8. Aria

Iwake in a dim room. It takes me a moment to reorient myself. I"m in Luca"s bedroom in Italy. Turning toward the other side of the bed, I see that it"s empty. I"m disappointed but not surprised. I recall that when he put me to bed last night, Luca had indicated that he had more work to do.

It occurs to me that in the twenty-four hours I've been here, Luca has been gone more than present. He wasn't here when I arrived, even though he knew I was coming. He was the one who arranged my trip.

An uneasy feeling settles inside me. How does Luca see our relationship? When I"d see him in New York, his focus was one hundred percent on me when we were together.

But now that I'm here, he isn't around. Not when I arrived, and not now, first thing in the morning. I"m not even sure he joined me in the middle of the night. Here I"ve had fantasies of a fairytale life, but maybe I"m just some dalliance to him.

I try to shake away my insecurities. I think back to the notes we"d passed in New York. It took a lot of planning and effort for him to arrange that. Then he'd arranged for me to come to Italy. Surely, that's a sign that I'm more than just a fling to him.

A knock on the door draws my attention away from my thoughts. The door pops open and Roberta steps in.

"Buongiorno." She begins talking in Italian, her arm gesturing toward the window. I nod, even though I don"t know what she"s saying. She crosses the room and pulls open the curtains, letting in bright sunshine. I glance at the clock and realize I"ve slept until nearly ten in the morning. No wonder Luca"s not here.

I"m naked again as Roberta holds up a robe, and I get out of bed to slip it on. "Where is Luca?"

Roberta says something in Italian, but I don"t understand her. I"m really going to have to learn this language. As Roberta fusses around the room, I go into the restroom where I shower and get ready for the day. Going to the closet, I find a pretty pale green dress and slip it on.

When I consider all the effort Luca has gone through to ensure I have a full closet of clothes, my concerns about his intentions slip away. I don"t know what he sees for the future between us, but this isn"t just some casual little affair.

Roberta says something to me, and I"m able to understand the word breakfast. I follow her out of the room and back down to the dining room where a breakfast buffet is set up. In broken Italian, I ask her if Luca will be joining me for breakfast. She shakes her head and tells me, "No."

I pick up a plate and look at my choices for breakfast. I"m reminded that Italian breakfast is much different from at home in the United States. Italians don"t generally eat savory foods like eggs and bacon. With a morning coffee, they have sweet items like cookies or pastries. I see an assortment of different options along with fruit, and a variety of spreads such as hazelnut chocolate and jams.

I select a brioche-looking pastry and some fruit. I"m taking it over to the table where a cup of cappuccino is already awaiting me when the doors to the dining room burst open and a woman strides in looking like she stepped out of a Vogue magazine. She"s tall and lean with blonde hair that I"m sure isn"t natural but doesn"t look harsh. She"s wearing cream-colored slacks and a silk shirt. She pushes large sunglasses up on her head as she approaches me. She's speaking Italian a mile a minute as she embraces me, giving me a kiss on each cheek. I stare at her in confusion. Who is she? God! Luca isn't married, is he?

Roberta says something to the woman who stops mid-statement. She turns her attention to me and asks, "You don"t speak Italian?"

I shrug, feeling like it"s an insult to them that I can"t speak their language. "Only a little. "Un pocco," I say to show I know a few words.

The woman arches a brow. "Well, we'll need to work on that, won't we?" She gives me a large smile. "I'm Bianca Fontana. I"m married to Gino, one of Don Conte's caporegimes."

"I"m Aria Leone." I think I should shake her hand but remember we've already greeted each other with cheek kisses.

The woman lets out a laugh. "Oh, I know who you are, and you and I are going to be good friends." She moves over toward the buffet, picking up a plate and selecting something for breakfast. Clearly, she feels at home in Luca's home.

"I"ve been eager to meet you for some time."

Has Luca told others about me? That knowledge works to alleviate my doubt that he sees me only as a temporary plaything.

Bianca moves to the table and sits down, asking Roberta for something in Italian. When she looks at me, she says, "Sit. We have so much to talk about."

I sit to eat breakfast and listen as Bianca prattles on about her and the other wives.

"We all know you are a Mafia princess from the United States, but I"ve decided that I"m going to help you understand being a Mafia wife in Italy."

"Oh, but Luca and I aren't married." The rest of my doubt vanishes because if she knows about me from Luca and is talking marriage, surely, that means he sees me as his future wife. That knowledge fills me with happiness.

Bianca looks up at me from her espresso and blinks. "Oh, I see." She waves her hand. "I guess I just assumed. I mean, Don Conte went to so much trouble to bring you here." She leans forward conspiratorially. "Your brother is known, even here. For Don Conte to risk so much…" She lets her thought hang.

I realize I hadn"t completely thought through this situation. Yes, I knew that Nico didn"t approve of my being with Luca. I did run away, after all. But I hadn"t considered the full ramifications of what that would mean between Luca and Nico. Had my actions started a potential war?

"But we won't think about that. You and I are going to have a full day of it." She raises her hand and snaps her fingers. Roberta is immediately at her side. Bianca starts talking to her in rapid Italian, and I have no clue what she"s saying.

I eat my breakfast and drink my coffee as I watch the exchange. I study Bianca and how so well put together she is. I like to think that I dress well and look presentable, but I don't think I reach the level of Bianca's style and sophistication. She"s immaculate in every way, from her clothes, her nails and her hair, her jewelry… all of her. I wonder if she has a stylist.

When breakfast is over, Bianca ushers me out the door toward a little red sports car. "First we will go to a spa. Nails and hair. And then we"ll go shopping."

Roberta follows us out, speaking in Italian. Bianca ignores her. "Did Don Conte give you a credit card?"

I shake my head. "But I have my own money?—"

Bianca shakes her head. "That won"t do." She turns to Roberta, saying something to her in Italian. Roberta finally throws up her arms and retreats into the house.

"It"ll be just a minute." Bianca waits by the car. Roberta reappears and hands me a wad of cash. I stare down at it and then at Bianca.

"You're Don Conte's woman now. Plus, I"m pretty sure he wouldn"t want you using your own credit cards." She leans toward me again. "People can trace you that way."

"Who"s tracing me?"

Her face contorts in confusion. "You ran away from your brother, didn"t you?"

That unsettling feeling fills me again. I know my brother well enough to know that he will trace me. He'll likely come looking for me.

Had I just created a situation in which my brother and Luca are pitted against each other?

Two lethal men who are willing to kill to protect their own?