Dishonorable

by Natasha Knight

  “That’s not really fair,” I said.

  “Life isn’t fair.”

  His eyes told me how deeply he knew that truth.

  “Will you hurt me if I refuse to sign?” I asked, forcing down more whiskey, unsure why or where that particular question came from.

  He studied me, then shook his head with a snort. “That’s enough,” he said, standing. “Up to bed.”

  “I’m not done.” I reached out for the bottle, but he gripped my wrist.

  “I said it’s enough.”

  I looked at his huge hand wrapped around my tiny wrist. He could snap it in a second. It probably wouldn’t even cost him that much effort or energy.

  “Come on.”

  He walked around the table to my side. Could he see what I was thinking? Perhaps, because he released my wrist and slipped his hand down to take mine instead.

  “I’ll take you up to bed.”

  He pulled me to my feet.

  “I mean, you’re going to hurt me anyway, aren’t you?” I tugged myself free and sat back down. Well, more like fell into my chair, my legs too wobbly to hold me up.

  He watched me with a deep exhale.

  “What about our wedding night?” It came out a whisper. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

  “Remind me to never give you whiskey again.”

  I wiped my eyes clean. Would he answer?

  “Did my grandfather think you’d bed me?”

  “Come on, get up.”

  “I mean, you can make me do whatever you want. You’re bigger than me. Stronger than me.” My eyes wandered over the now blurry expanse of his chest. “Maybe you even like that kind of thing.”

  “I’m not used to forcing women, Sofia, and I have no intention of making you do anything you don’t want to do.” He paused. “I told you already, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Maybe you like having power over me. Making me submit.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Will you? Is that what you want? To make me?”

  He chuckled. With one hand on the edge of the table, he leaned over me, his eyes seeming to forever study me.

  “I think you’re curious, sweetheart, more curious than you like.”

  Had he just called me sweetheart? My head felt heavy.

  “But tonight is not the night for this discussion, although I’d love to have it with you. Come on. Get up.”

  “I’m not tired.” Why did my words sound slurred?

  His smile spread across his face, and he winked as he reached down for me. “Hell, maybe I should give you whiskey more often, not less.” And he pulled me to my feet.

  Chapter Six

  Raphael

  Sofia looked so completely confused sitting there, it was charming. Almost endearing, even.

  “Up. I’m taking you to bed.” I hauled her to her feet. It was the first time I’d really held her, and she felt smaller, lighter than I expected. More fragile.

  “That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”

  She tried to stand on her own and stumbled, her little hand shooting out to grab hold of me to steady herself. The moment we made contact, we both stopped. I looked down at her hand, pale and delicate against my chest. I’d been working outside since late spring, so my skin had been tanned a rich golden brown, making her soft white a beautiful contrast.

  I thought she’d pull away, and maybe if she hadn’t drunk that whiskey, she would have. Hell, she’d be smart to. I’d been messing with her up until now, but something about her innocent, maybe naive directness, intrigued me. And when she let her hand move over my chest, softly feeling the touch of my skin, sliding it over to my shoulder, then bicep, then up toward my face, to the stubble at my jaw, I knew what I’d said was more right than she probably liked to admit. She was curious.

  “You feel nice.” She swayed on her feet. “Softer than I thought.”

  I smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You feel nice too, but you are so going to regret telling me that in the morning,” I said, lifting her up in my arms. Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again a moment later as I carried her out of the kitchen and to the stairs.

  “I’m not sleeping with you,” she said, slurring her words, her eyes closing again.

  I chuckled. “Don’t worry. I don’t like my women dead to the world.”

  We were halfway up the stairs when she put her hand flat on my chest again and lifted her head. “A lot of women?” she asked.

  “You’re drunk, Sofia.” We reached her door, and I pushed it open. She turned her face into my chest.

  Her expression turned worried. “I’m a virgin,” she said, shaking her head. “Stupid, huh?”

  “Not stupid. And for your information, I figured that out already.”

  “It’s stupid.” She smiled. “You smell good, all worky and like a man.”

  I chuckled. “I really, really hope you remember this tomorrow morning.” I pulled the covers of her bed back and sat her down, slipped her flip-flops off her feet and took her sweater off. I couldn’t keep my gaze from roaming over the little tank top and shorts she wore and all that skin they left exposed. I lay her down and drew the blanket up to her chin. I looked down at her, already asleep, snoring quietly. It made me smile and for some reason, I leaned down to kiss her forehead. She didn’t stir. I shook my head and walked out the door, closing it behind me, then headed to my bedroom, where I took a cold shower before climbing into bed.

  She was sweet and innocent and scared.

  And I would still tear her world down brick by brick.

  She didn’t realize what I would do to her family’s business. She thought I’d take her inheritance and run. She thought she was saving her sister by sacrificing herself. Well, if she didn’t hate me by the time the inheritance came due, she would once she understood what I would do. It would be too late by then, though.

