Mafia Runaway Lover

Chapter 5

Rose was still dazed by everything she had seen.

From the moment the iron gates had swung open, the estate had taken her breath away. A long drive lined with lamps. Gardens that went on and on, shaped hedges and pale statues glowing under the moon. The mansion itself, vast and pale and many-windowed, rising over it all like something out of a story. And when she stepped through the great doors and into the hall, with its marble floors and a chandelier the size of a small car, she thought she might actually forget how to close her mouth.

Then there was the room.

She stood in the middle of it, turning slowly. A bed hung with ivory drapes. A silk rug so soft that her bare feet sank into it. Tall windows opening onto a balcony, heavy curtains the color of deep wine, a dressing table crowded with crystal bottles. There was not one thing in the room that did not look expensive. Even the air smelled costly, of lilies and polished wood.

The room sat right beside Rafaello's study, only a wall and a door away, as though he could not bear to have her any farther.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered. "Is this my room?"

Her amber eyes shone, wide and curious, the way a child's do in front of a shop window.

Rafaello stood in the doorway and watched her. He wanted, very badly, to pinch her cheek the way he used to, when she was flushed from laughing at something he'd said. His hand even lifted a little at his side.

He put it in his pocket instead. She was a startled thing in a strange house. He would not frighten her.

"Strictly speaking," he said, "it's our room, Rose."

The color rushed into her cheeks so fast that she turned her face away. Her heart began to knock against her ribs, hard and stupid, as though she were falling for him all over again. She pressed the feeling down. It was too soon. He was a stranger. He was a stranger who kept looking at her as if she were the last light in a dark house.

But something else was pulling at her.

She remembered the servants. When Rafaello had carried her through the hall, a maid at the foot of the stairs had glanced up. Only for a second, and only when his back was turned. And in that second, her face had been so cold that Rose felt it like a slap. Disdain. Disgust. Something close to hate.

There had been others. A man by the door. Two girls on the landing. Their eyes had slid over her and away, quick as knives going back into sheaths.

"Is that why they look at me like that?" she asked quietly.

"Who?"

"The servants." She turned to face him. "I may have lost my memory, but I'm not a fool. I saw how they looked at me."

Rafaello said nothing. He only watched her, still as a statue.

"What did I do?" Her voice thinned. "Why would anyone look at someone like that?"

She wrapped her fingers together in front of her, nervous, and lowered her eyes to the carpet. When she spoke again, the questions tumbled out one after another, and she could not stop them.

"Sir... how did I become your mistress? Was I happy with that? Was it something I chose? And my parents, do I have any? A family? Do they know what happened to me? Are they worried?"

She was waiting for his answer, shoulders tight, head bowed.

But Rafaello did not answer.

He crossed the room in three slow steps. She heard the whisper of his shoes on the rug, and then his fingers were under her chin, tilting her face up, gentle and unhurried.

His mouth met hers.

It was so sudden that Rose forgot to breathe. His lips were warm. His breath carried the faint trace of coffee and something sharper, like rain. And then, strangely, there was no fear in her at all. Her body knew this, even if her mind did not. It knew the angle of his head and the weight of his hand at her neck, and when her knees began to give, she let herself lean back into his arm.

We must have done this so many times, she thought, dizzy.

He kissed her for a long moment. Only when he felt her breath begin to shake did he draw back, slowly, as though it cost him.

He looked down at her. His eyes were dark and soft.

"No one will ever treat you like that again, Rose," he said. "You don't have to pay attention to any of them. They don't matter."

His thumb moved over her cheek.

"And your family, you don't have any. You're an orphan. That's why you have no surname. Rosaline is the name you've always used."

He paused. Just for a breath.

"You came to work for me three years ago, as my maid. We started seeing each other after you had been here a year, and we've been together for the two years since. Is that enough of an answer?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already kissing her again, softly this time. A brush on the corner of her mouth. Then her eyelashes, her forehead, her cheek, the curve of her shoulder, the side of her throat. She fell backward onto the bed, laughing a little in surprise, because it tickled. But she did not push him away.

Eventually he lifted his head and rested his forehead against hers.

"Ah..." Rose let out a long, shaky breath.

"You need to recover soon, Rose," Rafaello murmured.

He sighed against her skin.

"Because holding myself back every time I'm near you is truly torture."

Her face went crimson to the roots of her hair.

He eased his weight away from her and helped her sit up, careful of the bandages beneath her sweater. His hand came to rest on her head, patting her gently.

"We'll have dinner together tonight. I have some work to take care of first. Wait for me, all right? I'll send someone to help you. Ask her for anything you need."

He bent and kissed her forehead once more.

"Rest for now."

And then he stood, adjusted his cuffs, and walked out. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Rose sat motionless for a while.

Slowly, she lifted her hand and touched her forehead, right where his lips had been. A small, shy smile curved her mouth before she even knew it was there.

There was a knock.

"Miss? I'm Lisa, your personal maid. May I come in?"

The voice startled her back into the room. She sat up straighter and smoothed her hair.

"Oh. Yes. Please."

She still felt clumsy around other people. She did not know how she was supposed to talk to a maid, whether she should thank her or give orders. She did not know which of the manners her body had once known would come back. It felt like standing on a stage without a script.

The door opened, and a young woman slipped in.

She was small and neat, with brown hair pinned tidily at her nape and brown eyes that were quick and attentive. She curtsied and introduced herself as Lisa, explaining that from now on, she would be the one looking after Rose.

Rose studied her. She looked so young. And yet she could not shake the feeling that Lisa was studying her in return, a little too carefully, the way one looks at something before deciding how to handle it.

Lisa was new to the mansion.

She had taken the post because she had heard the pay was generous, far more than any ordinary house would offer. She knew exactly what kind of household it was. Everyone did. But she had never imagined the woman she would be serving was the mafia lord's mistress, or that she would arrive on a night when the entire staff walked on tiptoe.

Before they had sent her upstairs, the senior staff had given her instructions in low voices.

She was not to say anything that might upset the lady. She was to report anything unusual that might worry her, especially given her condition. And above all, she was not to say a single word about anything suspicious, anything strange she might notice in the household.

Suspicious how? Lisa had wanted to ask. But the faces around her had been so blank and so tight that she had kept her mouth shut.

She had noticed it herself, of course. The other servants did not seem to like the lady. She had seen their eyes cool when the name was mentioned. But Lisa did not mean to ask about it. This was a dangerous house, and she knew her place in it. She would do her work, collect her wages, keep her head down, and one day leave.

For now, that was all she needed to do.

She smiled politely at the woman on the bed.

"I'll be taking care of you from now on, Miss."