{STEPHANIE}
"And this is your room," Vincenzo, Francesco's butler said, opening the door and gesturing for me to enter.
I gave him a nervous bow and passed the threshold. I stopped short at the beautiful sight of the bedroom and a smile took over my lips, lighting up my face as I took in the wooden floors, cream furniture, four-poster bed and carefully picked decor.
The room had the scent of bayou leaves and lavender. Just my type of room. My feet moved on their own and I gazed out of the window. The room overlooked the garden.
"I hope you'll like this place," Vincenzo's voice sounded behind me. Only then did I realised he was waiting for a sort of appreciation or compliment from me.
"I love love it," I said. "You did such a good job."
He slightly bowed in half before pointing at a door. "There's the bathroom. I filled it with cosmetics and skin care worthy of Mrs Giacomo," he said.
A chuckle escaped me. "Not that it matters so much but thank you. I don't really fancy all these girly stuff," I explained.
I didn't miss the change in his expression. It lasted less than a second but I saw his lips pursed momentarily before they formed a trained smile again. Then he slowly nodded his head.
"Certainly, Mrs Giacomo. Would you want me to take them out?"
"Oh, no, no," I said.
I knew already that not paying much regard to his extra effort to make me comfortable had slightly pissed him off. The last thing I wanted was to get on the wrong side of the head of the domestic staff. And I was a pretty honest girl, not hiding my emotions and coming out clear when something didn't sit right with me.
But I guess for as long as I would be here, I had to keep a muzzle on my honesty and bluntness.
Glancing at Vincenzo, I stepped into the bathroom and mustered my brightest smile as I looked at the cosmetics which would no doubt be costly. They were all luxury products, mostly Italian brands. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and gave Vincenzo a grateful nod.
"Thank you."
He smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. "Your walk-in closet is also accordingly."
I nodded in acknowledgment and followed his lead to the adjoining room–my closet. I examined the clothed and very nearly cringed. All the clothes in there were designer clothes, high fashion which was suitable for someone maybe twenty years older than I was.
I must have hidden my reaction well because Vincenzo beamed with complacent smiles as he gestured at the dresses and attires.
"As for the wedding gown, I've already contacted the best designer. He'll come here tomorrow and–"
"I already have someone to design my dress," I said and watched his teeth clench at my words.
"Then I suggest you reach out to that person," he said through gritted teeth. "whoever he or she is, and tell them to forget about–"
"No," I objected. "This designer is a longtime friend of mine and I trust him to deliver the best."
This time his lips pursed for longer than a second and I heard him mutter inaudibly to himself. He held my gaze as if forcing me to reconsider my decision. But that was never going to happen.
"Of course, Signora," he hissed at long last.
I could feel the tension rising between us. His fingers had balled into fists and his lips were still so grimly pursed.
Someone knocked on the door, the sound drawing our attention and dispelling a portion of the tension. Two men walked in, bringing my suitcases into the room and leaving immediately they set them down.
"May I suggest you throw those away?"
He said it as a suggestion but his words sure as hell sounded more like an order than a suggestion.
I drew a deep breath, struggling to calm down and suppress the rage beginning to boil in me. "No," I refused.
He worked his jaw, obviously infuriated by my blatant defiance.
"The lady of the house should not wear clothes that are old or dirty. They bring shame to the family," he said.
I debated punching him. Who did he think I was? Perhaps he thought I was just some slut who by some odd luck got the future don of the Giacomo family wrapped around her finger. Guess I would have to scratch making him an ally off the list.
I used my old clothes only when I painted. They were even covered in colourful drops of dry paint so it was not so hard for any sane person to guess the reason why I was keeping them. Anyway, this butler didn't seem like he was interested in knowing anything about me. So...fuck him.
"First, you're not an Italian. You're not properly educated and you don't know enough about our culture and the way we operate," he said. "So I suggest you throw your silly arrogance into a trash and–"
"You will not be the one to teach her."
We turned at the direction of the voice. Julio had just come in and he stood, his hand in pocket.
"She will become Francesco's wife, Vincenzo," Julio said authoritatively. "whether you like it or not. Now leave us."
Vincenzo's eyes widened in disbelief and he held Julio's stare for a while before he bowed and walked out hurriedly.
I heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he shut the door behind himself.
"You shouldn't let that old prick treat you that way," Julio commented.
