Eyes the color of coal stared down at her, bold with curiosity as he lounged in the doorway, legs posed in a casual, wide stance. Her eyes met his for the barest second. Embarrassed, she averted her gaze from his dark, piercing one. She felt the flush of her skin under his obviously appraising scrutiny and amused grin.
He seemed to enjoy her discomposure. Little bits of shaving cream dotted his face. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he swiped at them with his towel, still staring at her, waiting for her to speak again. But her tongue froze.
"Can I help you?" he asked at last.
"I...I'm afraid I have the wrong address. I'm looking for Antonio Domani. Do you know him? Which apartment is his, if you please?"
"You found him. I'm Domani."
She stared in disbelief. This couldn't be Tonio Domani. Nonna wouldn't be foolish enough to believe Mario would allow her to travel alone with this man.
"Nonna Gia sent me," she began uncertainly, "I am here to talk to…you?" She couldn't keep the question from her voice. "About a trip west to Idaho. But there must be some mistake. Is there another Antonio Domani here? Your father perhaps?"
Tonio tipped his head back slightly and laughed a deep, hearty, amused laugh. "There is no other Tonio. I am the one and only. Some would say fortunately. What other misinformation did Nonna give you about me?"
"She said you were a good customer."
He seemed to like her answer. "True enough. Come on in." He stepped aside to let her pass.
The room in front of her displayed the carnage of someone in the process of moving. A stack of fully packed crates lined one wall and partially packed boxes sat everywhere. Wads of newspaper littered the room.
"Excuse me a minute while I make myself more presentable. I was just finishing my shave when you knocked." He walked to the small bedroom that adjoined the main room, pausing to call back over his shoulder. "Make yourself at home."
As Angelina walked to one of the few remaining pieces of furniture in the room, an old worn chair, a photograph in a silver frame drew her attention. It seemed strangely at odds with the disarray of the room, set carefully on a starched white doily atop a well-crafted cherry end table. A young woman smiled out of the gilded frame.
Angelina picked it up to get a closer look. The photograph had obviously been taken some years ago, but the old-fashioned style of dress did not diminish the beauty of the woman. Her thick, black hair coiled neatly on her head so as not to obscure the full view of her classic face. Large dark eyes danced above delicate high cheekbones. Her jaw was strong and firm, but surprisingly feminine, the dress she wore obviously expensive. A heavy gold cross hung against her well-shaped bosom.
The cross caught Angelina's attention. It looked similar to the one that she wore secretly tucked beneath her own high-buttoned blouse. She absently traced the outline of her own necklace with the forefinger of her free hand. The woman in the picture bore a striking resemblance to—
"My mother."
Angelina started.
Tonio reached from behind her and pulled the picture out of her hands. A little too roughly, Angelina thought. He set it back down, face to the wall.
"She's a beautiful woman." Angelina turned to face him.
"Yes, she was. Please, sit down." Tonio had donned a fresh white shirt, but had not tucked it in. As she sat, he shoved the shirttails down between his skin and the soft denim of his pants, his movements natural and unabashed. The way he dressed in front of her was too casual, too sensual. She squirmed.
"You are in the process of moving, Signor Domani?"
"Me? No. This apartment belonged to my uncle. He passed away last week. His illness and subsequent death drew me here from the mining country. I am in the process of closing up his estate, if you can call it that. As soon as I'm finished I'll be headed back."
It was the first string of more than a few words Angelina had heard him speak. It put her immediately on guard. He spoke cultured, classic Italian—the language imposed on the united Italy by the North not more than forty years ago—not dialect. Most southerners still did not speak it, either out of ignorance or rebellion or both.
"I am sorry about your uncle."
"No need to be." His voice held an unexpectedly hard edge. "I seem to have forgotten my few manners. Shall we introduce ourselves? I believe we've established that I'm Antonio Domani. Please, call me Tonio. And you are?"
"Angelina Allessandro. Pleased to meet you."
