Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Seven

Francesca

Even if Ididn’t want to admit it, I was excited to go out tonight. I told myself it was because I wanted to see Siderno, to look for possible escape routes. It was definitely that, but it was also the chance to get out of the castle. I hated being cooped up there, and a night in a fancy dress, at a fancy restaurant, sounded like heaven.

That was how far I’d fallen in just a few days.

Giulio was chatty during the drive into town, pointing out places and things, sharing funny stories about his childhood. The more I was around him, the less he seemed like a hardened gangster like his father. Giulio was thoughtful and smart, playful and entertaining—basically everything Fausto was not. If they didn’t look so much alike, I wouldn’t guess they were related.

At the restaurant, everyone fawned over us like we were Kate Middleton and Prince William. I supposed we were sort of royalty, considering Giulio’s last name. We were seated in a private room, the table covered with silver and crystal. The place was cozy and dark, with exposed brick and soft lighting, and rows of wine bottles rested along the walls.

“Benvenuti a L’Agriturismo,” the host said when we sat down. Then he started speaking to me in rapid Italian. I looked at Giulio, helpless and embarrassed. It wasn’t a feeling I liked.

“Inglese, per favore,” Giulio said.

The other man nodded. “Do you have any food allergies, miss?”

“No, I don’t.” I ate just about anything and everything, a trait that used to make my father laugh. A pang of homesickness washed through me, hollowing out my stomach, but I pushed it aside. Papà had given me to Giulio. To Ravazzani and the ’Ndrangheta. I would never forgive him for it.

“Va bene,” the man said. “The chef is preparing a special meal for you both, using ingredients from the Ravazzani estate. Buon appetito.”

“Grazie, Stefano.” Giulio placed his napkin in his lap then looked at me. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

I smiled at him. “Only three times, but I am not complaining.”

This eighteen-year-old guy was supposed to become my husband. We would be married. I couldn’t picture it. Giulio was polite and complimentary, but he didn’t seem attracted to me. Even weirder, I felt the same. There was no spark, no burning desire. Yet I would be expected to sleep with him, to bear his children. Stay faithful to him until the day I die, while living in the castle as the perfect mafia wife.

My mouth dried out, a scream echoing somewhere deep in my brain. I reached for my water glass and tried to stay calm. There was no need to panic yet. I still had time to find a way out.

“Are you all right?” he asked, brows pinched. “You went as white as this tablecloth for a second.”

“I’m great. Never better.”

“You really should learn how to speak Italian.”

“I understand some, but not enough, especially when it’s spoken quickly. My father speaks mostly English, and my mother died before she could teach us more than a few simple words and phrases. So you should feel free to teach me.”

“I’d be happy to, though I like practicing my English with you.” He grinned, looking so much like his father in that moment that I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Speaking of that, how do you and your father speak such good English?”

“English is spoken all over Italy, so you’ll find most people can speak a bit of it. My father and I went to boarding school in Massachusetts, though.”

My jaw dropped open. “What? That’s wild.”

“Yep. From the age of six to twelve.”

I couldn’t picture Ravazzani as a boy in school. I’d sooner believe he popped out of his mother’s womb fully formed, fully evil.

The server entered with a bottle of the Ravazzani rosé. I held up my hand. “I think I’ll stick with water, if you don’t mind.” I didn’t need another night like the previous one, ever.

Giulio pressed his lips together, amused. “So tell him. Acqua frizzante.”

I look up at the waiter. “Acqua frizzante, per favore.”

When we were alone, Giulio asked, “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. I couldn’t hold down food until noon.” Oddly enough, I was now starving. “Zia seemed disappointed that her cornetti went uneaten.”

“I had to work last night or else I would have been up.”

I picked at a fingernail under the table. For some reason, I didn’t want Giulio to think the worst of me. “I should apologize for getting so drunk. I’m sure I was a hot mess, so thank you for helping me.”

When I woke up, my hair had been pulled back, my face cleaned, and I was dressed in a t-shirt three sizes too big. Two pain pills and water had been waiting on my bedside table. Best of all, my vomit-stained clothing was nowhere to be found, hopefully incinerated.

“You’re welcome. You are a cute drunk. I don’t think you stopped talking—between the bouts of vomiting, of course.”

“Oh, my God.” I dropped my face into my hands. “What did I say?”

“You told me about Toronto, about your sisters. David, who I have to assume was the boyfriend my father told me about. Oh, and you talked about my father. A lot.”

My head snapped up, disbelief and horror warring inside me. “I did? About how much I hate him, no doubt.” God, please let that be the case.

“It didn’t sound entirely like hate. Fear, yes. But mostly fascination. You asked me many questions about him as a father, as a capo...as a man.”

