Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Five

Francesca

Light filtered into the room,streaks of blinding sunshine that roused me from a fitful sleep. I could barely bring myself to open my eyes.

All night I had tossed and turned, convinced the lock on my door would mean nothing to anyone who wanted to enter. Namely, someone with bright blue eyes and a nasty disposition who liked to kidnap and drug young women. The only way I’d been able to relax was knowing Giulio slept a few doors away.

I rolled onto my back and studied the plaster ceiling. If I were going to find a way out of this, I couldn’t stay in bed or hide in this room. I had to get out and explore, look for weaknesses. Try to come up with a plan to escape. Even if Giulio had resigned himself to this marriage, I certainly hadn’t.

Thankfully, the bathroom had been stocked with every toiletry I might possibly need, mostly high-end Italian brands we couldn’t get in Canada. The closet and wardrobe were full of clothes, from yoga pants to designer dresses. Even La Perla bras and panties, though I don’t know why they bothered with such sexy undergarments. No one here would see them.

I rose and dressed for comfort, choosing jeans and a t-shirt. The jeans were a perfect fit, though the shirt was a bit tight across my breasts. I decided to leave it on. Maybe my boobs might distract some of the guards from my escape efforts.

After I was ready, I slipped into the corridor. The house was quiet. Giulio’s door was closed, but I remembered the way to the kitchen so I started downstairs. Hopefully Ravazzani slept late like his son.

The smell of freshly baked bread made my mouth water. In the kitchen, I found Zia taking something out of the oven. She’d brought me tea last night and I instantly liked her. An older woman with grayish-brown hair, she was Ravazzani’s father’s sister, and had lived in the castle ever since her husband and son were killed years ago. Unfortunately, she didn’t speak much English.

“Hello,” I said as I walked in.

She smiled at me and held up the tray. “Ciao, bella. Caffé?”

I sat on a stool at the island. “Sí. Thank you.”

Soon she set a cup of espresso in front of me along with a basket of croissant-like things. “Mangia, bella. Cornetti.”

I couldn’t resist a pastry, especially a warm pastry. I might be a prisoner, but I wasn’t dead.

I was enjoying my third one when Giulio came in, fully dressed and hair styled, looking like a movie star. He kissed Zia’s cheeks and then reached for a pastry. “Buongiorno, Frankie. How did you sleep?”

“Like I’d been kidnapped from my home and brought to a foreign country.”

“Sounds about right,” he said with a half smile. “I’ll take you around the estate today. We can even sample some wine and grappa, if you’d like.”

“There are vineyards here?”

Giulio smiled at me. “Vineyards, olive groves, animals. Our soppressata is second to none. You’ll love it.”

“I’d rather go home.”

“Come on. You don’t want to stay inside all day.”

True, plus a tour would help me learn the property. “Okay.”

Heels on the tile caught my attention. I looked over to see a tall brown-haired woman stride into the kitchen like she belonged there. She was beautiful and thin, her tiny silver dress showing off a figure any model would kill for. The heels made her legs look even longer. Who in the hell was she?

“Good morning, Zia. Giulio. I just wanted to take one of Zia’s pastries on my way out.” Her accent wasn’t Italian, but I couldn’t place it. Eastern European, maybe?

Zia gave the woman a tight smile, but Giulio was slightly more welcoming. “Buongiorno, Katarzyna.”

The woman plucked a pastry out of the basket on the island then cocked her head at me. “You must be the fiancée.”

“I’m Frankie.”

“I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”

From the stove, Zia made a noise in her throat that sounded disapproving. Giulio put down his espresso cup. “Our driver will take you anywhere you want to go, Katarzyna.”

“I’m aware, Giulio. This isn’t my first time.” She rolled her eyes, though a smirk remained on her face. Strolling back the way she came, she looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Zia. Your pastries are the bomb.”

When the three of them were alone again, the silence was oppressive. Zia looked murderous and Giulio appeared embarrassed. I couldn’t figure out why, but a sinking feeling in my stomach suggested I might. Zia crossed herself and muttered in Italian. Giulio answered her but I didn’t understand any of it.

