Adrian's Vengeance: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Isabella Starling

  She nods, pointing to a note that's attached to the bow.

  With shaky fingers, I pick up the card and come face to face with Adrian's scrawly handwriting for the very first time. Something moves inside me and I melt when I see that he took time to scribble a note for me himself. Despite his many shortcomings, he can be kind... and when he is, it's so very beautiful.

  Marzia,

  While I'm away, work on your painting and drawing. I know you have a talent, and it's time you stopped hiding it from the world. I will expect one sketch and one painting completed by the time I come back.

  Your Adrian.

  It feels as if someone's clenched my heart into an iron fist. I'm trying desperately to fight my emotions for Adrian and yet, I can't do anything to deny the feelings I've already developed for the man. I'm eager to please him, despite my hatred for him. My fingers pick up a pencil shakily. It's been years since I drew. I don't even know if I'd be any good at it anymore.

  I look up at Eleanora and her beaming expression. "Sit there. In front of the window."

  Obediently, she pulls up the armchair to the window.

  I perch on the sill and begin sketching wildly, my fingers dancing over paper as I shade, draw and sketch. Eleanora is a beautiful girl, and on paper, no one can tell she cannot speak. I keep sketching until my hand cramps, barely looking at the paper as I draw because I'm too preoccupied with committing Eleanora's features to memory. She's the only model I have here, and sketching her has filled me with a calm understanding of her silent beauty.

  Once I'm done, I set the sketchbook down, unwilling to look at what I've created. With a heavy sigh, I lean back against the windowsill.

  Eleanora's eyes sparkle as she points to the sketchbook, putting her hands together in a praying motion. She wants to see what I've done.

  I'm amazed that someone is interested in my creations. My parents never cared at all.

  Reluctantly, I pick up the book and show it to her without taking a proper look at my drawing myself. Instead, I focus my attention on Eleanora and the way her face changes as she inspects my creation.

  First, there's curiosity. Soon, it changes into delight and surprise as she glances at me, as if she's unsure the drawing is really my work.

  But it certainly is, and she saw me finish it.

  Eleanora seems impressed, and she mimics a chef's kiss, making me giggle as she passes the sketchbook back.

  The rest of the day, I can't stop drawing. The pages of my sketchbook once flat and thin, are becoming thicker, filled with little drawings of things around the house. I'm too scared to pick up the canvas just yet—I never got the chance to work on one when I was living at home. But the desire to continue almost makes me dizzy, and finally, when Eleanora's gone to bed, and locked the door of my prison behind her, I set up a station to paint in the salon.

  I mix some paints in shades of nude and dark grey and stare at the empty canvas. I don't need to think about my subject, I already know who's going to appear on the blank canvas before I touch the brush tip to it.

  Adrian's image comes to life in front of me. I paint his hair first, moving on to his face, his lips, his shoulders. I leave the eyes for last because they will be the hardest to paint. Not because I'm afraid I won't do them justice, but because my heart is already pounding in fear and I'm merely staring down at his likeness, not even the real thing.

  The eyes take two hours, and by the time I'm done, it's light outside and Eleanora has entered again. She sees me painting and politely makes sure not to interrupt, though I catch her stealing glances at my creation as she busies herself by tidying my rooms.

  I continue painting until I'm finished, ignoring my stomach complaining loudly about skipping breakfast and dinner. I finish up, but I can't bear to look at the painting for longer than a second. I quickly put it away to dry and avert my gaze any time I walk by it while Eleanora prepares lunch for me.

  When I reach for a piece of bread, her fingers wrap around my wrist. Surprised, I glance up at her to see her biting her lower lip.

  "What is it?"

  She doesn't answer. Instead, she makes sure we're alone and pulls something from her apron.

  An envelope.

  My eyes widen as she hands it over to me. "What is this, Eleanora?"

  She motions for me to open it, but I don't need to. I recognize my brother Luigi's handwriting on the front, spelling out my name. I nearly choke as I tear the letter open. I have no idea how Eleanora got her hands on this letter, but before I can question her, I need to know Luigi is okay.