As a man? What did that mean?

Giulio wasn’t finished, apparently. “You also were very curious about Katarzyna.”

I wanted to crawl under the table. How mortifying. Giulio must have assumed I’m jealous, that I’m attracted to his father. Which I was...but reluctantly. Regardless of my out of control hormones, I certainly didn’t want his son—my supposed future husband—to know as much. “Isn’t everyone fascinated with Fausto Ravazzani?”

“Definitely, especially women. He’s like the man from that film. You know, The Godfather.”

“Don Corleone?” The elder Ravazzani was ten times more handsome than Marlon Brando.

“No, the don reminds me of Uncle Toni. I meant the young Marlon Brando, back when he was young. Like from Streetcar Named Desire. That is more like my father, no?”

I didn’t know the movie, so I couldn’t say. Wanting to get off the topic of Fausto’s looks, I asked, “Is Uncle Toni your mother’s brother?”

“He is my father’s cousin, but I call him Zio. Like Marco.”

“You have a lot of relatives.”

“The ’Ndrangheta is all about family. The only way in is to be related to the capo.”

How had I not known this? “Really? In Toronto, not all my father’s men were related to us.”

“Allowances are made for ’ndrine outside of Italy. But we take blood ties very seriously here.”

Hence why Ravazzani needed Giulio to start making babies. A group of waiters arrived then, sparing me the need to fret over my role in this patriarchal mafia nightmare. One poured the sparkling water, while the others arranged dishes on the table. The selections made my mouth water. There were three different pasta dishes, fried artichokes, steak with butter sauce, pork chops, bruschetta with ham and tomatoes, and fish soup. When we were alone, I gestured to the food. “Do they think we can seriously eat all this?”

“No. They want to impress us.”

We started sampling dishes, and I could not believe how delicious every bite was. I moaned as I swallowed another bite of fettuccine with beef ragout. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Giulio leaned in, like he was sharing a secret. “Zia’s is better.”

“Impossible.”

He grinned and cut me a piece of his pork chop, putting it on my plate. “Try this. I think you’ll love it.”

“Wait, is this a Ravazzani pig?” I saw some yesterday on the estate and they were so adorable and sweet. While I wasn’t a vegetarian, I felt bad for those little piglets.

“Frankie, you had no problem eating the steak or the beef ragout.”

“Cows aren’t as cute as piglets.”

He shook his head, probably thinking I was ridiculous, and reached to take the piece off my plate. I stabbed his hand with my fork. “I didn’t say you could have it, stronzo.”

This caused him to throw his head back and laugh. “I see you are picking up more Italian.”

“Only the helpful words.” I ate the bite of cooked pork and it was delicious, damn it.

We split a tartufo for dessert and drank cappuccino. As much as I didn’t want to be in Italy, I had to admit this had been a perfect meal. And I didn’t hate my time with Giulio. What did that say about me? Was I giving in already?

The thought depressed me, but even more depressing was the thought of returning to the castle. My prison. I wasn’t ready to face Ravazzani and his unforgiving eyes and lush, stern mouth. No doubt he would gloat over his victory of getting Giulio and I to go out together, never mind that he’d blackmailed me to do it.

Stronzo, indeed.

An idea occurred. “Where do you go for fun in Siderno?”

Giulio pursed his lips before taking a sip of espresso. “What are you thinking, Frankie?”

“I am thinking I don’t want to go back yet. Sitting in the castle is lame. Let’s go have some fun.”

“I’m supposed to bring you straight home.”

“Orders from your father, no doubt.” I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Giulio. I’m sure there is some safe place where you can take me so we can live a little.”

“Oh, sure. Figurati! Defy my father. You make it sound so easy.”

“He won’t mind if we are spending time together. That’s all he wants anyway.”

“True.” He exhaled and checked his watch. “I’ll take you to one of our nightclubs. No one will bother us there.”

I put down my spoon. “I’m ready.”

* * *

We pulledup to the club’s front entrance. Marco, our driver for the evening, had been none too pleased about this stop, but we promised to only stay an hour. No doubt he’d already texted the capo to tattle on us, but I didn’t care. The bass thumped in my chest as soon as I stepped out of the car. Yes, I needed this distraction.

Ignoring the long line out front, Giulio shook hands with the man at the door and then we were inside. The sound in here was louder, with bright lights flashing above a wide dance floor. Bodies were everywhere, young and beautiful Italians who weren’t being forced into a marriage they didn’t want. I longed to lose myself in them, even if it was only for one hour.

“Would you like a drink?” Giulio asked over the loud music.

“No, I’d rather dance.”

“Come on, then.”