"I assure you, the pleasure is mine." He extended his hand.
Angelina stared at him, not at all sure what he expected.
"You're supposed to shake my hand." He took her right hand in his warm, strong one, holding hers firmly, confidently, in a way that made her pulse race. "Americans aren't like Italians. They are uncomfortable kissing each other in greeting. Uncivilized of them, isn't it? A peck on each cheek is nothing."
She pulled her hand from his as if scorched and shifted to the corner of her chair without answering. The man made her feel too warm, too vulnerable.
He laughed, seemingly enjoying the effect he had on her. "Would you like a cup of coffee before we get down to business?" Before she could answer, Tonio stepped to the stove, poured two cups and returned to hand one to her. He pulled up a crate and sat down, wrapping his hands around the steaming mug as he stared at her intently.
His scrutiny heated the room. To mask her self-consciousness, Angelina adjusted her skirt and smoothed her apron before taking a sip of the brew.
"Tell me something, Miss Allessandro…"
"Mrs."
His eyebrows shot up. "You are already married?"
She nodded. She'd surprised him. Good. She was glad to have an advantage, even a small one.
"Ah. Foolish me. I thought you were on your way to meet your fiancé, not your husband. If you don't mind my asking, why doesn't the lucky bridegroom come get you himself? Most men would beat a quick path to New York to claim a bride as beautiful as you are. There are so few women in the mining country, and even fewer attractive ones. He must be a man with a great deal of self-restraint."
His easy flattery distracted her.
"He's never seen me." It just popped out. Her hand flew to her mouth as if trying to stuff the words back in. Franco had written to her that she must never tell.
Tonio's brow furrowed, followed almost instantly by a look of near amusement. "Ah, an infamous proxy wedding then. That explains it. The good man doesn't know what he's missing." He spoke softly, almost as if to himself.
Angelina remained mute, horrified she'd spilled her secret so easily.
Tonio filled the silence easily. "Who stood in for the groom?"
She didn't trust herself to speak.
Tonio answered his own question. "Some relative, no doubt. He signed his x on the dotted line for your husband, did he? You were hoping the validation of a marriage license would speed you through immigration? Fend off the licentious officials?"
She nodded. There was no sense denying it.
He studied her again, looking both sympathetic and incensed at the indignity of the immigration process at the same time. "Your husband should have gone to Italy to get you. He should never have let you travel alone. I would never let my sister—" He cut himself off. "Ah, but it's not my business."
Angelina still felt the need to defend her husband. "I wasn't alone. My escort, my husband's brother, was denied entry here in New York. Didn't Nonna tell you?"
"Ah, yes. The brother. Nonna did mention something." He paused. "So you want me to escort you to your husband so the two of you can go to the local priest and make the whole marriage right before God? You will make the marriage legal, won't you?"
Angelina couldn't decide what the correct answer was. Whether Tonio was mocking her or worried about the sanctity of her marriage. She didn't reply.
Tonio didn't press the matter. "What's your husband's name?"
"Franco Allessandro." She bit her lip. This wasn't going well, not at all as she e
xpected. She was usually able to bend men to her will. But this man…
"Mr. Domani, Tonio, I have not heard from my husband since arriving in America and I am worried. Whatever you may think, it is not like him not to look after me. He is an old, dear friend of my papa. He would not leave me at the mercy of distant relatives if something was not wrong. I must get to him. Soon."
"Don't know him," Tonio continued as if he hadn't heard her. "You're Napolitane, aren't you?"
Angelina nodded, uncertain where he was heading with the question, but afraid he would not like her answer. He was obviously a northern Italian, and she, a southern girl. The animosity between the northern and southern Italians was very much like that between the Yankees and Southerners that she had heard about here in America.
"I thought so." He spoke slowly, as if weighing his thoughts in an unseen balance. "My grandmother came from Calabria, which explains my black hair and southern features. I can't tell you what a disability they posed growing up in Turin as I did. You must have noticed my King Emmanuel's Italian. I've never been able to effect a southern dialect worth a—" He stopped himself from using the obvious epithet.
