Page 50 of Corrupting Lily

Chapter 31

Lily

Samantha. Sam, for short. Pretty, tall, with brown skin, a short blonde bob, dark blue eyes, and a body that belongs on a runway. It seems ironic that all the women in the mafia world are beautiful. It is as if there is some invisible criterion that must be met before they are allowed in, which makes me wonder what I am doing here.

“Who is she?” I ask Holly, who sits next to me at the long table outside by the inviting large blue pool, considering the heat that penetrates the thick umbrella overhead.

My sunglasses hide my eyes, so she cannot see whom I am referring to.

“Sam,” I say quietly, the venom in my voice betraying my feelings when she looks at me, confused.

“I have no idea. I’m as much an outsider as you. I’m just here because Nero forced me to be.” She says ‘forced’ with so little conviction that I doubt she even means it. She wanted to be here. I think if she weren’t here, she would have been wondering what he was doing, andit would have eaten her up. It was called jealousy. A feeling I was well acquainted with since meeting Dominico.

And one currently rearing its ugly green head as Sam disposes of the blue shawl wrapped around her sickeningly perfect body, revealing a tiny red and gold bikini. I grit my teeth as she throws her head back, laughing at what Dominico and another man standing with him say before heading to the shallow steps into the cool pool water. The man standing with Dominico and some others arrived early last night. Here for the wedding taking place tomorrow. My wedding, which is no longer.

When jealousy and hurt bubbled up at the thought of him marrying Sam instead, I realized I was already too far gone. As much as marrying Dominico should’ve felt like a shackle, a prison, I wanted to marry him. When I took a step back to understand why, the answer was clear in my heart: I was in love with him. I am in love with him. But he didn’t feel the same way about me; otherwise, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, move from me to her as easily as he did. Did he truly feel so little for me? The thought makes me angry and sad. And jealous. Which accounts for my next move.

“We’re swimming,” I grind out, gripping Holly’s arm while her expression registers shock.

Everyone at the table looks at us as I rise, pulling her up with me. I avoid looking at Dominico as we pass him, the scent of his spicy cologne and cigar smoke engulfing me briefly before fading. That’s how close we were. On purpose. To torture myself.

“Um, okay,” she mumbles as I loop my arm through hers, walking toward the entrance of the large villa straight out of the pages of ‘Home of the Rich.’ I swear, if I hadn’t been so sad when I arrived here, I would have been jumping for joy at being in such a beautiful and clearly historic building. Many of the furnishings were antique,probably kept in the family for generations. And then there was the view. It was like looking at a picture hanging in the Louvre for the feelings it evoked. Rolling hills and villages in the distance spoke of a remoteness that resonated with my heart. I could easily live here.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?” I ask her quietly so Matteo cannot hear us. His footsteps behind us have become part of the regular sounds as he follows me around.

“I bought a couple from the boutique store yesterday when I went to town with Dante. But,” she says, her eyebrows lifting in skepticism as her hand sweeps across my chest, “your bust is much bigger than mine.”

“It will be fine,” I whisper, sweeping my hand dismissively as we head toward her room, which luckily is just down the corridor from mine, next to Dominico’s. I had been tortured by the sounds of him and Sam laughing and talking for hours last night. By the time she left, my calves were sore from standing on my tippy toes near the window in my room, the only place that allowed me to eavesdrop. The cramps were not even worth it; I didn’t get much, just muffled sounds.

I briefly glance at Matteo, who shakes his head as if he knows I am up to something, as I close the door to Holly’s bedroom before we begin sorting through the various sets of bikinis she bought.

“I take it you want to evoke a specific emotion from Dominico after he ditched you for Sam. An emotion you are currently feeling.” She laughs when I eye her, holding her hands up defensively.

“I said I didn’t want to marry him,” I say, earning me a laugh.

“Sure. You have no feelings whatsoever for the big, bad Don who is clearly in love with you.” Her words halt my actions as I turn to face her, and the shock on my face is difficult to hide.

“He is not in love with me.”

“Sure,” she drags the word out, looking at me with raised eyebrowsand disbelief.

“He told me I am his. ‘You’re mine,’” I echo his words while trying to deepen my voice.

“Well, there we go,” she says, handing me a bright yellow bikini.

“That is mafia language for ‘I fucking love you.’”

“What?” My heart is pounding at her words while she casually holds up two bikinis, trying to decide which one to pick.

“Do you really expect these men to vocalize their feelings in the same way you are accustomed to? This is a different world. These men are different. The way they display love and affection is different. Just because it doesn’t match your definition or expectation in how it is said or shown doesn’t make it any less.” She turns to look at me, an exasperated expression on her face.

“Has Dominico ever done something that would be considered out of the ordinary when it comes to you?”

I reflect, and without much effort, numerous scenarios come to mind.

The way he always carried me around. How he moved me from the apartment that Basilio arranged for me into his mansion. The boutique he closed, and all the clothes he bought me. His nickname for me,il mio fiorellino, my little flower. The way he slept in my bed when he said he ‘didn’t do that.’ The way he took me to the hospital when my knee was injured. How possessive he is every time another man looks at or touches me. When he sent Lucille and Elena away. The incident with Senator John Underwood. The way he ordered the men from the hall when I interrupted his meeting. And then there was this.

I hold my hand up, gazing at the family heirloom still wrapped around my finger. When I attempted to give it back, he smirked and walked away.

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