The Mafia's Virgin Queen

10

“I gave her a black Amex and a diamond ring.” Every woman would kill for those things, and they were more than Vivian deserved, considering who her father was.

Greta stared at me for a full minute before she shook her head and muttered furiously in Italian under her breath. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I imagined it was none too complimentary.

I stopped next to Greta and placed a hand on the duster, forcing her to still.

“You’re a valued member of my household, but there are only so many liberties I’ll allow,” I said coolly. “If you’d like a vacation to clear your head, let me know and it can be arranged.”

The threat hung in the air as an offer.

Her eyes narrowed. “No vacation needed.”

“Good.”

Greta had worked for my family since I was a baby. She’d helped raise me and Luca since my parents were s**t at the job, and she’d run my grandfather’s household until I convinced her to work for me four years ago. Instead of being upset, my grandfather had gifted me a bottle of ten-thousand-dollar wine for successfully undercutting him.

While I had a soft spot for Greta and considered her the grandmother I never had—both of my biological grandmothers died before I was born—I would not tolerate blatant disrespect.

If she were anyone else, I would’ve fired and blacklisted her the second the word harsh left her mouth.

A polite cough pulled my attention toward the doorway where Edward stood with a neutral expression.

“Sir, the movers have officially vacated the premises,” he said. “Would you like me to give Ms. Lau the full tour?”

I’d taken Vivian directly to her room without showing her the rest of the house. Hell, she’d already seen half of it at last week’s exhibition.

“Please do.” She should know the apartment’s full layout. I didn’t want her accidentally wandering into my room or office.

He inclined his head and disappeared down the hall. Greta marched past me and disappeared into another corner of the penthouse without a word, but her disapproval lingered like the scent of her favorite lemon-scented cleaner.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Less than an hour after moving in, Vivian was already causing chaos.

Discord with my staff was only the start.

She would move things around. Disrupt the environment I’d carefully cultivated. I would come home not knowing what to see or expect.

Aggravation rose in my chest.

I stalked out of the living room and into my office, where I attempted to review the materials for my meeting.

But even though I’d closed the door and was sequestered on the opposite side of the house from Vivian’s room, I still smelled the faint, maddening scent of apples.

Vivian

I was a law-abiding citizen, but if anyone could drive me to mariticide, it was my future husband.

I hated his arrogance, his rudeness, and the mocking way he called me mia cara.

I hated the way my pulse kicked at the rough span of his hand around my neck.

And I hated how he always seemed larger than life, like the molecules of any space he entered had to fold in on themselves to accommodate him.

Are. We. Clear? His maddening voice echoed in my head.

It was clear, all right. It was clear Dante Russo was Satan in a nice suit.

I forced my lungs to expand past my anger. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.

Only when my blood pressure returned to normal levels did I open the door to my new room instead of hunting down the sharpest knife I could find.

As promised, a business card with Dante’s assistant’s number and a black Amex waited on the nightstand next to a distinctive red ring box. When I popped open the lid, a six-carat diamond winked back at me.

I brushed my fingers over the dazzling gem. Five carats, a rare Asscher cut, with smaller baguette diamonds adorning each shoulder.

I should’ve been thrilled. The ring was stunning and, judging by the diamond’s color and clarity, worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. It was the type of ring most women would kill to have.

But when I plucked it from the box and slid it onto my finger, I felt…nothing.

Nothing except the cool brush of platinum and a heavy weight that felt more like a prison than a promise.

Most engagement rings were a symbol of love and commitment. Mine was the equivalent of a signature on a merger contract.

A strange tightness gripped my throat.

I shouldn’t have expected anything more than what Dante gave me. Some arranged marriages, like my sister’s, turned into real love, but the overall odds weren’t great.

I sank onto the bed. The tightness spread from my throat to my chest.

It was stupid to feel sad. So what if Dante had proposed in the most impersonal way possible? I’d known since our first meeting we wouldn’t mesh. At least he’d been honest about his intentions and boundaries.

Still, a part of me had hoped our previous interactions were flukes and we would gradually warm up to each other, but no. My future husband was simply a jerk.