The Northern Italians were responsible for the poverty of her southern Italian homeland. Because of the North's economic stronghold over the South, they held all the power and wielded it fiercely, taxing the poor beyond the humane. Crops had failed in the largely agricultural economy of the South for as many years as Angelina had been alive. There were no jobs, so the young men left to find work. No jobs, no men, and therefore, no husband for a poor girl like her with no dowry.
"Mrs. Allessandro, I have my reservations about taking you with me to—"
"Please. Don't let my being from the South influence you. I will be no trouble. None at all. As soon as we are on the train, I release you of any responsibility—"
He was shaking his head and laughing. "Would Nonna have sent you to me if she'd thought I was that prejudiced? Class or being from the North or South matters less than fool's gold to me."
"Then why?"
He turned solemn. "Your husband, whatever his motive for his silence, has good reason not to want you in the Valley. At the best of times, it's a rough and tumble place. But with the labor tensions between mine owners and miners being what they are, things could explode at any time." There was a hint of humor in his tone. "It's no place for a lady."
Angelina set down her coffee with trembling hands, willing to beg this handsome man. "Please, sir, you must take me with you. Have you never been poor and wanting? In my whole life, I have had nothing but dreams of something better than poverty—land, a home of my own, a husband and children. All my hope for that is in Idaho.
"If I stay here, I have nothing but the loss of my dignity and the charity of distant relatives. Please."
Although his face remained inscrutable, his eyes flickered with sympathy. And a touch of wariness. She couldn't blame him for that. She was guarded herself. And grateful, more grateful than she liked to admit, that he didn't pity her. But on what grounds could he possibly sympathize with her? A man like him from an obviously high-class background? She held her breath. Finally, he sighed.
She knew she'd won him over even before he spoke. Her plea had not been elegant, but miraculously, she'd changed his mind.
"I won't be doing you any favors. You'll curse me in the end." He stood, indicating the interview was over. "The train leaves early on Friday. I'll pick you up at four a.m. Sharp."
Relief made her almost weak. "Thank you. So much." She stood and touched his sleeve. Which was a mistake. Her heart pattered out of control and she flushed. She would have to keep her distance from this one. "Nonna says you prefer to travel alone. I won't be a frivolous female. I promise."
He said something in English too fast for her to catch. Then his laughter filled the room. "Nonna talks too damned much."
"There is just one more thing, Signor Domani. Another favor." The natural flirt came out in her. She used the tone and seductive little smile she put on as second nature when she was trying to get a man to do her bidding. "Nonna Gia brags you have a silver tongue. That you could convince the devil himself he needs a furnace. I'll need your help convincing my cousin Mario that you are a respectable, reliable escort for me." She clasped her hands in front of her. "That you will protect my virtue with your life. He will insist on meeting you, of course."
Again, the rapid English and the laughter. "I'm hardly respectable. But I'll talk to him."
Mario would be a fool to believe Tonio Domani was anything but a threat to her virtue. But all the same, nothing would stop her from going with him. Nothing.
Chapter 2
As Angelina stood inside the crowded Pennsy Railroad terminal surrounded by her small set of luggage, she glanced at Tonio.
Mario isn't a fool. How did Tonio convince him to let him escort me?
Angelina wasn't a fool, either. She'd been careful not to let Mario see her anywhere near Tonio before the trip, fearing Mario would somehow sense her involuntary attraction to the handsome Northerner. Maybe Tonio did indeed possess a silver tongue. Or maybe he simply held his liquor better than Mario. All she knew for certain was that Mario had met with Tonio at a bar and come home singing loudly, cradling an expensive bottle of Pino Grigio under his arm that could only have come from Tonio. Before toppling into bed, Mario gave his pronouncement—Angelina would go to Idaho with Tonio. End of discussion.
