Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

ELENA

I sit in the luxurious library in Dario’s townhouse, several wedding-planning magazines open in front of me. When Allessio found me, he told me the wedding would be my responsibility. “It has to be a show. It has to be over the top.” When I first came here, it all seemed like a joke, but as I look at the dresses, it’s almost like something is stirring in me.

It’s nothing, I tell myself. I won’t lose my cool or let my mind go to silly places. Okay, so his eyes are intense. Okay, so he’s physically hot, and I liked sassing him. I like making the corner of his lip twitch, but that’s nothing to obsess about.

The dresses are beautiful. It’s as simple as that. It’s the same as looking at a costume for an acting role and imagining myself wearing one of those, but it’s no big deal.

My cell phone rings. It’s Giulia, my friend, who cares for Aunt Rosa.

“Rosa wants to see you,” she says.

“Is she okay?”

“Physically, she’s doing better now. She’s just having a cloudy day. She thinks you’ve left her to travel and you won’t be back before … before the end. That’s what she said.”

“The end,” I repeat, shaking my head. “That won’t happen now that she’s getting the help she needs.”

“I tried telling her that, but she won’t listen. Can you visit her? Or is that not allowed?”

“I’m not a prisoner,” I cry. “Of course, I can visit my own aunt. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks again, Gee.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“You dropped your life at a moment’s notice. I do have to keep thanking you.”

“See you soon.”

Hanging up, I leave the library and walk through the giant house. I find Clara in another of the libraries, sitting at the window with a book in her hand. She stands as I enter, her hands behind her back like I’m royalty or something. It makes me feel icky.

“Can I get a ride somewhere?” I ask. “I need to see my aunt.”

“I’ll need to clear it with Mr. Moretti,” she murmurs.

“Clear it?” I say. “What if he says no? Will you keep me here?”

“It’s not like that,” she replies. “It’s for your safety. Please. It won’t take long.”

I bite my nails as she makes the call. It’s a quick conversation. Clara hangs up and smiles at me. “He’s sending a car for you now.”

The ride takes around forty-five minutes as we leave the upscale neighborhood where Dario’s townhouse resides and travel across the tracks to the cruddy apartment where Aunt Rosa and I have lived for almost ten years. I notice people in my neighborhood turning their heads at the fancy chauffeured vehicle, clearly shocked to see something so upscale in a place this grim.

Giulia meets me in the living room. She’s a petite woman with a bob haircut she’s had since we were kids. I wrap my arms around her, sharing a quick hug. It’s only been a day since we last saw each other, but it feels longer.

“I feel like I’ve returned from a different world,” I say.

“Don’t worry. We haven’t forgotten you.”

I laugh, but my laughter dies when I walk into Aunt Rosa’s room and see the look on her face. Aunt Rosa’s Guillain-Barré Syndrome has rendered her bedbound and often leaves her seriously confused and disoriented. Before the Mafia offer, I wasn’t sure she would get the help she needed, but I hold tightly onto what Giulia said. She did well at therapy this morning.

“Aunt Rosa,” I say, rushing to her bedside and gently taking one of her hands in both of mine.

“Oh, my girl,” she moans, squeezing me with as much strength as she can muster, which isn’t anywhere near as much as it should be. “Sweet, sweet Elena. You came home.”

“I’ll always come home,” I tell her. “Always.”

“I thought I might be gone by the time you returned.”

I don’t have to guess what gone means.

“We’ve talked about this,” I say. “I made a deal with Dario Moretti, remember? You’re going to get the help you need. Giulia said you did great at physical therapy earlier.”

“Physical … therapy.” Her expression knits in confusion, and then she mutters, “Oh, yes, yes. I did some walking or what passed as walking.” Some of her old wit returns to her face. She seems suddenly more lucid. It’s often like that, a seesaw of mental clarity and cloudiness. “Wait, Dario Moretti?”

“I told you about this.”

She winces as she tries to sit up, then accepts she can’t. “You told me he’s a Mafia boss.”

“We don’t lie to each other, Aunt Rosa. So yeah, I told you the truth.”

“Is he the one who paid for my therapy?” She sounds disgusted.

The strange and absurd urge to defend Dario comes to me. I push it deep down, knowing it would make no sense to Aunt Rosa and that it should make no sense to me, either. There’s no way to justify feelings like these, but hopefully, I can ignore them from now on.

“You need therapy,” I say firmly, “and he’s paying for it. What do you want me to do? Tell him I don’t want his money? Tell him to let you suffer? The doctor said this could worsen if we don’t get you the help you need.”