"I wasn't going to," I said. "It's just...this is Francesco's house and I have no authority here and Vincenzo's..."
"He's here to serve you. He's the head of the servants and staff so the only person he's allowed to boss around and talk back to are the maids and the gardeners and the chefs. "And as for authority...you're Francesco's wife. You have authority even more than me except when it comes to the field. You can even burn this place to the ground and no one would question you."
Despite his harsh tone, a smile crept into my face slowly. "Thanks," I said. "But I'm not planning to burn anything to the ground though."
He chuckled.
"Glad to hear it," he said, then his eyes moved to my open suitcase. "You can get someone to help you unpack."
"Thanks. But I think I'd rather do it myself," I said, adding more of my clothes to the closet.
He nodded, acknowledging my decision, and then pulled out a card and held it out to me. "Buzo will be your driver. He will take you anywhere you want and it will be best if you never leave without him."
I stared at the card and gave Julio a nervous smile. "Great," I muttered to myself. "A personal cab."
"Buzo's more than a cab driver," Julio spoke as I typed Buzo's number and name into my phone. "He's trained enough to protect you when necessary. And he lives in the estate, so he can get the car ready within minutes whenever you want him to."
My heart stopped at the 'protection' part.
"Julio, about the protection," I chuckled nervously. "Do you think I'll need it? I mean..."
"Yes," Julio replied with a grim smirk. "You'll need it...sooner than you think."
My stomach curled. Of course I knew that there would be danger and occasional times when my life would be on the line, but the outright and blunt confirmation made me ten times more scared.
"Unfortunately, I didn't come only to give you Buzo's contact," Julio spoke, sitting on a chair in the room. "I need to ask you a few questions and perhaps it will be better if you sit down."
Perfect. As if I wasn't nervous enough already. I forcefully stretched my lips into a half-hearted smile and stepped out of the closet. I sat on the sofa and Julio adjusted his chair to face me.
"I know you and Drake McConnor used to be together. But have you ever met his younger brother?"
I drew a deep breath. "I met Greg a few times when Drake took me to his parents'," I told him. "Why?"
"Why?" Julio repeated the question and I could tell he was only stalking, to buy time to think of a suitable answer. "Let's call it curiosity for now," he said. "What was he like....when you met him?"
I shrugged. "He was kind...unlike the rest of the family. He was a little quiet, and polite and..." My eyes narrowed. "Why are you asking me about him? Do you know him?"
He rolled back his shoulders. "You know that the McConnor family imports cigars and certain banned substances, don't you?"
"Well, I knew about the cigars...but I had no idea about the hard drugs," I replied nervously.
"Well, Wayne, Greg's father, brought him some times to our clubs. He said that the kiddo was too soft and needed to toughen up."
I sighed. "I heard he was in boarding school. His parents did not release him, not even to come for Drake and Becky's wedding."
Julio frowned as if processing what I said. Then he asked, "Do you think he might have been taking drugs?"
"What? No," I said emphatically. "Greg never took shit like that. He hated everything that could cloud his head or was considered unhealthy. He couldn't even stand the smell of cigarette."
"Perhaps that one thing about him changed," Julio said, his expression grim. "He was found dead, not faraway from the Red Lotus club. The police insinuated that he must have overdosed on meth, blue glass and some other strange substance."
I gasped and clasped my hand over my mouth.
I had never been close to Greg, but hearing that he was dead...it made me distraught, want to cry.
I stared at Julio in silence.
"But, that's impossible," I managed to say at last. "And I'm not talking about only drugs. His boarding school is thousands of miles outside of New York. It's in California!"
Julio closed his eyes and muttered something to himself. He seemed pretty upset.
"That makes matters even worse, Stephanie, especially since he had the club stamp on his wrist," he said. "But, just in case, do your best to stay away from the McConnor family, at least for now."
"Oh, don't worry about that," I said. "I have no intention of getting near Drake or any member of his family."
"Good," Julio said. "Just keep it that way."
Then he rose from his chair and smoothed the lapels of his suit. "Thanks for your time, Mrs Giacomo."
I nodded and rose from the sofa also.
"You know you should get a maid to help with your unpacking," he suggested, and, without waiting for a response from me, he pivoted out of my room, leaving me with a blossoming feeling of worry.
Why did I feel like the McConnor family was going to be in more trouble than they already were.