The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 2

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The Guzzi Legacy: Vol 2 Page 46

by Bethany-Kris

“You okay?”

  Bene met his twin’s gaze. Behind them, the conversation between their other three brothers continued like they couldn’t hear the two of them. Given how low Beni asked the question, the rest probably didn’t hear their conversation.

  He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I know when you’re lying.”

  “You could leave it alone, too.”

  Beni lifted one shoulder. “I mean, I could ... but that’s not really what I do, and definitely not where you’re concerned.”

  Not a lie.

  The bigger problem for Bene was that the things running through his mind wouldn’t spell out anything good to his brothers, or the rest of their family. The fact he felt anything at all for Vanna, or that a part of him wanted to keep digging until he figured out what was wrong here, would only cause a major issue with his brothers.

  She fucked them over.

  Messed with their life.

  Hurt their parents.

  That should have spelled the end.

  Completely done.

  And yet ...

  “I don’t know if everything with this, and her, is as simple as it seems,” Bene murmured, “but if I said that to Marcus, or—”

  “Yeah, that won’t go over well. He’d kill her first, and not even bother to ask questions later.”

  Exactly.

  “It won’t get out of my head, though.”

  “Or is it her?”

  Bene let out a hard breath. “Both, maybe.”

  “Do you think she—”

  “Wanted to hurt us, yes. Got in over her head. But it’s something else, too ... something more, Beni, and I don’t know how to let it go.”

  “Maybe,” his brother drawled lowly, “you don’t let it go.”

  The two of them stared at one another until Bene put his attention on his reflection in the window. “Then, Marcus would kill me.”

  “Only if he finds out you’re looking into shit, though.”

  Good point.

  18.

  “The red lace set certainly has an extra—”

  “White. It needs to be the white one.”

  The seamstress who had been called to Mario’s home to do a fitting for Vanna’s wedding dress and brought along a half a dozen sets of lingerie for her to pick through to wear under the gown, met her gaze in the mirror. It was as though she was waiting to hear Vanna’s opinion on the items she wanted to wear for her wedding day, but it wouldn’t work like that.

  “Why not pick something a little different for under the dress? Like a ... surprise,” the seamstress suggested. “That’s what most women do.”

  “Vanna isn’t most women, and she will be my wife, and since I will be the only man who gets to see what she’s wearing under her dress, shouldn’t I get the choice of what I want to remove from her body the night of our wedding?”

  “Mario,” Vanna muttered.

  Not that her warning would do any good.

  It was clear the woman helping Vanna try on the items wasn’t comfortable. And to be fair, this wasn’t the first set of comments—lewd, or otherwise—that Mario made while she was having her fitting. Undoubtedly the most unprofessional fitting the seamstress ever had to do, and Vanna felt bad for her because of it, too.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “The dress is white, Mario.”

  “I know, I’ve seen it.”

  Of course.

  Because she couldn’t even pick her wedding dress alone. Mario had to be there to do that, as well. Lest she pick out something that might make him look bad in front of the parish, and priest because apparently she didn’t know how to act.

  All of it ... entirely ridiculous.

  Vanna knew better than to cause an issue over it, though.

  “Although ...” Mario said, tipping his head sideways, his reflection in the large mirror showing off the action from where he stood in the bedroom doorway. Even her fittings weren’t private, and since he kept such a strong hold of control over her now, it had to be done in his home because he didn’t trust her to do it outside of his view. “That red set does very nice things for your ass, Van.”

  The girl—Courtney, was her name—cleared her throat. Otherwise, she said nothing even as Vanna stared hard at Mario in the mirror, clearly unimpressed with his behavior, and not trying to hide it at all. Not that it mattered.

  She hadn’t been hiding anything, lately.

  She was unhappy.

  He would be, too.

  Vanna made him a promise, after all.

  “Pick the white,” Mario demanded.

  “Fine.”

  He chuckled, taking a few steps into the room to come and stand alongside the bed. Fingering the sexy lace items on the bed, Vanna felt her stomach start to twist and turn at the sight. The heavy realization that she would be wearing those things for him coming to rest on her chest like a weight that just refused to be moved.

  God.

  She could barely breathe.

  In a month—just thirty days from today—she would be married to Mario, and his to do with what he wanted. Including ripping all this lace from her body to use it as he wanted, and she wouldn’t get a say.

  For a while, she had done well to ignore it, but now as the wedding drew closer with every passing day, she could no longer pretend like this wasn’t happening. As if this wasn’t her reality, and her new life wasn’t waiting right around the corner.

  Mario picked up another item from the bed, holding it high and grinning salaciously at her from the end of the bed when he said, “White for the wedding night, but we’ll be taking the rest of these sets to enjoy, as well.”

  He hid nothing.

  Not his intentions.

  His disgustingness.

  Or anything else.

  Courtney gave Vanna a smile—awkward as it was—and picked up one of the garment bags from the bed. “I will let you try on the last one alone, so I can go grab the dress from the back of my car, and we’ll get on with the fitting. Okay?”

