He shrugs. “It runs in the family.”
I turn and walk out before I grab the letter opener off his desk and do something I’ll regret.
I take the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. At the landing, I make a sharp left and head down another corridor, the opposite direction from my bedroom. Grim ancestral oil portraits framed in gold glower down at me as I pass.
Ignoring the hand-painted frescoes on the walls, Venetian glass chandeliers sparkling overheard, and a startled housekeeper dusting the leaves of a potted palm, I stride quickly toward the room at the end.
I don’t have any time to waste.
I stop in front of the heavy oak door and pound my fist on it. “Lili? It’s me. Can I come in? I have to talk to you.”
“Just a second, zia! I’ll…I’ll be right there!”
From behind the door, Lili’s voice sounds faint. And panicked.
Maybe she already knows. She’s very clever for someone who’s been sheltered her entire life.
I hear some scuffling noises, then an odd thud. Concerned, I lean closer to the door. “Lili? You okay?”
A few long, silent moments later, my niece pulls open the door.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her long dark hair is disheveled. The white T-shirt she’s wearing is wrinkled and untucked on one side from a pair of black yoga pants. She’s barefoot and looks disoriented, as if she just woke up.
Which would be strange, considering it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.
“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”
“Um…working out.” She points over her shoulder to the television on the wall on the opposite side of the room. On the screen, a woman in hot pink spandex is doing jumping jacks. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.”
She’s about to close the door, but I push past her into the room. “This can’t wait.”
Like the rest of the house, her bedroom is overdecorated. There’s not a spare inch of space where the gaze can rest that isn’t bedeviled with velvet, gilt, mirrors, ornate wallpaper, elaborately carved wood, or stained glass.
At least in here, the colors are muted pinks and greens. My bedroom is all black, burgundy, and gold. It looks like a bordello inside the Vatican.
Gianni’s late wife was big on the Catholic church school of interior design. She died giving birth to Lili, but her unique taste in décor lives on.
I grab the remote control from the top of the dresser, click a button to mute the TV, then turn back to Lili. She stands in the same spot, looking nervous.
“What’s up, zia?”
“There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” When she starts to wring her hands, I add, “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Oh God. Who died? Is it Nonna?”
“Your grandmother’s fine. She made a deal with the devil to live long enough to annoy the rest of us to death first. Now listen, we don’t have much time.” I walk closer to her, take her hands in mine, and look her in the eye. “I’m going to tell you something. You won’t like it.”
Her face pales. “Oh shit.”
“Yes. And you know how I feel about you cursing.”
“Judging by the look on your face, I’m going to be cursing a lot more in the next few minutes.”
“You make a good point.”
“Plus, you curse all the time.”
“I don’t want you to turn out like me.”
“Why not? You’re a bad bitch.”
“Exactly.”
“No, zia, being a bad bitch is good.”
“Oh. Thank you. I think. Back to what I need to tell you. Are you ready?”
“No. Tell me anyway.”
I give her hands a reassuring squeeze before letting her have it. “Your father negotiated a marriage contract for you. You’re meeting the man today. As in right now. His car just pulled up.”
Lili falls still. She swallows. Other than that, she has no reaction.
“You took that better than I expected. Brave girl. So that’s the bad news. The good news is that if I don’t approve of his choice, the contract will be canceled.”
She closes her eyes, exhales, and says faintly, “Holy fucking buckets of cat shit.”
“Very creative. Anything else?”
She opens her eyes and stares at me in panic, clutching my hands so hard, it hurts. “I don’t want to get married, zia.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re sane.”
Her voice rises. “No, I mean, I can’t get married!”
She pulls away from me, crossing the room to stand defiantly in front of the big wooden wardrobe near her bed.
The thing is huge, a floor-to-ceiling antique made of shiny carved mahogany. It’s always reminded me of the magical wardrobe from The Chronicles of Narnia that can transport a person to a land of talking animals and mythical creatures.
She props her hands on her hips and declares passionately, “I’d rather die than marry a man I don’t love!”
From inside the wardrobe comes a distinct thud, as if a body just fell to the floor.
Afterward, there’s silence.
I stare at my niece. She stares right back at me, her normally sweet brown eyes on fire with defiance.
I say calmly, “Lili?”
“Yes?”
“What was that noise?”
She lifts her chin and folds her arms over her chest. “What noise?”
I look at her mussed hair, her untucked shirt, her bare feet, and her rebellious expression, and know in my bones that we have a big fucking problem.
I cross the room in several long strides, headed to the wardrobe.
Lili tries to stop me, jumping in front of the wardrobe doors and pleading, but I push her aside and yank open the door.
And come face-to-face with the young man standing inside.
Hiding inside between a mink coat and a beaded evening gown, shrinking back as far as he can against the back wall.
He’s good-looking, I’ll give her that. With liquid brown eyes, full lips, and a chest that could be featured on magazine covers, the boy is undeniably attractive.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight white briefs, through which his erection is clearly visible.
He can’t be more than eighteen.
I slowly close the wardrobe door. Then I turn back to Lili.
She stands with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pulled between her teeth, her shoulders rounded. If she had a tail, it would be tucked between her legs.
I say quietly, “You know what would happen if your father discovered this.”
She doesn’t bother with lame denials. She simply nods.
But it has to be said aloud. Things gain a certain gravitas when they’re spoken.
“He would kill him, Lili. Whoever he is, the boy standing in this wardrobe would die. Slowly. Painfully. And most likely, you’d be made to watch.”
Lili’s eyes well with tears. She nods again, swallowing hard, her face contorted with misery. She whispers, “I know.”
My heart breaks for her.
She’s a fool. A young, reckless fool, but I understand her completely.
I was young once, too. I had dreams once, too. I had needs and desires and a wide open future that stretched out ahead of me like a golden, glimmering dream.
Until all the beautiful dreams were destroyed by the cold, killing weight of a wedding ring.
I gather her into a hug, pulling her close and wrapping my arms around her shoulders.
“I don’t know how you got him in here,” I murmur into her ear, “but make sure no one sees you when you get him out. I can buy you ten minutes, maybe fifteen, but no more. Meet me in your father’s office. Wear your blue dress, the one with the pearl buttons. Smile and look sweet. Let me do the rest. Deal?”
Nodding, she sniffles. “Deal. Thank you, zia.”
Hearing voices drifting up from the courtyard below, I release Lili and hurry to the bedroom windows. I nudge aside the curtain and peer out.
Below on the circular driveway, a shiny black Escalade is parked in front of the fountain. Two of my brother’s armed guards stand several feet away from a man I don’t recognize.
He’s big and barrel-chested, larger than both of the guards, but he has a friendly smile and manner. Clad in a black suit and shiny black oxfords, he cuts an imposing figure.
The guards and the man continue to speak. One of the guards pats him down, searching for weapons, then all three of them nod. The guards step back, the driver rounds the car and opens the passenger door, and another man clad in black exits the vehicle.
My breath catches.
This man is leaner than the first. Just as tall and wide-shouldered, but not as bulky. A quarterback to the other’s defensive lineman.
His hair is dark gold. It looks carelessly styled, as if he dragged his fingers through it instead of using a comb. His beard is a darker shade, closer to bronze, covering an angular jaw. One of his nostrils is pierced with a small metal ring.
He’s incredibly handsome. Half aristocrat and half bare-knuckled street fighter, he exudes a kind of raw, brutal power, unmistakable even from this distance.
Clearly visible above the collar of his starched white dress shirt is a spiderweb tattoo.
He glances up at the window and catches me staring.
Our eyes lock.