Chapter 6 - The Sister's Verdict
By nine o'clock the following morning, the shattered balcony glass had been replaced by a team of silent, efficient workmen, the blood had been scrubbed from the carpet, and the nursery smelled once again of baby powder and fresh lilies.
I sat at the massive marble island in the main kitchen, wearing a warm grey cashmere sweater and dark jeans that Mrs. Gable had provided.
Barnaby, my orange tabby cat, was happily asleep in a beam of sunlight on the window sill, his stomach full of fresh salmon.
I was holding a cup of hot chamomile tea, my hands still trembling slightly from the events of the night. On my lap sat Leo, dressed in a soft blue onesie, happily playing with a set of wooden stacking rings I had set on the counter. He refused to sit in his high chair; if he was more than two feet away from me, his small face would crumble into panic.
The heavy double doors of the kitchen swung open with a dramatic CLACK.
A woman stepped into the room.
She was in her late thirties, tall, striking, and dressed in an immaculate white trouser suit that looked like it had come straight off a Milan runway. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek, razor-sharp ponytail, and her eyes—the exact same storm-grey as Vincenzo’s—scanned the room with lethal, aristocratic disgust.
Behind her walked four armed bodyguards and a nervous-looking man holding a leather briefcase.
It was Lady Bianca Leonardi. Vincenzo’s older sister.
She stopped in the center of the kitchen, her red-lacquered heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Her gaze dropped to me, moved to my cat on the window sill, and finally landed on Leo sitting on my lap.
Her eyes widened in genuine, undeniable shock.
"It's true," Bianca whispered, her voice crisp, refined, and laced with iron. "The boy is sitting on her lap."
She stepped forward, reaching out with her gloved hand toward Leo. "Leo, darling... come to Auntie Bianca—"
The second Bianca’s fingers drifted near him, Leo let out a sharp, angry growl, burying his face directly into my cashmere sweater and slapping at Bianca’s hand with his tiny wooden ring.
Bianca snatched her hand back as if she had been burned.
Her face went pale, then turned a deep, furious shade of crimson.
She whipped her head toward me, her grey eyes burning with pure venom. "Who gave you permission to hold the heir to the Leonardi family like a common prop?!"
"He climbed onto my lap himself," I said evenly, keeping my voice calm despite the pulse hammering in my throat. "And if I put him down, he screams."
"You are the daughter of a traitor!" Bianca snapped, taking a threatening step closer. "You are the blood of the woman who nearly ruined our grandfather! You belong in a interrogation cellar, not sitting in our kitchen drinking tea!"
"That's enough, Bianca."
Vincenzo’s voice cut through the kitchen like a steel blade.
He walked into the room from the garden entrance, dressed in a dark grey suit, his dark hair freshly styled, his posture commanding absolute silence.
Bianca turned on her brother, her arms crossed over her chest. "Vincenzo! Have you lost your mind?! A Moretti assassin breached the West Wing last night! The families know she is here! They think we are weak because you are keeping a waitress under your roof!"
"The assassin is currently being questioned in the basement by Gabriel," Vincenzo said smoothly, walking over to the espresso machine and pouring himself a dark shot. "And he confirmed that Don Moretti put a fifty-million-dollar bounty on Mara’s head."
"Then give her to them!" Bianca demanded. "Throw her to the dogs and end this distraction! We have a war brewing on the docks, the Russians are backing out of the shipping contract, and you are playing house with a girl who smells like lemon butter!"
Vincenzo didn't raise his voice. He didn't slam his cup down.
He simply turned around, took a sip of his espresso, and looked at his sister with eyes so cold they could freeze water in mid-air.
"If anyone touches her," Vincenzo said, his voice dropping into a register so dark that even Bianca’s bodyguards took an involuntary step back, "I will personally skin them alive and hang their hide over the front gates. Do you understand me, sister?"
Bianca stared at her brother, her jaw trembling with disbelief. "You... you are defending her? After what her mother did to our family?"
"Her mother is dead," Vincenzo said flatly. "Mara knows nothing about the theft. She is an innocent."
"Innocent?!" Bianca let out a bitter, mocking laugh. "In our world, nobody is innocent! She is a liability, Vincenzo! She has no family, no standing, no power! The board of lieutenants will never accept her presence in this house!"
"They will accept what I command them to accept," Vincenzo replied coldly.
"And what do you command?!" Bianca shouted, gesturing wildly toward me and the baby. "What is she to you?! A nanny?! A hostage?! A mistress?!"
Vincenzo set his espresso cup down on the marble counter with a quiet, deliberate clack.
He walked over to where I was sitting, stood directly behind my chair, and rested his massive, dragon-inked hand on my shoulder. His thumb rubbed a small, soothing circle against my collarbone.
"She is not a nanny," Vincenzo announced, his voice echoing through the silent kitchen like a royal decree. "And she is not a hostage."
Bianca’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Then what is she?"
May you like
Vincenzo leaned down slightly, his jaw resting near my ear, his scent—woodsmoke, tobacco, and rain—enveloping me entirely.
"She is my fiancée," Vincenzo said.