Taking my hand, he led me to the dance floor. I’d only been to one other club, a secret outing with a girlfriend from school. Except I’d spent the entire night looking over my shoulder, fearing my father’s men would appear at any moment. I hadn’t been able to relax and ended up leaving sooner than planned.

Tonight, I’d make the most of this outing. Giulio would have to carry me out of here kicking and screaming.

On the floor, we began jumping and writhing with the rest of the crowd, pressed in with strangers while staying close to each other. He didn’t try to grind on me, which I was grateful for. Most guys tried to cop a feel while dancing, thinking the close proximity gave them access to a woman’s body.

He’ll have access to my body soon enough.

Letting my eyes close, I swayed and tried to forget where I was and why I’d been brought here. For someone who hated tight spaces, I should have been miserable on the cramped dance floor. But there was something about the music and the anonymity that put me at ease. It felt like freedom.

The songs blurred together, one after another. Giulio could really move, and the people around us—men and women—took notice. I didn’t feel jealous, though, not even when a woman ran her hands all over his back.

He looked at me, probably to gauge my reaction, so I gave him two thumbs up. “Yes, Giulio,” I shouted. “Get it!”

He shook his head, though his lips twitched. “We are supposed to be engaged, no?”

I held up my left hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

Laughing, he drew in closer. “There’s an associate in the VIP area who I need to speak with. Would you like to come or stay here?”

“Definitely stay here.” I had no desire to get pulled into ’ndrina business any sooner than I needed to. Hopefully never.

“Don’t move. I’ll return in a few minutes.”

He disappeared and I continued to dance my ass off. I was wearing three-inch heels and my feet already hurt, but I didn’t care. If we could only stay an hour, then I intended to make the most of it. I spun and twirled, let the music carry me off to a place where nothing mattered. Where I was free.

Many songs later, Giulio hadn’t returned. My feet were throbbing and my throat was dry. I decided to take a break and see if I could find him in the VIP section. At least then I could sit and drink some water.

The man guarding the stairs to the VIP section barely gave me a passing glance, instantly dismissing me. “Ciao!” I said loudly, waving my hand in front of his face. “I’m with Giulio Ravazzani. I believe he went upstairs.”

The man didn’t move a muscle. “Nice try.”

“No, I really am with Giulio.” Then I forced the hateful words out. “He’s my fiancé. I’m Francesca Mancini.”

The man blinked as he transferred wide brown eyes to my face. “You are Signorina Mancini?”

“Sí.”

“Mi dispiace,” he said and lifted the rope for me. “I didn’t know, signorina.”

I guess word had gotten around about Giulio’s engagement. I didn’t know whether to be horrified or grateful. “Grazie,” I said and went up the stairs.

Toes screaming with pain, I reached the landing and glanced around. No Giulio. That was odd. He said he’d be up here. Had I missed him downstairs? Looking over the railing into the crowd below, I didn’t see him there either. Hmm.

When I turned, I noticed a darker section that looked like it wrapped around the side of a small room. An office maybe? I hope Giulio wasn’t beating some guy up back there. Or worse, I hope he wasn’t being beaten up.

I decided to take a peek. The dark narrow hallway was empty, but I saw something even better. A dimly lit exit sign. I held my breath, my heart pounding harder than it had on the dance floor. No one was around. I could slip out that door and disappear into Siderno, away from the Ravazzanis.

Did I dare?

My feet were moving before I could stop myself. In my bones, I knew this was my best chance at escape. I slipped along the edge of the wall and very carefully pushed on the heavy metal bar that would operate the door. It cracked open silently, the cool night air washing over my bare legs. I edged into the darkness, muscles poised to flee—and came to an abrupt halt.

Giulio and another man were locked in an embrace on the fire escape, kissing each other like the world was about to end. Both of their dicks were out and rubbing together, their hips grinding and churning.

Holy...shit. Giulio liked men.

I tried to step back inside without making a noise, but I must have failed because the couple looked over. Horror flashed on Giulio’s face. “Minchia!” he hissed and lunged to yank up his pants, but I was already hurrying through the door and back into the club.

“I’m sorry!” I blurted before the door shut behind me.

Was Giulio going to be mad at me for interrupting? I raced through the VIP area, trying to put distance between me and a potentially angry mobster. It was none of my business if Giulio liked men or women, or both. I honestly didn’t care.

Did his father know?

Likely not. While the LGBTQ+ community had made strides in recent years, the mafia was not exactly woke. They were still very old school, and gay members were quietly murdered so as to not embarrass their family. We’d heard whispers in Toronto about various soldiers killed because of their sexual preference for men.

Would Giulio kill me now that I had learned his secret?

