{STEPHANIE}
The little bell above my workshop door rang as Buzo walked into my small gallery. Of course the place was still closed and still covered with white sheets and polythene bags just in case I spilled paint. It had actually happened once before and after painting all the walls white again, I did not want to ever again.
The gallery part fluidly turned into my workshop. I was still trying to figure out how to separate the two, but I knew every idea I came up with required a budget–money which I didn't have. I needed new works to sell. Of course the tiny devil inside my head whispered occasionally, reminding me that I was about to become a billionaire crime boss's wife and I would have access to as much money as I wanted, but I reminded myself that it was a title which had no value and I sure as hell wouldn't ask Francesco for money.
He had done enough already by paying for my mom's treatment.
I watched as my driver-bodyguard walked in, carrying two bags in his hands. He carefully maneuvered his way through easels and cans of paint and out the bags on the table.
"Figured you should eat something," he said with a grin, pointing at the bags and that was when I realised he had bought some takeouts.
A wry smile curved my lips slightly as I stepped away from the freshly painted canvas and put the brush away. "Thank you, but I can take care of myself you know?"
He chuckled as he shook his head. "Don't think so, Ms Giacomo. You had breakfast, skipped lunch when you were at the hospital, and now it's nearly nine. You need to eat."
I rolled my eyes but walked over to the table, pulling out boxes. The aroma hit my nostrils and my defiant stomach roared in response. Buzo snorted and I sighed. "Maybe I do need to eat something."
I surveyed the bags and gave Buzo a slightly confused frown. "What's this?" I inquired as I counted more than seven boxes in the first and there were still a few more in the second.
"Just a few dishes from the nearby bar," he replied with a casual shrug.
"A few?" I echoed. "Are you sure you didn't get half their menu?"
A smug smirk formed on his lips. "I didn't know what you'd like, Ms Giacomo."
I opened a few boxes and sighed. "It's impossible for me to eat all of this." I grabbed a second chair to the table. "You'll have to help me."
He gave me a wide grin, exposing his gum and his teeth. He had a missing canine and the space looked like an unlit passage to some place. "Gladly."
"You knew I would suggest that, didn't you?" I asked, my eyes narrowing. "That's why you brought so much."
"Maybe," he muttered and pulled out the paper towels along with forks and spoons. Then he froze and smiles nervously. "Just don't tell it to Mr Giacomo."
I sorted and nodded. "Not a word."
I noticed his shoulder slump in relief. Would Francesco truly punish him if he discovered we had a takeout dinner together? I wished I could tell Buzo that he was overreacting and that Francesco would not punish him, but after what I saw him do to Drake in the hospital and to the Italian who had tried to assault me in Becky's wedding, I knew his fears were justified.
Francesco wanted me. He had mentioned it more than once. And more than that, he sounded like I was already his. I could still hear his voice soaked in alpha male type of arrogance. And although that alone should be off-putting, for some strange reasons, it only made him more alluring. I hated myself for being so weak in his presence.
I opened the box filled with popcorn shrimps and stabbed one with my fork. It must have been too violent because Buzo laughed. "What did that shrimp do to you?" he asked amid laughter.
I drew a breath and forced a laugh too. "Is Francesco always this overwhelming?" I asked after the laugh.
Buzo nearly choked on his empanada. He raised a hand, signalling that he needed a moment while hurriedly chewing and swallowing.
"You have feelings for him, don't you, Mrs Giacomo?" he said.
I felt my cheeks grow hot. Why I reacted this way was beyond me. The physical attraction could barely be classified as "feeling" and I was certain there was nothing more.
I chose to ignore the pink puddles on my cheeks and frowned, intentionally ignoring his question. "Can you stop this Ms Giacomo already?" I asked and before he could protest, I added, "at least when no one's around."
He held my stare, searching my eyes as if to ensure I meant it. Then he nodded. "Alright, Stephanie."
"Thank you," I said, giving him a small smile and stabbed another shrimp.
"You didn't answer my question though, Ms...Stephanie," he said, correcting himself quickly.
"You didn't answer mine either," I said with a smirk.
