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The burden of the Order membership fell on me, his sole heir.
When my mother and Gio sat me down to explain all this and how my inheritance was now tied up in the Order and that Gio was the sole owner and I was basically a penniless woman, I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Grief over my daddy’s death and the uncertainty over my future weighed me down.
Until my mother came into my bedroom one morning with a solution. I would marry Gio Mancini. At first, I refused. The man was more than twice my age, and while some might find him handsome, he was unattractive to me. Besides, I’ve known him my entire life and regarded him as my elder.
But one weekend, I finally managed to crawl out from under my misery and sought strength where I always found it. At church.
During Mass, I caught Gio looking at me the way Father Thomas used to look at me when I was younger. Back then, the priest would ask me to help clean up after a gathering, and I couldn’t refuse. I knew I had to say yes to Gio’s proposal too.
Once I heard about Severio and how ruthlessly he’d punish everyone involved in the unsanctioned initiation of my family into the Order, I feared what he’d do. He kept my mom and me in the Order, but once a family enters the Order, unsanctioned or not, they must play by his rules.
And rituals.
For the claiming ritual, Severio requested that I wear my wedding dress.
Before sneaking out of the wedding reception, I hid my wedding dress under a long black cape I bought at the flea market in Sicily. My friend Tiki, who went with me thatday, wondered what I needed it for. I can’t remember how I answered, but whatever I said wasn’t the truth.
Nobody can know about the Order or the ritual Severio will perform tonight. Growing up on a small island where everyone knows me and I know everyone means that sneaking around in a cape tonight is necessary.
I round the corner and stand before the villa where Severio’s staying.
Villa Segreta, named after its isolated location, is the only three-story villa on the island. It rises from the “corner” of the mountain on the far edge of the island, and since it’s far from the main attractions, it’s rarely occupied. Regardless, it requires frequent cleaning and upkeep, and Tiki, who is also the hotel manager, prices it higher than she ought to.
I used to protest the fee she charged for this space, but since Severio is paying, I don’t mind. A single night costs as much as the yearly salary of my sous-chef.
He’s paying for Villa Segreta and two of the nearest neighboring villas.
I lift the dress and the cape and climb the stone steps to the private entrance on the third floor. By the time I make it to the green door, I’m panting like a golden retriever after three hours at the dog park. Before entering, I need a minute. Or an hour to recover my breath. I grab the railing and do just that.
For longer than necessary. Because I’m terrified of what and who is behind the door.
The door opens, and I step away from it, wondering if I should run. I dismiss that instantly since I was barely able to climb the steps. I’m no runner. Or a walker, even. I like lounging.
A man dressed in black slacks and a sleeveless black shirt greets me. His height makes me crane my neck, but my eyes never make it past his throat because the devil tattoo over his jugular arrests my gaze. I suppress the urge to cross myself.
When he says nothing but simply opens the door wider, I gather he’s one of Severio’s guards. I walk inside, and the man closes the door behind me.
Originally a flat roof, this added-on third floor features an open space with a kitchenette that’s more of a bar than a cooking station of any kind, and a seating area directly in front of a spacious terrace enclosed entirely in glass. The master bedroom is tucked on the right side almost as an afterthought because of the uninterrupted view of the calm seas that takes your breath away as you walk in.
But that’s not why I’m having difficulty breathing. It’s not the view, because I’ve seen it a thousand times. It’s Severio Mancini standing on the terrace, leaning his shoulder against the glass. His hair appears wet, so he must’ve showered recently. He’s dressed in black pants and a white button-up shirt. No tie. A phone is pressed against his ear, and I see no ring on his wedding finger.
I take small comfort in knowing I won’t sleep with another woman’s man.
Since he doesn’t turn or greet me, he hasn’t noticed I’ve arrived. Or perhaps he has, but whoever he’s speaking to takes precedence over me. Thank God for that. I’ll use the time to sit down and do a few things to compose myself. Like breathe, for one.
“Do you want something to drink?” a deep male voice asks from the shadows.
I scream at the top of my lungs. I had no idea someone else was here!
Severio rushes inside. He looks from me to the tall man standing by the bar simply existing in his masculine, tattooed, six-sevenish frame. He’s even taller than Severio, and Severio is at least six-five to my five-two. With heels.
“What happened?” Severio asks the man.
I almost point at the man and say,He scared me,but refrain from the childish gesture. It’s just that Severio’s kill-all protective energy makes me think of that one older boy at church who punched Father Thomas in the face for looking at me the way a grown man shouldn’t look at a ten-year-old girl.
The tall man lifts his hands in surrender. “I thought she saw me when she walked in.”
Severio looks at me.