“Who was that woman?” I asked.

Giulio sighed. “Katarzyna is my father’s current mantenuta. Do you know what that means?”

I did. Kept woman.

That woman was Ravazzani’s mistress. And she had...slept here last night. In his house.

I didn’t care that he had a fuck toy. I was just surprised at seeing her this morning. Yes, the hollow feeling in my stomach was definitely surprise.

“Oh. She seems….” I couldn’t think of anything to say. “Comfortable here,” I finished.

“She’s not terrible,” Giulio confirmed. “But I never interfere in my father’s personal life. Don’t worry, she won’t last long. They never do.”

They didn’t? It seemed Ravazzani was even worse than I suspected.

“They never do, what?” a deep voice asked.

My body jolted as the devil himself walked into the kitchen, looking disturbingly sexy and annoyingly refreshed. And why wouldn’t he be? He hadn’t spent hours in a dungeon last night.

I studied him through my lashes, unable to help myself. His gray suit was all perfect crisp lines and luxurious fabric, and he wore a blue tie that complimented the color of his eyes. Hair wet, he’d obviously just come from the shower. Had Katarzyna been in there with him? Had he screwed her in the shower?

There are no unwilling women in my life, Francesca.

I had to stop thinking about him, stop noticing his looks. I didn’t like the way the hairs on my arms stood up every time he walked into a room. An attraction to this horrible and dangerous man—the person who had locked me in a dungeon, for fuck’s sake—was out of the question.

“Niente, Papà,” Giulio said, his posture stiffer now that his father was in the room.

Ravazzani bent to kiss Zia’s cheek. “Buongiorno, nonnina.” His expression was soft and affectionate as he hugged her.

Zia smiled but hit his shoulder with her palm as she seemed to admonish him in rapid Italian.

Giulio leaned over to me. “He calls her granny all the time just to get her worked up.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to see this side of the elder Ravazzani, the one that teased his aunt, whom he obviously loved. I needed him to remain one-hundred percent cruel and heartless.

Ravazzani started to brew a cup of espresso, then he leaned against the counter and spoke to Giulio in Italian. The only word I caught was “blood.” I wished they would speak slower. I knew some Italian, but not enough to keep up with this rapid pace.

I would definitely need to improve my language skills in the next few days to aid in my escape.

Giulio’s face darkened, clearly unhappy with whatever his father was saying. But he nodded. “Sì, Papà.”

“This pleases me,” Ravazzani said in English, gesturing to Giulio and me. “The two of you will spend time together and get acquainted. It’s more than most of us had before our weddings.”

Then he said it again in Italian for Zia, who responded with something that made Ravazzani laugh—and my breath caught in my throat. The harsh lines of his face eased and his mouth curled, all manly charm and Italian beauty, and I felt a tug of arousal in my belly.

I needed to get a grip on myself. I could not be attracted to him.

“What did she say?” I asked, desperate to take my mind off his looks.

He sipped his espresso and studied me over the rim. “She said it was intentional, that my ugly face and surly disposition would have scared off any potential bride.”

Well, I agreed with half of that description. “Or your dungeon,” I couldn’t help but add.

The mood in the room shifted instantly. Giulio didn’t move, while Ravazzani pinned me with a cold stare that reminded me of a Toronto lake in the winter. I saw him flex his hand, which had a small bandage on it. “Did you enjoy your short stay in the cell, monella? Because I would be happy to escort you there again, should you give me a reason.”

The thought of returning to that small damp place sent waves of terror along my spine, and my skin grew cold and clammy. I stared at him with all the loathing I felt in my soul.

“Basta, Papà,” Giulio said, telling his father that was enough.

Ravazzani carried his cup and saucer out of the kitchen, departing without another word.

“You mustn’t antagonize him like that,” Giulio warned. “And definitely never in front of the men again.”

“I am not here to play nice. I am here under duress, and I want to go home.”

Giulio shook his head sadly. “We rarely get what we want in this life, Frankie. It’s best you accept your fate now.” Before I could ask him to explain, he held out his hand. “Let’s go outside and explore, eh?”

