CHAPTER FIVE
I slinked inside the kitchen door of my house, hoping to avoid any witnesses and bolt up the service stairs to my bedroom. I slammed the back door shut behind me, and pressed one of my hands to my still tingling lips. I held back a giggle. I couldn’t believe he kissed me, like really kissed me. Other than his apology at the end, the moment couldn’t have been more mind-blowing.
“You like him, don’t you?”
My arm dropped to my side. Letizia DiMartino stood in front of the white farm sink, staring out the window. Most people called her Lettie. She’d married one of my dad’s capos, Pietro, five years ago. I went to the wedding, and I remembered thinking she looked so somber even when she smiled.
After cutting the cake, I found her crying in the bathroom, and she confessed that she didn’t want to marry Pietro. When I asked her why she did it, she shrugged and said she didn’t have a choice. I told her I’d run away before I married an old man. She said I was braver than her. For some reason, that moment stuck in my psyche as an omen of what would happen if I didn’t escape this life before my father succeeded in marrying me off to some stranger.
Over the years she always made a point to talk to me. She was ten years older than me, so we were in completely different places in our lives, albeit that didn’t prevent us from becoming unlikely confidants. We bonded over our shared misery. She desperately wanted out of her marriage, and I wanted to make a new life in another place where I didn’t have to worry about being a Trassato. While I wouldn’t call us best friends, my father gave me some freedom to hang around her because of her connection to Pietro and the Family.
“Who?”
A sly grin came over her face. “Sal. Who else would I be talking about?”
“Oh.” I traced the crevice in the herringbone set hardwood with the toe of my black ballet flats. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”
“Yeah. You didn’t know he lived with us a while back?”
“No. You never said anything.”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. Pietro moved Sal’s family into our guesthouse after his dad died. I think he wanted to make sure they landed on their feet.”
“They still live there?”
“No. Once Sal graduated from high school, Angelo took him under his wing, and they moved out shortly after that. I heard Sal rented a little apartment for his mom and brother.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sunk, and I bit my lower lip. “So you know him well then.”
Something resembling jealousy flared in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like the idea of Sal being friends with Lettie. She was older, sophisticated, and in my opinion much prettier than me. Not a piece of her long shiny hair dared to fall out of place. Her makeup invariably hit the right note between not enough and way too much. She had one of those smiles that lit up a room. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about it.
“Somewhat. Although I don’t think anyone knows Sal all that well. We hung out on occasion, but he spent most of the time doing whatever it took to get into Pietro’s good graces.”
“Yeah, um, I guess that makes sense.”
“So what’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing really. He had a meeting with my father, and we talked in passing. We’ve run into each other a couple of times since then, and he’s nice. You could say we’re friends.”
“It looked like more than that to me.”
That comment answered the question lingering in my mind about whether she had seen us kissing. Flames rolled up my face, and I caught her eye before quickly looking away. As much as I wanted to trust Lettie, she was kind of a wildcard, and I couldn’t risk anything getting back to my father. Without exception, he shut down any interaction with the opposite sex if they weren’t related to me.
“Trust me. It wasn’t a big deal. I don’t expect anything to come out of it. You know how my dad is. He keeps me under lock and key most of the time except for those dumb piano lessons and family social events.”
She arched an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
“Even if I wanted something to happen between Sal and me, and I don’t, it would be impossible. Knowing my dad, he’s probably going to force me to marry some connected asshole in Chicago or maybe the Mickey Mouse Mafia in LA if I’m lucky. I’d love to get far away from this place.”
I laughed off my statement despite the fact it was so close to the truth, my stomach literally rolled with nausea. While the great Dominick Trassato hadn’t come right out and told me of his intentions, I overheard enough to know he had been negotiating my marriage to Master Marcello, whoever the hell that was, since before my mom died. My father could plot and plan until his face turned blue though, because I’d never marry someone beholden to him.