  Not that it mattered. She was right when she said I wasn’t seeking absolution. I had no interest in forgiveness. Hate and betrayal had burned any goodness, any honor, right out of me.

  And I couldn’t care less if she hated me.

  It was after ten in the morning when Sofia came downstairs. Maria and her staff were already busy baking, and I had just come inside to get a second cup of coffee. She’d wound her wet hair up into a messy bun and wore a pale pink sundress and looked more than a little uncomfortable walking into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  She flushed, then cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

  “Coffee or tea?”

  “Um, coffee, please.”

  “Fresh baked bread for breakfast?” I asked.

  She glanced at the counter where Maria had set a basket of breads and small cakes. “It smells wonderful.” She looked at Maria and repeated the same in Italian. It was heavily accented, and the sentence was out of order, but it worked. Maria nodded her thanks.

  “Headache?” I asked, making sure she knew I remembered the night before.

  “I’m fine.”

  Liar. “Well, if you happen to get one later, there’s aspirin in that cabinet. Come on, we’ll eat outside.”

  I carried our coffee cups, and she followed me out. I watched her take in the surroundings, the beautiful rise and fall of the hills, the vast green fields. The dead vineyard. We sat down at the table, and she took a piece of bread and buttered it.

  “Your brother said he was going to the seminary?”

  “Yes. He wants to become a priest.”

  “He’s only twenty-four. I guess I’ve only ever known priests to be old men.”

  “Our mother was a devout Catholic. She must have passed some of that to him.”

  “And you don’t even believe in God.”

  I shrugged my shoulder.

  “You’re not close with either of your brothers. Really? Not even with Damon being a twin.”

  I shook my head.

  “I guess I can’t imagine that. I don’t know
what I’d do without Lina.”

  An awkward silence stretched out between us.

  “I have some business at the neighboring farm, so I’ll be gone most of the day.

  “Can I come with you? I don’t want to sit here alone all day.”

  “The seamstress will come in the afternoon to fit the wedding dress.”

  “A wedding dress? I assumed it would be a civil ceremony.”

  “In front of God and man.”

  She didn’t pursue that conversation. “You said you’d give me a tour.”

  “Later.” I checked my watch.

  “I’m finished now. I won’t make you late.”

  She swallowed her coffee and left the bread. She really did need to eat. “Finish your breakfast. I can wait a few minutes.”

  After she ate, I led the way to the large garage. It was built in the same style of the house and had enough space for three cars, but two of those were loaded with old equipment for the vineyard we no longer used. In the third stood the truck I’d been working on, a 1970s Chevy.

  “That’s very old. Does it still run?” she asked when we neared.

  “I hope so. I spent last night and two hours this morning working on the thing.” I’d been up since half past five.

  “You didn’t get much sleep.”

  I shrugged a shoulder.

  She touched the rust and peeled off a layer of old paint, then opened the door and climbed in as I settled behind the driver’s seat.

  “Is it safe?”

  “I wouldn’t drive you around in it if it wasn’t.”

  She stole a glance when I said it, then fastened her seat belt. The engine hiccupped then roared to life, and we drove off.

  “I hope you don’t mind the wind.” I had both windows rolled all the way down. “Couldn’t quite get the AC working.”

  “No. I like it. How big is the property?”

  “About two-hundred acres. A hundred of that is vineyard.”

  “That is no longer in use. What a waste.”

  “It is a waste.”

  “Maybe you could start again, replant…rebuild your mother’s memory.”

  My throat felt tight, and it was hard to swallow. “These fields here are rented by neighbors,” I said, ignoring what she’d just said.

  “Are those cows?”

  “Yes. Half a dozen or so. They don’t have the space, and we do, so it’s an easy trade.”

  “And it’s nice to see the animals. Any horses?”

  “Do you ride?”

  She shook her head. “Just a handful of lessons, but I like it.”

  I nodded.

  “What’s that?” She pointed in the distance to a stone building.

  “Chapel. It’s been there as long as the house.” We pulled up to the building, which was missing part of its roof. I shut off the engine, and we climbed out.

  “This is amazing.”

  Sofia stepped up the two stairs and pushed the heavy wooden door open. I remained at the back, watching her take in every detail, touch every surface as she made her way toward the altar. There were only six pews, three on each side. It was very small. The roof had caved in at one corner, but the altar and most of the building was still protected against rain or snow. An overgrowth of green crept along the outside and some of the inside walls.

  “The altar is intact.”

  She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross, then climbed the three stairs to touch the stubs of candles and wax stuck to the stone altar, the crucifix that still hung there.

  “This place has an energy to it,” she said more quietly, not quite looking at me. “Do you know when it was last used?”

  “When my mother was alive.”

  “Oh.”

  She walked around to where a confessional stood, the wood rotting.

  “It’s almost as though incense clings to the space like it was burned yesterday.”

  She peeled what was left of the old, dusty curtain back to look into the confessional, then turned to me.

  “Do you feel it, that energy?”