The buzz of a new text interrupted my wallowing.

I picked up my phone, expecting another congratulatory message or a reminder from Isabella to invite her over once I settled in.

Instead, I saw a text from the last person I’d expected to hear from.

Heath: Happy Pumpkin Hot Chocolate Day :)

I stared at the words, waiting for them to disappear like I’d accidentally conjured them. They didn’t.

My stomach twisted.

Of all the days he could’ve texted out of the blue, it had to be today, right after I moved into Dante’s house.

The universe possessed a sick sense of humor.

There were a million things I wanted to say, but I stuck with something safe and neutral.

Me: Do they have those in California?

Heath: Pumpkin hot chocolate? Nah

Heath: You’re only allowed to drink smoothies and green juices here or you’ll get voted off the island

My small smile faded as quickly as it appeared.

We shouldn’t be talking, but I couldn’t bring myself to block him.

Heath: I’ve been emailing Bonnie Sue’s every day asking them to open shop in SF, but no dice so far

A pang hit me at the mention of Bonnie Sue’s.

It was a popular cafe near Columbia, where Heath and I had attended undergrad. It was famous for its seasonal pumpkin hot chocolate, and even though I didn’t like pumpkin and he didn’t like hot chocolate, we’d showed up every year for its annual return in mid-September.

Forget the fall equinox; the real first day of fall was the day the drink reappeared on Bonnie Sue’s menu.

Me: It’ll happen. Persistence always wins

Guilt ballooned in my chest as Heath and I exchanged more small talk. He asked about my job and the city; I asked about his dog and the weather in San Francisco.

It was our longest conversation in years. Normally, we only texted each other on holidays and birthdays, and we never talked on the phone. It was easier to pretend we were casual acquaintances that way even though we were anything but.

Heath Arnett.

My college best friend. My ex-boyfriend. And my first love.

Once upon a time, I thought we’d get married. I’d convinced myself we would overcome my parents’ objections and live happily ever after, but our breakup two years ago proved my hopes had been just that—hopes. Flimsy and insubstantial in the face of my parents’ wrath.

I shook off memories of that day and tried to refocus.

Me: How’s your company doing?

After our breakup, Heath moved to California and expanded his language-learning app into the powerhouse it was today. The last time I checked, it was one of the top fifteen most downloaded apps in the U.S.

Heath: Pretty amazing. We’re going public at the end of this year

Heath: We’re expecting a big IPO. Perhaps…

The three dots that indicated he was typing popped up, disappeared, then popped up again.

Heath: We can revisit things after it does

My guilt hardened into dread.

He didn’t know about the engagement. I hadn’t posted about it online, we didn’t have mutual friends anymore, and Heath didn’t follow the society pages, which meant I had to tell him. I couldn’t lie by omission and let him think there was a chance of us getting back together.

Heath: If you want to, of course

I could practically see him pushing his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was nervous.

My teeth dug into my bottom lip.

I knew part of the reason he’d worked so hard on the startup was to prove my parents wrong. They’d been furious when they found out I’d kept our relationship from them for years and even more furious when they discovered Heath didn’t come from an “appropriate” background.

At the time, he’d made a good living as a software engineer who’d worked on his app on the side, but he wasn’t a Russo or a Young. My father had threatened to disown me if I didn’t end things with Heath, and in the end, I’d chosen family over love.

Heath probably thought my parents would change their minds after his company went public and he became a millionaire. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they wouldn’t.

My family had plenty of money, but we were nouveau riche. No matter how much we donated to charity or how many zeroes we had in our bank accounts, certain parts of society would always remain closed to us…unless we married into old money.

Heath would never be old money, which meant my parents would never approve of him as a love match.

Just tell him.

I eased a deep breath into my lungs before I bit the bullet.

Me: I’m engaged

It wasn’t the smoothest transition, but it was short, clear, and direct.

I resisted falling back into my childhood habit of biting my nails while I waited for a reply.

It never came.

Me: It happened a few weeks ago. My parents set it up.

Me: I meant to tell you earlier

I should stop, but I couldn’t hold back my text version of word vomit.

Me: The wedding is in a year.