Tonio was occupied at a ticket window across the room. Angelina watched him purchase their tickets and lamented the necessity of an escape plan. He wore a black leather jacket with fringes that hung from the arms and tight denim pants that showcased heavily muscled legs. She could easily imagine herself tangled in the fringes, pressed thigh against thigh with him. But her conscience spoke against such fancy. She heard her father's voice in her mind, calling her his little flirt. She remembered the conversation she'd overheard between her parents.
"Angelina likes the men too much. She has too much passion and could be led astray so easily. She has no money. They will ruin her but not marry her. She will end up like her grandmama. We must see her safely married," her mother had said. Because there were no young men in Italy willing to marry her without a dowry, they had sent her to America to marry a man more than twice her age.
Whether Angelina felt married or not, she had pledged herself to her father's friend. And she was tired of living off the charity of others who had little enough for themselves. Her sense of honor chafed at taking Tonio's, and her common sense warned of the danger of being too near him. Once on board the train, she wouldn't need an escort. How dangerous could riding a train alone be? At the train depot in Jersey, she would lose him and continue on her own.
She turned back to stare out the window, fixing her gaze on the Dewar's Whiskey sign outside as it drifted in and out of view in the thick, ponderous fog. She hoped she looked serene and calm as she stood there, her mind whirling with her plan. She felt confident. She had only one small, niggling worry—Tonio was smart.
The terminal bristled with people. Two ferry runs had already been canceled due to poor visibility and high winds. People jostled past her as they moved toward the ticket lines. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bag with the croissant she had purchased the day before at her favorite panetteria. She took a big bite of the confection. Its whipped chocolate filling oozed out over her lips. She turned again to monitor Tonio's progress. He was still at the window. She caught his eye as she slowly and deliberately licked the chocolate away.
He smiled and mouthed something to her, but she missed his message. Someone bumped her from behind. As she turned to look she was hit again. The croissant fell from her hand to the floor.
"Smettila! Stop it!" She whirled on the perpetrator. "Imbecile! It is ruined!" She pointed to the croissant.
The stocky man she faced spoke in a low, abasing tone. "Why don't you let me buy you a new one?" He reached to chuck her chin.
She turned away q
uickly and with exaggerated motions, counted her bags aloud in stilted, accented English. Her eyes darted around looking for an accomplice. Gypsies in Naples used this ruse to steal from weary travelers.
"One, two, three—"
"You think I'm trying to steal your bags?" He moved closer to her, intentionally bumping the side of her breast with his arm. He reeked of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. "I just want to get to know you. You're such a pretty lady."
She shoved him away and let loose a string of angry Italian, gesturing dramatically as she did so. The man's eyes widened. He put his hands up in mock surrender before taking a step back.
"The lady told you to take a walk." Tonio spoke from directly behind her. She'd been so occupied she hadn't heard him approach.
The man backed off and disappeared into the crowd as spooked as if he'd seen a statue of the Virgin Mary cry.
"Boo!" Angelina whispered beneath her breath, delighted. She turned to face Tonio. "I was handling him."
"Were you?" Tonio stood with his coat cocked back to reveal the silver handle of a lethal looking stiletto sheathed in a leather case attached to his belt.
Angelina stared at the knife and then smiled at Tonio. "Nice blade."
"Sharp, too," he said. "Make your husband get you one when we reach the Silver Valley. They come in handy for all kinds of things—slicing meat, scaring off unwanted suitors…"
"You use yours for scaring off the ladies, then?" She grinned at him. "The women in this mining country of yours must be very aggressive."
He laughed. "You'd be surprised."
Angelina arched a brow to show her skepticism.
He laughed again as he took her arm. "Seriously, Angel. No one walks around the valley unarmed."
"I hate knives."
"Get over it or get a gun and learn to shoot." He grabbed a handful of bags. "Come on. The ferries are running again. They'll make the announcement in a minute. We have to hurry if we want to beat the crowd and make it on."
The Escort Page 2