  Really, she could tell what the woman wanted because it was written clearly all over her face. She needed to get the hell out of that room, and away from Mario. The same exact thing that Vanna wanted, but was unable to achieve, now.

  For the rest of my life.

  She didn’t fault the woman.

  No.

  Simply envied her freedom.

  “No problem.”

  Courtney wasn’t gone from the room for more than a few seconds before Mario took another step toward Vanna. Even if she couldn’t see his goddamn figure in the mirror, she could still feel his presence. Oh, she was still able to sleep in the bed adjacent to his bedroom. He had yet to force her into anything, but it was coming. Every day, his control snapped a little more, and he crossed yet another line.

  How would it be on the wedding night?

  That terrified her.

  Even if she wouldn’t admit it.

  Mario came to stand directly behind her, his thumb skimming across the back of her neck as he admired the sight of her in the red lace. “Look at you, huh?”

  She shivered.

  Not from lust, though.

  The disgust was strong.

  “Could you not?”

  His hand landed to the side of her neck at that response, flexing tightly enough to take Vanna’s breath away, but not quite hard enough to hurt. After all, he left that for places where his marks and bruises wouldn’t be seen by others. They were getting married in a month and had dinner after dinner to attend leading up to it which meant dresses, and blouses that would show off the column of her neck.

  Makeup could only do so much.

  “That mouth of yours ...”

  “What about it?”

  She was done playing games.

  Done playing along.

  If he was going to hurt her, force her into this life with him, and do whatever the fuck he wanted with her, then he was going to have to fight for every piece he took from her. She settled he
rself on that, and it wasn’t changing. She would give him nothing willingly.

  Not after everything.

  His fingers tightened again, almost hurting, as he leaned in close enough to murmur in her ear, “Don’t worry—your mouth will pay for every comment you make to me. You’ll only act like an ungrateful bitch for so long before you’ll either learn to like the pain, or straighten up. It’s your choice, Vanna, so choose wisely.”

  Fuck him.

  That time, she didn’t even bother to give him the decency of a response. However, if he wanted one, she couldn’t be sure because the ringing of his cell phone coming from his bedroom across the hall had him spinning away from her without hesitation. Vanna might have breathed a sigh in relief, but she knew it would only last so long.

  He would be back.

  They both lived here.

  This was her hell now.

  Not sure how long it would take Courtney to get back with the wedding dress, Vanna decided to step out of the bedroom she used to sleep in, and head down to the bathroom where she left her silk robe the night before. Then, at least if Mario came back before the seamstress, she would be slightly more covered from his view.

  Coming back down the hallway, Vanna heard quiet murmurs coming from Mario’s bedroom. Not unusual, if he was chatting on the phone. He’d even closed his door, or tried, but it looked as through it caught on the tip of a shoe. The man was a total mess in his private spaces, and she didn’t have the first clue how he could stand to be around it. Like a hurricane constantly went through his room, everything was everywhere.

  Shoes kicked off where they fell, clothes tossed anywhere they landed, and more. For someone who looked so put together on the outside, Mario was a mess otherwise. Or maybe it was that he was just a spoiled man who needed someone to follow him constantly and pick up his shit like his mother had done his entire life.

  The woman did come over to clean.

  Often.

  Although, his mother was quick to let Vanna know that once the two of them were married, it would be her responsibility to keep the house, and the man, in appropriate condition.

  Right.

  She kept it in mind.

  Not.

  Vanna stopped directly outside of Mario’s bedroom instead of turning right to enter her bedroom. Not because he was talking on the phone, he did that all the time, but because of the voice that spoke back to him.

  He thought he closed his door.

  And put his phone on speaker.

  The idiot.

  Constable Keefs—the detective Vanna had been feeding information on the Guzzis—spoke to Mario as if the two of them were familiar, and this wasn’t the first time they had a conversation with one another. She wanted to be surprised as she neared the crack in the door, and listened to them share a few words, but she couldn’t be.

  As Vanna had come to learn, Mario knew a lot.

  About her.

  The shit she did behind his back.

  Her life away from him.

  The man watched her more than she thought, and it only landed her in hot water. She was more interested in why Mario would do something insane like risk being attached to a cop, even if said cop was a fucking dirty bastard.

  His next comment to Keefs on the phone explained exactly why. “No, with the Guzzis distracted elsewhere, they can’t cover all their points of business, which is giving our clan ample time to creep in where they can’t be at the moment. And yes, you’ll certainly be reimbursed for your help here. I never thought she would take the bait like that, but Vanna has a way of surprising me whenever I think I have her figured out.”

  Oh.

  That was it, huh?

  Her meeting with Keefs wasn’t because he thought she would be the perfect informant for his purpose, but because Mario thought she would be the easy ploy to use to further his endgame? Just how long had he known what she was doing with Bene?

  The whole time, she bet.

  Asshole.

  Vanna had a good mind to enter his bedroom, and let him know she heard everything, but the smarter part of her brain had a better idea. Spinning on her heel, she headed for her bedroom as fast as she could go without making noise. A sense of victory spread in her heart at the item the seamstress had left sitting on the table next to the bed.