  I had my hands in my pockets and shook my head. There was a time I had. But that was past. “Not anymore.” She looked at me like she felt sorry for me. “We should go.”

  “If you let the past go, maybe it will let you go.”

  Her words startled me, momentarily rendering me mute. Her gaze held me, and for an instant, I felt envious of the hope that flashed inside those innocent eyes.

  But then reality reminded me why she was here. “Who says I want to let it go?”

  Sofia looked physically deflated. I gestured to the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Will you repair it? The chapel?”

  “No.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Are you asking my permission now?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I am.”

  “I can’t promise I’ll answer, but you’re free to ask.”

  “What kind of things do you think my grandfather is involved in? On the plane, you said ‘for one thing.’ That means there’s more.”

  “Does that mean you believe me?”

  “You have to understand how hard it is to grasp. He took Lina and me in, he paid—”

  “He’s living off your inheritances. You’re paying for it all.”

  She bowed her head, shaking it once. I dropped it. It would take her time to accept this. I could give her that. Hell, time was all we had.

  “Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to. Believe it or not, it’s not you I want to hurt.”

  “I’m collateral damage. I know.”

  “Let’s go.”

  This time, she came without resistance. We drove in silence until I pulled through the gates of a neighboring farm. “Come on” I said, switching off the engine and watching about six children huddled in old man Lambertini’s shed. His dog had recently had pups.

  “Where are we?”

  “This is the Lambertini farm. They’re the ones who rent the land for their cows. I have some business with Lambertini. You’ll have to wait for me.”

  Lambertini stood, wiping his hands on a towel, his pipe hanging from his mouth, the smile wide on his weather-worn skin as he came toward us and held out his hand to shake mine.

  “Raphael.”

  He pulled me to him, hugging me with a pat on the back.

  “Good to see you home,” he said in Italian.

  “It’s good to be home, Mr. Lambertini.”

  He turned to Sofia and held out his hand.

  “This is Sofia, my fiancée.”

  Sofia smiled and said hello when he took both of her hands in one of his.

  “Are those puppies?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you go see them while I have my meeting,” I told her.

  She nodded and went. I followed Lambertini inside, where we discussed the business of the farms before his face grew serious. He told me there had been men there a few weeks back. I guessed it was Moriarty’s men, looking for me now that I was back. He didn’t know who they were, but from the look on his face, they weren’t overly friendly, which only confirmed my suspicion.

  “I’ll take care of it,” was all I said. My father had enemies, which meant I had enemies. If he owed money, and I was pretty sure he did, they’d come after me to pay his debts.

  We walked back outside, and I found Sofia trying her Italian with the kids, one of the pups in her lap.

  “Take it,” the old man said, gesturing, smiling.

  She glanced at me.

  “He’s telling you you can have one.”

  “What?”

  She looked from him to the pup to me. She didn’t want to ask permission from me. I could see the pride in her eyes.

  “I had a puppy once,” she said instead, petting the little thing.

  I didn’t say anything. She turned her big caramel eyes to mine.

  “Can I?” She bit her lip.

  I nodded. I could do this o
ne thing for her. Hell, it wasn’t much.

  “Really?”

  Her eyes sparkled, and she gave me the biggest smile I’d seen yet.

  “Are you sure?” she asked Lambertini.

  He nodded.

  “Thank you so much. Thank you!”

  “We have to go,” I said, heading to the truck.

  She stopped me, coming right up to me. “Thank you.”

  Flustered, I looked at her for a minute, then nodded, feeling uncomfortable. Awkward, even. It was just a dog. No big deal.

  “Just keep the thing under control,” I said, stepping around her to open the passenger door.

  “I will.”

  She climbed in, her attention fully on the puppy. She waved good-bye as we drove out.

  “Lina and I had a brand-new puppy when our parents died. They’d just given him to us three weeks before they’d left. Grandfather wouldn’t let us bring him with us to the new house. It broke Lina’s heart to say good-bye. Mine too.”

  I kept my eyes on the road. We all had fucking sob stories.

  “Yeah, well, what can I say? Your grandfather’s a jerk.”

  She reached out to touch my shoulder, startling me. I looked at her.

  “Thank you, really.”

  “Don’t be so grateful yet. Nothing comes for nothing. I’ll think of some way for you to repay me later.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sofia

  When I’d woken up this morning with a headache and bad memories of what I may have said last night, I hadn’t expected to be smiling from ear-to-ear later that same day. But here I was, carrying my brand-new puppy into the house. I decided to name him Charlie.

  Raphael surprised me. Even if he did end on that cryptic “I’ll think of some way for you to repay me later.” The memory of it made me shiver.

  Last night, the whiskey had hit me hard. For one thing, I was an inexperienced drinker, to say the least, and for another, I was jet lagged and exhausted. I remembered almost everything but hoped I’d dreamed parts of it, especially the last part when I’d told him he smelled good, and worky—what kind of word was worky—oh, and like a man. God. How embarrassing. And if that wasn’t enough, I also clearly remembered telling him I was a virgin.