After I thanked Zia for breakfast, Giulio and I went through the back door and into the morning sunshine. Somehow I would use today’s outing to my advantage and figure out how to escape this nightmare.

* * *

The estate wasnothing like I imagined.

Giulio was charming and funny, escorting me around the property and introducing me to the workers. We saw the famous black pigs, rare and prized in Italy, and tasted the prosciutto and culatello made from them. There were sheep, cows and goats who were milked to make cheese. Lemon, fig and chestnut trees dotted the hillside, but olive trees were predominant here. When Giulio let me taste some of the Ravazzani olive oil, the number of olive trees suddenly made sense. The oil was better than any I’d had in Canada, even the kind we imported from Italy.

I couldn’t stop asking questions of the employees, and Giulio translated as necessary. The workers seemed proud of their connection to the Ravazzani family, many continuing in the footsteps of previous generations who had worked here. I wanted to ask if they knew their employer was a kidnapper who drugged and spied on women, but I suspected Giulio wouldn’t translate it for me.

Our last stop was the vineyard, where vines stretched as far as the eye could see. The estate grew Gaglioppo and Greco bianco grapes, which they blended to make red and rosé wines. They also made nigredo, a grappa flavored with licorice—and I quickly discovered this was my very favorite thing on earth.

“Easy, signorina,” Vincenzo, the vintner, said as I took another swallow. “The Ravazzani grappa is to be sipped.”

“Canadians are quickly becoming like Americans,” Giulio teased, mimicking someone guzzling a drink. “More, more, more.”

“Stop dragging Canadians,” I told him as I shoved his shoulder. “We are nicer than Italians.”

Vincenzo chuckled, but shook his head. “You will not like how it tastes coming back up, signorina.”

I waved that comment away. “I never throw up after drinking. We Mancinis are made of sterner stuff.”

Vincenzo and Giulio exchanged an amused look. “No doubt you are, bella,” Giulio said and held up the bottle. “Would you like another?”

“Per favore,” I said, which only made Giulio laugh.

“Your Italian needs improvement.”

“I know. Will you teach me?”

“Of course, but there is no rush.”

There was, but I couldn’t say as much. Giulio was resigned to our marriage, and who knew what he might do if I informed him of my plans to escape? He was becoming a friend, but not an ally. First and foremost, he was a Ravazzani.

Vincenzo left us and I decided to learn more about this man who seemed to fear his father but had saved me all the same. “What do you do in the ’Ndrangheta?”

Giulio choked on his grappa and coughed loudly. “Are you always so forward?”

“I apologize. It’s just that you seem different from your father. I’m having a hard time seeing you as a hardened mobster.”

He licked his lips and studied the glass in his hand. “It’s all I have ever known. I was young when my mother died, and since then it has been Zia and my father, and the ’ndrina. I was inducted at fourteen. There’s no other life for me.”

“That sounds...sad.”

The edge of his mouth hitched, making him appear like a younger version of his father. “Only someone from the outside would see it as such. Being the Ravazzani heir is a great privilege.”

“It is—but only if you want it. If you want the same life as your father.”

“I have no choice. And it is not a bad thing, being both feared and respected by everyone I meet. My father’s reputation is known by many.”

“I can’t imagine what it is like for a boy in our world. My sisters and I were sheltered from my father’s business.”

“As it should be,” Giulio said. “What we do is men’s business, though there are more and more women leading ’ndrine nowadays.”

“There are?”

“Sí. In fact, I thought my father would arrange for me to marry the daughter of La Madrina, the head of the Melbourne ’ndrina. But then you came along.”

Australia, wow. “Did you want to marry this other woman?”

“No, but that hardly matters. My role is to marry and have more Ravazzani boys to carry on our tradition.”

“Not necessarily. Your father could remarry.”

Giulio’s expression said this topic had been broached and rejected. “He refuses. I think he carries around a lot of guilt over my mother’s death.”

Fausto Ravazzani, feeling guilt? I couldn’t believe it. “Was she ill?”

