Page 60 of Impenitent Claim

“Well, come along. Signor Fabrizi wants to speak with you.”

Hurrying to avoid her pinching fingers, I sped into the parlor to answer the questions of the underboss. The icy grey gaze pinned my back, an unshakable presence that followed me into the lion’s den. The longer the interview lasted, the more grateful I grew for the monster’s terrible presence. It shouldn’t bolster me, but it did.

Chapter 25 – Isabella

Cecilia and I were escorted by the underboss and his men back to the don’s house. With the taste of caramel apple on my tongue, it was a battle not to stare at the newest recruit sitting in the front passenger seat.

Has he joined the famiglia?How else would the underboss be allowed to bring Ilya? Whatever this Russian cage fighter thought he was doing, it was stupid. Astronomically stupid!

And I was the silly girl keeping his secret.

I shook my head. Accepting the drink he brought me only encouraged whatever delusions were running through his head. He needed to hear me once and for all that there could be nothing between us.

A shiver rattled down my spine.

“Matteo, turn up the heat. Signorina Rinaldi is cold,” the underboss clipped out.

Cecilia pinched my thigh a heartbeat later.

Anger bubbled inside. It took three breaths to swallow the urge to throw out my arm and smack her. “Thank you, signore,” I breathed. “I appreciate that.”

The underboss grunted and resumed his conversation with the strega. I tuned out the rapid Italian, staring at the avenue of houses. The mass of leaves was cleared off the road, and several of the trees were already bare. Fall was in its final blaze of glory, and winter was coming early.

“It will be tonight, I’m sure of it,” Tullio stated.

Cecilia murmured in agreement. “I’ll come with you when you speak to my brother.”

“Thank you, carina. You always have a way with the don,” the underboss whispered.

My ears pricked at the exchange. That endearment was…intimate. I closed my eyes, hoping they would speak freely, but no such luck. Something tickled in the back of my mind, and I pushed past the strange familiarity to process the actual words.

Tonight, something would be tonight.

Worry gnawed at my belly. The resolve I formed earlier in the week sprang to the foreground. I knew that Gio would likely be sent out again—and the little brat would be eager to prove himself. But I wanted to prevent him going into battle until we could practice shooting and fighting.

Which meant I needed a delay should the Made Men be called to battle again.

Sure enough, as we pulled through the front gate, the sight of soldiers bustling about greeted us. They were planning something. I clenched my jaw tight. This would never have been allowed when my father was the don. Bringing such a large quantity of soldiers to the house would only attract attention from the bougie neighborhood.

But Don Aldo seemed determined to do everything in his power to prove he was not the late leader.

The moment the vehicle stopped before the front stairs, I bolted. Going straight for the second vehicle that had followed us, I instructed the driver to open the trunk.

Amidst the boxes of still unopened gifts, I pulled the white-on-white bakery box. Signora Modesti insisted that I take the cake and enjoy it. Now it was going to be the thing that saved my brother.

A hard pinch on my side pulled skin off bone. “If I catch you eating that cake, you’ll be sorry,” the strega hissed.

I pursed my lips, fighting back a scream. “It was a gift—to me. The bride.”

“And if we had a chance to eat it at the party, you would have had a reason to accept a small piece. Luckily for your diet, you didn’t have to.” Cecilia leaned close. “Give me that, I’ll throw it away so you’re not tempted to eat it. You already exceeded your caloric intake with the finger sandwich.”

“I fed that to the dog,” I snapped, wrenching the cake box away. “And for your information, I wasn’t going to eat the cake. I was going to serve it to the soldiers.”

The strega gave me a calculated look. “Rid the house of sugar. Smart. Maybe you’re not such a simpleton after all.”

I hated her. She was ruining everything. This was the best buttercream in the city! They used real, organic, high-quality butter which made the frosting something I wanted to eat from a jar with a spoon. It would be too risky now to sneak a large slice to my room.

“What are the guys doing here?” I asked, nodding to the groups of mobsters milling about.

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