I swallowed hard and went down the stairs, fear giving me speed. I didn’t think Giulio would hurt me—not after he’d saved me in the dungeon—but what did I know? These men were strangers and cold-blooded killers. He could cause me to disappear and never leave a trace.

At the bottom of the stairs, a hand grabbed my arm from behind, pulling me to a halt. “Frankie, wait.”

I turned and saw the utter devastation on his face, what appeared to be fear and shame. I held up my hands. “It’s none of my business. Seriously, Giulio.”

He glanced around us, clearly worried we might be overheard. “Not here. We’ll talk back at the castello. Let’s go.”

There was no chance to plead my case or ask what he intended as he tugged me along behind him. We found Marco and the car not far from the entrance. Giulio held the door for me and I slid onto the smooth leather seat. Marco said nothing as we drove to the castle, and Giulio was silent, as well. I clenched my knees together and tried not to panic.

He can’t kill me without explaining this to his father.

Then again, Giulio could lie and invent a transgression that would necessitate getting rid of me. It wasn’t as if his father actually liked me.

Oh, God.

By the time we arrived, I was in a full panic. As soon as the car stopped, I tore out of the car, ready to put distance between the Ravazzani heir and myself. Unfortunately, Giulio came around too quickly and caught my hand before I could get away.

He didn’t speak as we walked. We continued to his bedroom, and horrible thoughts ran on a loop in my brain. What was he planning?

“Giulio,” I started, but he cut me off with a swipe of his free hand.

We ended up in his bathroom. Dropping my hand, he shut the door and flicked on the overhead fan. Were we being listened to? Or was this to cover my screams?

He must have noticed my growing hysteria because he held up his palms. “I’m not going to hurt you. The castello has many eyes and ears, and I’d rather not be overheard.”

Could I believe him? “This isn’t necessary. You don’t need to worry that I’ll tell.”

He grimaced and dragged a hand through his hair. “Frankie, if anyone found out…if my father found out, I would be dead. This is worse than a secret. This is my life we are talking about.”

“I know. Which is why I’ll never breathe a word of this, no matter what. You saved me from that dark cell when you didn’t need to. I owe you.”

He stared at his toes. “This hardly compares.”

“Giulio, I understand and I am not judging you. Also, I genuinely like you. During this nightmare, you’ve been my only ally. So please, don’t think this matters. If you like men, who cares?”

“Everyone cares, Frankie. Literally everyone I work with and live with would care. The last gay member of the ’ndrina had his dick cut off and shoved in his mouth before they dumped him in the ocean. Alive.”

Holy shit. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Enough to lie about it? Enough to marry me, knowing I’ll be sleeping with men behind your back? Eventually you’ll grow resentful and want to punish me.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “But Giulio, I don’t want this. I don’t want to marry you and live here as a mafia wife. I’ll never stop looking for a way to escape.”

“Including blackmailing me into helping you, I suppose.”

My jaw fell open. I actually hadn’t considered that. “You could just as easily kill me.”

We stared at one another, each trapped and wondering who would lash out first. Or, would we become allies in this nightmare?

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “My father will be very angry if you leave. He’ll never stop hunting you down.”

“Is that your way of telling me you plan to kill me?”

“I’m not going to kill you, Frankie.” He gave a grim laugh and rubbed his eyes. “I probably should. Cazzo! I hate this. I have prayed countless times to prefer women, to be like all the others.”

“So you aren’t bisexual?”

“No, I am one hundred percent gay.”

“See, I like the D, too. We have that in common.”

That got a small laugh out of him. “Strangely, it is a relief to tell someone—even if it is the woman I’m going to marry.”

We weren’t going to marry, but I didn’t bother correcting him. “You’ve lived with this secret a long time.”

“Since I was nine. The hardest part has been lying to my father. All he cares about are future generations of Ravazzanis to carry on the family legacy.”

“He cares about you, too. Otherwise, why come all the way to Toronto and kidnap me?”

“Because of your mother. He thinks you and I will make beautiful Ravazzani babies together.”

I pressed a hand to my stomach, feeling my dinner unsettle. “The man you were with? Does he know who you are?”

Giulio nodded. “He’s a low-level foot soldier. We’ve been together for a year or so. I….” He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting away. I sensed his need to confess, though I had no idea what he might say.

“You can tell me, G.”

“I love him,” he blurted, the lines of his face deepening. He looked ravaged by guilt and secrecy. “We talk about running away all the time, going to America and leaving the ’ndrina behind.”

But he couldn’t. He was the Ravazzani heir, the only male child. His father would never allow it.

There were no words to make this any less painful, so I stepped forward and gave him a hug.