  I tear into the paper, my eyes scanning the words. Luigi speaks of his anger, of the pure hatred he has for Adrian and the rest of the Bernardis. He promises to save me, tells me Eleanora will be my gateway for the outside world, but I mustn't make anyone suspect a thing. After I read the letter, I must burn it.

  There is a whole paragraph about Vitto and how much he loves and misses me, but I can't bring myself to do more than skim it. The point is, they're both alive and plotting their revenge in a small village an hour away from here where no one will find them.

  They're safe. So why am I feeling even more tense than I was before?

  Once I'm done, the letter stays in my lap and I stare emptily into the distance. I don't know how to feel about this development. In a way, I'm freer being Bernardi's prisoner than I ever was at home. But Bruno wants to kill me, and Adrian wants to hurt me. Well, I'm not letting either of them go through with their wicked plans.

  Eleanora gently pries the letter away from my fingertips.

  I silently watch her throw it in the fireplace. As I watch the paper crinkle and burn, I wonder how my future will turn out. Whether I will ever be able to escape this place with my life intact, and whether Bruno still wants me dead.

  Finally, I pick myself up and walk over to the painting of Adrian. I force myself to stare right back into his cold, calculating gaze. I've painted him lifelike and vivid, so much so that the sight of him like this scares me, yet fills me with need. I don't want to admit that I still have feelings for the man. I've fought this attraction between us since I set foot in the Bernardi Estate, and I'm not going to stop until I feel absolutely nothing for Adrian Bernardi.

  Yet, the thought of being away from him fills me with dread and regret.

  But I need to get out of here, no matter the cost. Staying at the Estate means one thing and one thing only—my untimely death.

  And I'm too young to die.

  11

  Adrian

  My brother Ryder and I are being driven to the home of the Carluccis, and I don't know which one of us is hating this more.

  I don't fucking like leaving Marzia behind with only the mute maid there to guard her. I don't trust my father anymore. I've seen firsthand what he's capable of.

  As for Ryder, he seems pissed off his womanizer lifestyle has been interrupted for an occasion like this—one that doesn't even concern him directly. "I hate this," he mutters for the millionth time.

  "Stop complaining." I grunt. "I don't like it either."

  Just then, the driver pulls up in front of the Carlucci Villa, and the doors are opened for us.

  I step out of the limo, buttoning my black jacket as I examine the building in front of us. The Carluccis are certainly loaded, but just as I suspected, even their home screams nouveau riche. There is no class in the design of the outlandish building. It's overly primped, with a garden so laden with blooming flowers it almost looks ugly. The hedges are cut into decorative shapes, everything is tacky and gilded, and the whole place says… We have money and you don't.

  Fighting the urge to groan again, I force myself to stride forward where a small, plump man is awaiting my arrival eagerly.

  He shakes my outstretched hand with gusto, rushing over himself to explain who he is and where I am. His name is Gustavo Carlucci and apparently, he's my bride-to-be's father. Without taking a single breath, he explains Nicoletta is turning eighteen in two months, tells me her mothe
r died when she was a little girl, and that he took special care in sheltering her from the world any way he possibly could.

  He even explains Nicoletta has been sheltered so much, she hasn't seen another man between the ages of fourteen and sixty-five ‒ except for him of course ‒ since she was five.

  To me, it seems excessive, but he delivers the news proudly, as if he deserves a pat on the back for keeping his own daughter captive like some caged bird.

  Ryder seems even less enthusiastic than I am as Gustavo insists on giving us a tour of the property. The garden tour alone takes over an hour, because the man is intent on explaining every single type of flower and plant in the luxurious surroundings of the villa. When we finally enter the house, which is even tackier on the inside, I quickly realize this could go on for hours unless I put a stop to it.

  I just need to be careful, so I don't offend him. "Actually, Signore Carlucci, we're a bit tired from our long journey," I explain with a polite smile. "If you could show us to our rooms now, we'd like to rest a bit before dinner."

