Page 66 of Sinner's Vows

“Emilio Randazzo. He and Guiliano Scalera were in this turf war they dragged all the way here from Sicily. And then my dad got killed, and my mom died months later, and I was so to say on the streets.”

“Oh. That’s…that’s terrible.” My pulse speeds up several knots, and I make as if to catch my breath, too. What I’m really catching is the thin thread between Franco Fiore, Randazzo, and this family. I suspected there was a connection of sorts.

“Don Scalera won. Randazzo went back to Italy and gave up his American dream.” She sighs as she comes to stand in front of a closed double wooden door, signaling to the guard to open it for us. “I got mine, though, and you’ll never see me complain.One more day on the streets, and I would have been a prostitute, dead of AIDS ten years later.”

The guard unlocks the door with a key and swings both doors open. Portia waves for me to walk in first and as I enter the room, I snatch in a breath.

“Instead, I got to turn a blind eye and work here,” she says softly. “Not a day of abuse at any man’s hand. Tell me,cara, if you only had yourself to think about, what would you have chosen?”

35

ARIANA

This. Obviously this. Any woman offered the choice of a life between prostitution and working in a house like this turns a blind eye and takes the latter.

I breathe in the splendid space. It’s a vast room with high ceilings. Big old-fashion sash windows completely line the one side, with a fireplace on one wall and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves flanking it. A comfortable seating area faces the fireplace, and an easel stands in the corner with a half-painted landscape on it. It looks like the beginning of a garden, maybe even the view from one of the windows.

To the other side of the room, a massive four-poster bed takes center stage, made up with crisp white linen. A door leading to a dressing room and adjacent bathroom is cleverly hidden by the wallpaper, which is dated by modern standards. Chintz in pink and blues. The wallpaper, the cream-colored carpet, the pink drapes, everything gives away this is—was—a woman’s sanctuary, frozen in time.

Portia steps up to a dainty antique desk that stands facing a window and runs a finger along its surface. She inspectsher fingertip with a huff and mumbles something involvingstandards.

“Right. Whoever leads the show here now needs a talking to. The Don died, and two weeks later, the head housekeeper left on holiday. If I have any say in it, I’m thinking she’s holidayed herself into getting fired.” With a dismissive shrug, she turns to the guard who still hovers in the door. “You can leave us now. Close the door and wait outside.”

“Portia—” the man starts, but she only pulls up to her full, unimpressive height, gives him a scowl, and shoos him with her hands as she walks up to him, ready to close the door in his face.

“We’re fine. This is women’s business, and Ariana won’t try anything here. She’ll have to jump from the window to escape, and there are hounds and guards enough to catch her when she tries to limp off with a broken leg.”

The man raises his eyebrows and then his hands in defeat. “Okay-okay. Just watch your back. As I’ve been told to watch yours.”

Portia shuts the door in his face as soon as he gives an inch and rolls her eyes at me. “As if I don’t know how to watch my back.”

I shoot her a half-smile. She’s already stepped in as a mother figure to me, and for someone who lost her mom at such a young age, it’s slowly becoming harder to even think of hurting Portia, never mind getting her into trouble by trying to escape. Plus, she’s a helluva shot.

She walks past me and murmurs, “Just like this house, Dominic’s mom had her secrets. We’re here to keep them safe for her as far as possible. I won’t have any random guard look on while we do this.”

But she’d trustme? A total stranger coming in, to help heave a massive skeleton out of the closet? The only people who get to keep secrets are the dead…

“This was Bianca Scalera’s safe space,” Portia says as her gaze travels the room, interrupting my thoughts. “The only times she got to use the bed was until six weeks postpartum. Then it was back to work.”

The way Portia says those words pops goosebumps on my arms.Work. By what I’ve seen of Dominic’s skin, I don’t want to imagine what work Don Scalera had for his wife. This is a mirror to the life I would have lived if I’d married Franco Fiore. My throat tightens again with helpless fear swarming in me. Bianca Scalera didn’t have the same luxury of a choice between housekeeping and prostitution. It’s clear she was here to do only one thing: bear sons.

“What was she like? Dominic’s mom?”

A full minute passes as Portia mulls over my question, her feelings openly displayed on her face as she goes through them.

“A caged tigress,” she murmurs eventually. “Keeping her cubs close for as long as she could. But caged all the same.” She sniffs as tears roll down her cheeks. “She did everything to keep those boys safe. Fought for them like a tigress as long as she was able to. God…the things?—”

She breaks off in a suppressed sob, crosses herself, and under her breath, she mutters a prayer in Italian. One I don’t recognize. My Finnish mom wasn’t religious, and once in foster care, church wasn’t high on the to-do list for anybody. I reach for her in sympathy, and she grabs my hand, urgently squeezing now.

“If you ever wonder why these men are the way they are, it’s because despite everything, their mother showed them enough love to carry them through it all. To this day and beyond. The love she had for her sons will carry them for the rest of their lives, and subconsciously, it sways the direction of every decision they make.” She gulps in a breath, her hand still squeezing mine as the other comes to rest on her heart. “I’ve seen it over theyears. Don Scalera might have had a cruel fist and a mental hold on his sons they would bow to all the way, but when it comes to women, these men will never be their father.”

Portia’s words echo everything I’ve experienced with Dominic so far. With me, he’s been the most caring and compassionate man I’ve ever met, and I bet he is like that with every woman that crosses his path.

Portia lets go of me to wipe roughly at her face. She shakes her head as if she can shake off memories. “Come, we need to work. To think this whole situation with Gabriella only came to light now. When Bianca knew her time was close, she made me pack everything away, promising me to never look at it, and I honored her wishes. Now I can kick myself for being so naive.”

So loyal.

“You didn’t know about Gabriella?” I ask, getting the feeling if someone knew something, it would be Portia.

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