Page 22 of Savage Proposal

“I know a lot of the Cosa Nostra businesses are fronts, and I know what I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”

“So, nothing at all.”

I nodded. “Nothing at all,” I echoed.

“Women of the Cosa Nostra have very specific roles, especially the ones who are from prominent families,” she explained. Amalia’s tone was light, but I could see the tightness aroundher mouth. Amalia was only six months older than me, but she carried a weight on her shoulders that made her seem older.

She finished scrubbing at stains and loaded the shirts into the washing machine. “Is this your role, then? Being Lorenzo’s housekeeper?”

“In a way,” she said and came over to help with the folding. “My family is one of the oldest in the Cosa Nostra. It’s not as prominent as the Vitali family, obviously, but I grew up knowing that I would be making a political match with my marriage.”

“So, your marriage to Elio was planned?”

Amalia shook her head. “I was sent to Lorenzo first.”

I dropped the shirt in my hands. The pearl buttons let out a littlepingwhen they hit the marble countertop. “I can’t picture you two together.”

She laughed. “Neither could he,” she said. “He let me stay for a month or so to appease my father, but he was never going to accept our match.”

“So, how did you end up with Elio?”

Amalia waggled her eyebrows at me. “I seduced him, of course.”

I wrinkled my nose thinking about it. “If I ask you why, would you be offended?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I know Elio doesn’t seem like the best candidate for a husband.”

I shrugged and tried not to agree with her so vehemently. She might not have been offended by my question, but I didn’t want to piss her off by insulting her husband outright. “He just seems a little…?” I was at a loss.

“Psychotic?” she supplied. “He’s goofy and childish, but he can turn that off when things get violent. I know; I’ve seen him in action.”

I sank my teeth into my lip. “You said it, not me.”

Luckily, Amalia seemed more amused than anything. “Elio only gets violent when Lorenzo needs him to,” she said. “He doesn’t necessarily enjoy hurting people. It’s just a part of the job, so to speak. What’s more important is that he would never raise a hand to me, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would protect me with his life.”

“Were your parents upset that you were sent for the head of the family and married his cousin instead?”

“Not at all,” she said. “My father actually told me that he was proud of me on my wedding day. I had been passed over, but I found a new path for myself without needing anyone to intervene because I was resourceful.”

My brow wrinkled inward. “So, your marriage is a business transaction.”

“Maybe so,” she said, “but I think we’re both plenty happy.”

Silence fell between us, and for a while, we concentrated on folding the shirts. Then, Amalia swapped the loads, and we started on folding towels. “Do you love him?” I asked, and she sighed, as if she had been expecting just that question.

“Elio and I have a great sex life,” she said, shamelessly. “He takes me out when I want to go, and I watch whatever sport he puts on the television because he doesn’t like to watch them alone. We have fun together.”

She categorically wasn’t saying that she loved him. “Is that enough?” I asked.

Amalia shrugged. The laundry was done, and I trailed after her as she headed back into the kitchen. I had learned over the last few weeks that she had a fairly strict schedule when it came to meals. She started prepping each one far in advance so that they ate at the same time each day. She truly seemed to love cooking, and it was easy to picture her in some commercial kitchen, wearing a chef’s toque and barking orders to her underlings. I mourned that lost life for her.

“It’s enough for me,” she said finally. “I think, in this life, it’s as close to love as I’m ever going to get.”

That seemed bleak, but I couldn’t say that I thought I was ever going to find that true soulmate kind of love either. It wasn’t like I hadn’t dated, or hadn’t had sex before Lorenzo, but those few experiences had been largely disappointing.

I watched as she began chopping vegetables. Her knife made quick little taps on the cutting board, and I was amazed that she didn’t slice her own fingers. “You deserve a fairy tale kind of love,” I told her.

Amalia giggled. “I didn’t take you for the fanciful type.”

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