, lights, and TVs. That's the dining room and the kitchen, fully stocked, and if you need anything, I can escort you to the store."
There's an L-shaped white leather sectional in front of a glass coffee table. The wall of glossy, black, built-in shelves stretches along the left wall of the living room into the dining area behind the sectional. A sleek white lacquer table seats at least a dozen, and there's a matching island behind it. High stools tuck under the white countertop. The built-in shelves, with an assortment of books—law, mostly—merge into the cabinets of the kitchen. The design wraps around to the back wall and stops at a refrigerator that blends in seamlessly with the rest of the kitchen.
A pair of double doors matches the office door and most likely leads to a pantry. I'm actually excited about cooking here. That's what I do when my nerves are on edge. I cook, bake, make whatever tasty delicacy I can drum up to dull the rapid beat of my anxiety.
"Thanks. So, where am I sleeping? What about my clothes?" I ask him after taking the entire space in. "I can't stay in this. Can I go back home? Am I allowed to leave?" I rattle off every question crossing my mind.
Lorenzo gestures toward the stairs. It doesn't take long to climb them to the second floor, where three closed doors stare back at me and Alessandro's driver. He speaks softly, pointing to different doors. The one directly in front of the stairs is the first door.
"That's my space. It's open to you should you ever feel the need to hide?—"
"Hide?" I ask, my eyes widening with concern.
"Mrs. De Luca."
"Evelyn, please." Being referred to as Mrs. De Luca doesn't sit as well with me as easily as Lorenzo says it.
He nods. "Evelyn. Alessandro trusts me with his life, and therefore, your safety is paramount to his goals. The likelihood of someone breaking into this home is slim to none, but should a threat ever arise, you're free to use my room as a panic room."
"Where would you be?"
"Defending this Family," he says, opening the door to his room.
It's simple, small, with a dresser, bed, closet, and a large screen mounted on the wall with various rooms around the house on display. He can see every room except the two other bedrooms. Once he sees that I've seen enough, he shuts the door and points to the door in the middle of the hallway.