He chuckled and leaned back in his seat. "Fine," he said. "I wouldn't call him overwhelming though. But I'm sure my experience with him is completely different from yours with him."
A mischievous smile played on his lips as he added the last clause. I was sure he wanted me to share a few details. Never.
"Then, what's he like?" I prodded.
Buzo drew a deep breath. "I'd say that Francesco is determined, decisive but calculative, and...dangerous." He took another bite of empanada and munched slowly. "The ladies also call him a cold bastard. But if you ask me, I'll say he's one bad boss!" he said with a smile and added quickly. "Oh, and 'bad' here means 'very good'."
I chuckled.
"I believe relationship is not just his thing," Buzo continued, stuffing an olive into his mouth. "Everything lovey-dovey is not his cup of tea. I mean there were women who tried and succeeded in climbing into his bed. But it was never something serious and they never stayed around. They left after some time and I guess he never really cared. That's why the other Dons thought he would never get married."
My chest tightened. Was I different from any of the previous women? Of course I had not gotten into his bed but I was sure with time we would have to cross that line. What would it be like once we crossed the line? I had no idea why I even bothered myself with such thoughts. The marriage wouldn't even be real. Or maybe something inside of me wished it was real...God. I seriously needed to pull myself together before the thoughts made me go totally crazy.
I drew a breath and lowered my gaze to the exotic dish. But somehow I had lost my appetite.
"I'm sorry," Buzo's voice dragged me out of my thoughts. I looked at him and he gave me an apologetic smile. "I might have chosen my words quite poorly. I mean...Mr Giacomo wants to marry you. It's obvious that he treats you differently. You're different from those other women."
I wondered if he would say the same if he knew our marriage was just a deal, some sham marriage on paper. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like I was delusional. I was the new shiny toy in Francesco's crib and he sure as hell liked to play.
Now I once again regretted not signing a contract with Francesco with clear rules. Not that I was a fan of rules, but with Francesco, it seemed like I was free falling with a blindfold on, and he was the only one who could catch me. It terrified me. I wasn't sure I was ready to trust him.
Unfortunately, it was too late. My fall had already begun...
I shoved my restlessness away and shifted my focus to Buzo.
I smiled awkwardly. "You said I'm different from the other women because it's obvious he wants to marry me. But I heard he was married before."
He blinked his eyes as if thrown aback. Then he chuckled. "You mean the rumors?"
I chuckled also and nodded. "I heard he had three wives and they all died."
He laughed even harder this time, throwing his head back and beating the table as he did. The guffaw lasted two minutes. Then he faced me and shook his head. "That is complete bullshit."
I stared at him, my confusion vividly registered in my face. "I don't understand...I thought–"
"These rumors were spread by our enemies. It started as a joke," Buzo interjected. "But soon, the other dons used it as the perfect excuse to keep their precious princesses away from Francesco."
"So, what is the truth?" I inquired, leaning back and rolling my shoulders as I braced myself.
Buzo grabbed a bottle of water and took a gulp. "Francesco Giacomo was never married. He had a fiancee once who he loved. But–" he cut himself off, muttering a curse. Then he gave me a crooked smile. "I'm not supposed to talk about things like this. Just...please forget I mentioned his fiancee. Okay?"
I frowned in displeasure. "Seriously? Can't you at least drop a bone? Tell me what happened to her."
He groaned and dragged his palms over his face. "I'm sorry. I really can't talk about it. I can't."
"Can you at least tell me her name?" I prodded.
He gave me a look. "I like my job. I like to keep it. And even though it's not one that looks so good, with all the dangers and the risks, but that's how I keep food on the table for my wife and kids."
I scowled at him. "Then maybe you should have thought about that before mentioning my husband's mysterious ex."
He chuckled. "It would be best if you asked him yourself."
"Do you knink he'll tell me?" I inquired.
"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Maybe he will. You shouldn't worry so much about it though."
My brows inched up. "And why's that?"
"You're getting married. And that means he's letting go of the past," he replied, grabbing another empanada from the box.
I gave him a tight smile.
He said I shouldn't worry, but for some reasons, that only made my doubts and anxieties blossom.