  Her phone.

  Vanna no longer had one of her own. Mario took it from her, and refused to give it back, citing the fact she could use it to call that Guzzi bastard as a reason. Like he couldn’t just check her history and go through everything if he wanted it. Really, she figured it was just another way for him to control her.

  Nonetheless, someone else’s phone would do the job, and she’d noticed that the seamstress didn’t seem to keep her device locked with anything more than a swipe on the home screen. Knowing how dangerous it was, and if she was caught ... well, she might not make it to her wedding, not that she cared, Vanna headed back across the hall with the phone in hand. She already had the text messages up, and a familiar phone number typed in to ready for sending. Putting the video on record, she stuck the phone into the crack of the door, letting it pick up any sounds of the conversation Mario was still having with the detective.

  Had she missed the good bits?

  The stuff that might help?

  Vanna didn’t know.

  But she had to try.

  A part of her heart had never given up hope that she could somehow fix this mess she made—that eventually, Bene would hear her apologies, and understand that she knew she had made a horrible mistake.

  This wasn’t the apology, but it might help him. It wouldn’t get her out of the marriage, but it very well might help his family somehow. And if it meant sacrificing herself, if he only used what she sent him to help his family and not her ... well, Vanna would understand.

  She wouldn’t blame him at all.

  The phone sent through the first recording, stopping at the max time it could record before it started recording again.

  “And you’re still good with the ten thousand a week transferred into the account?” Mario asked.

  Keefs was quick to respond with, “Well, if you’re doing better because of my work, then I’m not opposed to you paying me for advancement.”

  “Is that a demand, or—”

  “It’s whatever you want it to mean, Mario. I’m not sure how your father would feel about the fact you worked with a cop to get your clan further ahead in controlling Toronto, but if you think he’d like to sit down with me and have a chat about it, I am willing to do that.”

  “No need,” Mario muttered gruffly, “an extra ten percent on top of the pile, then?”

  “That’ll work.”

  “It’ll be in the next payment.”

  The phone automatically sent the next text message.

  Vanna couldn’t afford to record more, however. Downstairs, she heard the front door to the house close, letting her know the seamstress was done with her break—it was never about going to get the dress, she knew—and was now coming back.

  Not wanting to risk it, Vanna headed back to the bedroom, texting a simple, I’m sorry, Bene, and I hope this helps. Don’t respond, it’s not my phone. –V.

  Bene would know who it was. He could do with it what he wanted. She had done what she could. It took all of ten seconds for Vanna to go back and delete the text message thread so that the seamstress wouldn’t know someone used her phone.

  And by the time the seamstress was back in the bedroom, Vanna was already pulling down the straps of the red lace bra, readying to slip into the wedding dress that would surely feel more like a prison than it would a fairy tale.

  Not that she could focus on those thoughts—her heart couldn’t afford it, and she was not going to become that blubbering, weak woman who just gave in. That wasn’t her, and it wouldn’t be her simply because everything felt hopeless right now. Besides, she was already heartsick, it simply wasn’t over the man she would marry in a month.

  No, it was
over the one she couldn’t have.

  The one she hurt.

  The one she’d been meant to hate.

  Every single night ... Vanna cried for him. When no one could see, and no one would know, she broke down. She allowed herself to think of him, their short time together, and what might have been. He filled her thoughts all the time—day in and day out—but it was only at night, when she was truly alone, that she let herself be weak over it.

  In a way, it felt like a punishment.

  One she deserved, after everything.

  He probably hated her now.

  She deserved it.

  And no matter what, she would do everything to help Bene fix this mess she made. At the risk of her own life, she would do it.

  Today wouldn’t be the first time.

  Vanna settled on that.

  What else could she do?

  “All right,” Courtney said, tossing the wedding dress in its protective bag across the bed, “let’s get this on, and do a quick fitting. I suspect this will be the only one we’ll have to do, considering you’re quite trim, and haven’t changed in size since last month when you picked the dress.”

  She hadn’t picked it.

  Mario’s mother did.

  Vanna didn’t correct the woman.

  “Sure,” she said, turning away from the mirror.

  “And be quick about it,” came Mario’s order from the doorway. Vanna met his stare, and he raised an eyebrow right back at her. It didn’t seem like he was aware she knew his secret, or that she had been spying on him. “Because we have dinner at my parents with the rest of the clan in two hours, and I don’t want to be late.”

  If the clan would be there, then business was happening.

  Or talks of it.

  Vanna wondered ... what else she might be able to collect about the Detti Camorra? No doubt, a lot if she cared to try. She had focused on gathering damaging information on the Guzzi family, but tides changed all the time.

  Right?

  Vanna smiled at Mario. “Can’t wait.”

  19.

  “Unless something happens to Constable Keefs,” Marcus said, “seeing as he’s acting as the verifying witness to the information that was provided by the ... informant, and he’s the only one that can prove those documents came from your office seeing as how your name wasn’t actually on the contract for the farms well—”

 

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