Page 79 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

And I need to talk to Kira.

After my shower, I head to the vanity table and rummage through my purse for my cellphone. When I come up empty, I recall Sal tossing it into the smoking ruins of the Corolla before we left the club last night.

Shit. No phone, only an intercom to a hundred-year-old butler.

I glance around the room, taking in the tall ceilings with no windows, the intricate patterns on the vintage furnishings, and the ventilation that easily distracts the mind from what this place really is: a fortress designed to keep people like me safe . . . or trapped.

Did Dante lock me in here?

I wrap the towel more tightly around my body and venture toward the door. I turn the brass lock, beyond surprised to find it unlocked.

But as I step forward, the towel slips, and I freeze. I can’t go wandering around this place half-naked. I need clothes. My dress and panties lay in a heap on the floor, but there’s no way I’m getting into my ruined panties and soot-stained clothes.

My gaze snags on the T-shirts draped over the chair. And now I know that Dante brought them for me.

It’s either I put on Dante’s T-shirt or call the old butler. It’s an easy decision. I’ve always preferred loose-fitting clothes, but I particularly love wearing his clothes.

I reach for one of the shirts, the fabric soft and worn, and pull it over my head. It falls to my mid-thigh, the sleeves extending past my elbows. His smell instantly surrounds me, a heady mix of his musk and sandalwood. I grit my teeth, steeling myself against the wave of arousal.

This is so not the time, Addy, I chide myself. I must stay focused and figure out what the hell is going on. I head to the door, throwing it open with more force than necessary.

And then, it’s absolute chaos.

A blur of brown and green feathers darts between my legs, the unexpected contact causing me to screech and leap back into the room, jumping on the bed and burying my head in the pillows.

A woman’s distant laugh makes me raise my head. But I don’t see a woman. All I see is a huge mallard duck, wearing what appears to be a diaper, standing in the middle of the room with its head cocked to one side, observing me with a kind of detached curiosity that only a bird can muster.

I didn’t know ducks could be this fat, or wear diapers for that matter, but here we are. An obese, diaper-wearing duck.

What in the world?

Before I can fully wrap my head around the absurdity of the situation, a woman who looks like an older version of Kira rushes into the room. She’s dressed in a smart black shirt dress with a white collar and cuffs and a white apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair is pulled back into a severe bun, but her eyes hold a familiar warmth. I already know who she is.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry about that,” she gestures to the bird, who has lost interest in the clueless human and waddled to the wall of mirrors, moving this way and that in what I can only call a preen. “That’s just George. He’s a little . . . eccentric.”

I stand there, gaping, as she scoops up the duck and cradles it in her arms like a baby. George quacks contentedly, as if this is the most normal thing in the world, to be held to a human’s chest.

The woman gives me a reassuring smile. “I’m Aydin, Kira’s mother. You must be Addy. Kira’s told me so much about you.”

Even though I already guessed who she was, it’s still a little jarring to see. I stretch my lips into a toothed plastic smile, a testament to my nerves.

Kira’s mother is really the Vitellis’ housekeeper. I’m really in the Godfather’s mansion.

She sets the duck down, dips her hand into her pocket, and tosses a few treats on the floor for him. And suddenly, I get why George would be obese.

Aydin turns her attention back to me, her eyes softening with concern. “Are you alright, dear?”

I snap my mouth shut when I realize the smile is still frozen on my face. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You look a bit shaky. Understandably, after last night’s trauma,” she says, holding out her hand to help me off the bed. I can stand on my own, but I don’t want to appear rude, so I let her guide me. “Maybe some breakfast?” She asks.

I nod, still trying to process everything. “Um . . . that would be nice, thank you,” I manage in a steady voice, still watching the duck busily peck the treats off the floor.

Aydin chuckles when she sees me staring at George. “This place can be a bit . . . much at first. But you’ll get used to it. So, about breakfast. Would you like to join the rest?”

“The rest?”

“Oh, just the two Signora Vitellis. Don Vito and Don Nico’s wives. They can’t wait to meet you.”

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