  I needn't have worried about Carlucci getting offended. He seems like a caricature of an Italian chef as he laughs heartily, saying, "Of course, of course. Perdonami, I got a little too excited. A maid will show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served at seven p.m. in the grand hall."

  "Thank you." I smile gratefully.

  Ryder and I follow a tight-lipped maid up the stairs, down a gallery and into a hallway with several doors. She shows Ryder his room first, then walks me over to the next hallway where my quarters are.

  The room is hotel-like, but overly decorated and merely looking at all the stuff in it gives me a headache. But I'm too exhausted to deal with Carlucci's obsession with anything and everything that sparkles—the man is a fucking magpie—and I strip my jacket off, staring out of the windows overlooking the sea.

  It is beautiful here. It has potential. Yet I can't even bring myself to imagine living in a place like this, without Marzia and with some other woman by my side. I haven't even met Nicoletta yet, and I've already decided she isn't the one for me. I'll get out of this wedding, some-fucking-way, because there's no chance in hell Marzia's dying, or I don't end up as her husband.

  I relax until a few minutes to seven, changing beforehand and walking down to the dining room with the help of the same maid from before. Once again, the room is laden with decorations and a heavy chandelier hangs above us. It must be worth a fortune, but it looks tacky in this overly decorated room. It should stand out, but instead it just blends into the chaos of the room.

  "Ah, there you are," Carlucci beams at me while standing from his chair. "We've been waiting. I know Nicoletta is so very excited to finally meet you."

  There are four places set at the long table, and he and my brother take up one each. I can only assume the last one will be occupied by my bride-to-be, the illustrious Nicoletta herself. I fucking bet she is. Probably desperate to see anyone with a working cock, for that matter. "I'm excited to meet her, too," I reply diplomatically, keeping my true feelings to myself and ignoring my brother's derisive snort. "When will she be joining us?"

  "In just a few minutes." Gustavo smiles tersely. "But first, I'd like to discuss something with you. Please, sit down."

  I take a seat and wait for him to go on.

  The man takes his time, readjusting his cravat and clearing his throat a few times.

  I finally start losing my patience. "What did you want to speak about?"

  "My daughter…" Gustavo clears his throat again. "You must understand, she's very vulnerable. She's been sheltered for a reason. As you will soon find out, Nicoletta is incredibly beautiful. I feared if I exposed her to the male sex too early on, she'd lose her innocence before marriage. But now, she's untouched. And it needs to stay that way, no matter what."

  "I understand." I nod, feeling solemn. "You have nothing to worry about."

  "Of course not." The man grins jovially, but his expression darkens the next moment. "But you do. If I found out you touched her, kissed her, before the wedding, there will be hell to pay."

  "Are you threatening me?" My voice vibrates with warning.

  He pays it no mind. "I'm just saying that—"

  "Papa!"

  All three of us raise our eyes to the entrance to the dining hall where a stunning blonde girl has appeared.

  She has youth and innocence written all over her face, but her smirk is, for lack of a better word, almost naughty. She looks like trouble in her pale blue dress that clings to her body in a way that's more than a little obscene.

  "She's in charge of her own wardrobe," Carlucci mutters in my ear, chuckling nervously. "A little luxury for my dear daughter."

  Ignoring him, I pick myself up along with my brother and we both nod at her to acknowledge her presence. I examine Nicoletta as her eyes fixate on my brother. She is stunning and so very wrong for me.

  "It's so lovely to meet you, Adrian," she purrs, bowing slightly in front of Ryder. "You look like you walked right out of my dreams."

  "Nicoletta," her father says. "Wrong brother." He gestures toward me.

  She flushes, rushing to stand before me. "Do accept my apologies, Adrian—I got a little—confused." A pretty pink colors her cheeks and she laughs daintily.

  I smile in return as I say, "It's no problem. Don't worry, Nicoletta. You're every bit as stunning as you were described."

  "Thank you." She bows an insolent glow in her eyes as she takes the seat next to her father.