“We’ve always lived an honest life,” she says. “We’ve never committed a single crime. Do you remember when you were eleven and stole that candy?”

“Yeah, I remember,” I mutter, not my finest moment.

“I walked you fifteen blocks and made you apologize to that man, and then you even offered to stay for hours to help run the store. That was your first job. Honest work . Remember?”

“I don’t want to get into an argument about this,” I plead.

She blinks, her eyes glistening. I gently rub at her cheeks as a tear falls. Her emotional state has made her quicker to tears than she ever used to be.

“I want you to live a good life,” she murmurs. “A good life, Elena. I don’t want you to be some Mafia man’s whore.”

I grit my teeth. She’s not herself right now. She’d never usually speak to me like that. She’d never even think of saying something like this to me in a million years.

“It’s all an act,” I tell her. “It’s not real. I’m pretending to be his fiancée. It’s short-term. Soon, you’ll be healthy, and I’ll be home. We’ll be able to go on with our lives.”

She sighs, then winces as if it hurts her. “I love you, Elena, but can I be alone? I’m just glad you’re home. Please don’t go traveling again.” She lets her eyes fall closed, and the discussion is over.

Leaning forward, I gently kiss her forehead and then leave the room. Giulia approaches me and pulls me into a hug.

“I’m okay,” I say as tears prick my eyes.

“If you need to cry, cry,” she says gently.

“She called me a Mafia man’s whore,” I mutter, letting out a sob before getting myself under control.

“She’s not herself.”

“I know, but …” I giggle, sounding unhinged. “Is she wrong? I’m taking his money?—”

“For her ,” Giulia reminds me. “Anyway, it’s not real. It’s all going to be over soon, right? Just play your part, and you’ll be free of him.”

“Free of him,” I repeat.

Giulia lengthens her arms, allowing her to look at me in her classically searching way. “What does that mean?”

“I’m rehearsing for my role as a parrot.”

“Ha ha,” she says humorlessly, a fair response to my lame joke. “Are you catching feelings for him?”

“No,” I say quickly. “How could I? I don’t even know him. I met him yesterday, but …”

“But what?” she presses when I trail off.

I go to the couch, sit down, and rest my head in my hands. “He’s not like how I imagined him at all. When Allessio came to me and made the offer, I assumed Dario would be some gross old guy.”

“He’s our age?”

“No, he’s thirty-seven, but he’s not gross. Thirty-seven isn’t old. I don’t know. It’s weird. He doesn’t seem as big and bad and mean as I expected.”

“He’s only going to show you the parts of himself he wants you to see,” Giulia says lightly. “It’s not like he’s going to go full Mafia-boss mode on you the first night.”

“I know that ,” I say.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s just confusing. I think it’d be easier if he were a bad person.”

“He probably is,” Giulia says. “You know nothing about him.”

Yes, I do . What the hell am I thinking? I push that thought down, down, down. “I’ve been under a lot of stress: abandoning the play, agreeing to this, Aunt Rosa. The one thing that’s clear is that I’m not thinking clearly. Sorry. My head’s all over the place. One second, I was planning a fake wedding. The next, the person I love most is calling me a whore.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Giulia says softly. Sitting beside me on the couch, she places her hand on my shoulder. “Can I offer you some advice?”

“Always. You don’t have to ask.”

“If you start developing feelings for this man, be careful. You have little experience with dating. I’m not trying to be a bitch; I’m just saying it like it is.”

“I know you’re coming from a good place.”

“You need to remember that you don’t know who he is. Men are good at showing women only what they want us to see. I bet a Mafia man is ten times better at it. If he seems charming, it’s because he’s putting on a show . Don’t let yourself get swept up in it. Keep your eye on the prize.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I tell her. “Even if I actually liked him, nothing could ever happen. His parents would never let him be with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Aunt Rosa, when she’s better, would never approve. Honestly, this is business.”

“Make that your mantra, then,” Giulia says. “If he starts messing with your head—men are pretty good at that too—just tell yourself, This is business … ”

“Thanks,” I say, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I guess sometimes I just need a wake-up call.”

“They don’t call me the human alarm clock for nothing.”

“Ha ha,” I say, in the same tone she used just a minute ago.

She grins. “Touché.”

My cell phone buzzes. It’s the number Allessio gave me when we first arranged the deal. “It’s the boss’s cell, but he rarely calls people. Mostly, you’ll be dealing with his staff.”

Yet Dario has texted me. Clara told me where you are. I’m coming to pick you up .

Why? I text back.

I’ll be there soon , he replies, completely ignoring my question.