“No, she was murdered.”

I gasped, grabbing the edge of the wooden table as I swayed from surprise and too much grappa. “Shit, that’s awful. I’m sorry, Giulio.”

“Thank you. I barely remember her, but my memories are good ones.”

“How did it happen?”

“She was running on the beach. A South American gang killed her and guards. It had to do with a deal my father made with their rivals.”

“No wonder he feels guilty.”

“Unfortunately, it is all too common in our world.” Giulio heaved a sigh that sounded bone deep. “The only way out of this life is death, Frankie. Each of us knows that.”

I finished my grappa while digesting this grim news. “Shouldn’t you be trying to convince me to marry into your family?”

He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I told you, there is no need for convincing. This is happening, whether we like it or not.”

“I know my reasons for not wanting to marry you, but why don’t you want to get married?”

“It doesn’t matter, and we shouldn’t discuss this here.”

I glanced around us, but there was no one else in the old tasting room. Only the wine barrels could overhear us. “We’re alone.”

“No, we aren’t. There is no privacy in the house or anywhere on the estate, Frankie. Never forget it.”

“I don’t see any cameras.” My father’s cameras were the clunky old-school type, that whirred as they moved.

“They are sophisticated. You won’t see the cameras or listening devices unless my father wants you to.”

My stomach sank as I considered my escape plans. Was there surveillance equipment in my bedroom? “At least you have the freedom to leave the estate.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it freedom, but yes, I am able to leave.” He poured us each more grappa. “I’ll take you anywhere in Siderno you wish to go, yes?”

“Sure. How about the airport?”

He chuckled and toasted me with his glass. “You have a sense of humor, Frankie Mancini. I didn’t expect that. You also have spunk, as the Americans call it, but I cannot decide if that is a good or bad thing.”

“I’m hoping it’s good because I don’t know how to act any differently.”

“That must be why my father reacts to you so strongly.”

“It’s because he hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t. You made him very angry last night, angrier than I’ve seen him in a long time. He was very worked up.”

“Must be my special charm at work.”

“It’s weird. He is usually very polite with women.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“No, I mean it. He charms them. Puts them at ease. Women love my father.”

Of course they did. He was a gorgeous and powerful Italian man, and no doubt a beast in the bedroom. I remembered Katarzyna and her model-like perfection despite being in her late 20s or early 30s. Were all his girlfriends so beautiful?

“Your expression is strange,” Giulio asked, his eyes trailing over my face. “What are you thinking about?”

I was tipsy but not drunk enough to confess my troubling thoughts regarding his father. I went with a partial truth instead. “I’ve barely thought of escaping today.”

“That is good. We’ll make a Calabrian out of you yet.”

No, they wouldn’t. I’d rather die than be a mafia wife. “I like you, Giulio.” I shook my head sadly. “I don’t want to, but I do.”

“It will make it easier, Frankie. I’ll be a good husband to you. And some day, this will all be ours.”

“No offense, but I honestly hope you are wrong.” I finished my grappa and swayed on my feet. “Whoa.”

Giulio grinned. “I think it is time to go back.”

“Do we have to? I hate being cooped up inside. It was so nice to be out with the plants and trees today.”

“I’m afraid it is almost dinner time. My father will be expecting us.”

“Your father.” I made a dismissive sound in my throat. “He’s already put me in the dungeon. What will he do next if he disapproves? String me up on the rack? Strap me to a dunking bench?”

Giulio was unamused, his mouth flat and serious. “You do not want to ever find out, bella. Come on. You need food to soak up all this grappa.”

He took my arm and began leading me out of the tasting room. We said goodbye to Vincenzo and strolled along the dirt path to the castle. “I have decided that I love grappa,” I declared as I clung to Giulio’s arm. “And the estate isn’t so bad.”

“I am happy to hear it.” He was humoring me.

“I will honestly miss it when I go back to Toronto.”

“You’ve got to put an end to those thoughts. Unfortunately for both of us, Frankie, you are here to stay.”

My stomach turned over. I ran behind a fig tree and threw up.