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 some ornamental 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 escorted me to 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.

me, but I didn’t unpack – not

like giving in…

might happen and I could get out of this

clothes was the day I gave up all

the bathroom

inside was ancient: a toilet with the water tank several feet above the commode, a claw-foot tub (no shower), and a

the water and splashed water on

a knock

I yelled as I

door, there stood Ludavica – Isabella’s

What the fuck?

half-wondered if she was there to try to bang me

sullen expression on her face didn’t seem to be pointing in that

been obsessing over Cat, banging your future mafia wife’s servant was an excellent

help you?” I

very protective of Isabella,”

of raspy. I liked it. A smoker’s voice,

said, not sure where

anytime during 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

WHOA.

would’ve been pissed off at a guy for talking to me

kind of funny coming from

“Is that how Sicilian servants talk to future husbands around

Ludavica seethed. “Do not even think of

me, though I couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ll never harm a hair

me distrustfully… then nodded once, like

turned to

could I ask you a favor?” I

looked at me

grab me one of the books Isabella likes? Maybe

“Rupi Kaur.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

want to read poetry by Rupi Kaur,” she said

read something she liked.

disguise I’d been wearing, and she was mildly shocked

I can do,”

“Thanks.”

time, like I’d pulled off a strange magic trick… and then

Ludavica to bring the book, but she didn’t show. Guess she

dark outside, but it was still

no way to entertain myself in my room except for rubbing one out – I started wandering the

hardwood. They’d been waxed recently, but the wood was scarred and pitted like it had seen

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

mixture of patterned cloth and creaky

with the tick tick

Isabella said, there were no televisions in the house. Or any computers,

Vicari liked living in the fucking Stone Age, I

– garlic and onion sautéing in butter –

their

the door, a fresh jolt of heartache hit

realized that I’d gone into the kitchen back home

she wasn’t, it

thinking of San Vittore, the prison where Dario

only visited once, but it had

on earth. The stench… the screams… the

it. It smelled clean, like floor wax. It was quiet. And despite being plain and old-fashioned, it

But despite the differences…

They were both prisons.

it seemed I would be

SHIT…

say ‘yes’

you are,” a deep voice

twitched in surprise

in

that humorless way, like I was an idiot he found vaguely amusing. “You don’t have to be scared of

me,” I said

like he didn’t believe me. “Tomorrow you’ll go meet Rocco in Pozzallo. He’ll

there wasn’t much

“Better get to bed.”

raised one eyebrow.