  I see my brother staring at her, obviously entranced by her beauty. Why can't I feel the same? Why can't I just go along with Father's plans to end up with Nicoletta? It would make everything so much fucking easier.

  Dinner is a ridiculously formal affair with nine courses. By the end of the meal, I'm sick and tired of Gustavo's incessant chatter and eager to return to my bedroom, but he tells me I'll have ten minutes alone with Nicoletta afterward, so I must wait.

  I know exactly what those ten minutes are for. I'm supposed to propose to a woman that means nothing to me. I don't know if I can go through with it, but I also know if I don't, there will be hell to pay both from Gustavo and my father. So, I swallow my pride and say goodbye to a sullen-looking Ryder and elated Carlucci who leave me alone with the stunning mafia princess.

  The moment they're gone, she turns toward me with an expectant expression.

  I'm dreading this, but I don't have a fucking choice. "I know this has been sudden," I tell her. "I know you're probably scared and—"

  "I'm not scared," she quickly interrupts. "I'm excited. So excited. I've been waiting my whole life to meet my husband. And from the moment I walked in here, I knew it was you."

  "You mean apart from the beginning when you thought I was my brother." I smirk at her, making her blush. Before she can speak up, I continue, "Don't worry, I'm just teasing you. You look pretty blushing like that."

  She blushes harder. "Thank you..."

  "But it's very, very soon," I tell her next. "We've known each other for an hour. And I just don't know if it's fair to either one of us to propose right now."

  Her face falls. She looks offended. "Don't you like me? Am I not pretty enough? Is there somebody else?"

  I need to do damage control, right the fuck now. "Nicoletta..." I want to reach for her hand, but then I remember her father's words and change my mind. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to do right by you and be the man you deserve. Look, let me show you something." I pull out the golden chain with the wedding band that Marzia gave me. Nicoletta reaches for it, but I subtly move my hand back. Still, the motion doesn't escape her.

  She pouts.

  "This is from a couple that loved each other dearly," I speak up. "So dearly that the love is still remembered and celebrated today. You see, this is what I want from marriage. A lifelong commitment and a promise to stay together no matter what happens."

  "I can give you that," she says quickly. Too quickly. "I can give you everything."

 
; "I know you can, but you aren't ready," I insist. "You're seventeen. Let's at least wait until your birthday."

  "But I—"

  "We can make a deal." I smile reassuringly. "You can tell people we're engaged. That I proposed. We'll just keep this our little secret. And it will be something to look forward to in a few months when your birthday comes around. Would you like that?"

  "I suppose," she mutters.

  "I know you expected more," I say. "But I need to be fair to both of us. You're just a kid."

  "I'm not a kid."

  "Nicoletta." I grin. "You're seventeen. Not just a kid. Jail bait."

  She smiles at that, finally nodding as I finish speaking.

  I'm grateful for this since our time together is running out and Gustavo will surely come barging in here any second to escort me out. "So what do you say?" I ask. "Can you keep our little secret?"

  "Of course." She smiles. "As long as I can lie to everyone."

  "What a little minx." I laugh out loud. "Tell whoever you want."

  "Perfect." Her eyes glitter with mischief just as there's a knock on the door. "Come in!"

  Gustavo enters along with my brother.

  Nicoletta shrieks, throwing her arms around her father's shoulders. "We're engaged, we're engaged!"

  Well, she sure as hell took advantage of me letting her lie to everyone.

  Something tells me little Nicoletta Carlucci isn't quite as innocent as her father wants her to be.

  12

  Marzia

  Adrian is set to return today. I've been fooling myself, thinking I don't want him here, but I do. I've felt lonely and abandoned since he's been gone, unnoticed by everyone around me, as if I'm invisible.

  The only human contact I have is Eleanora, and I'm immeasurably grateful for my maid who provides a welcome reprieve from the quiet corners of my mind. Even though she doesn't speak, her mere presence is a comfort.

  I haven't been able to ask Eleanora anything about Vitto and my brother. I wonder how she got the letter and whether there will be more to come. My questions are answered when she hands me a pad of papers and a pen the next day. She wants me to write them back.