Mafia Captive (10 page)

If Angelo thought Leo would take the side of a woman—especially a woman he’d just met—over his own flesh and blood, things could get ugly and stay that way for a long time. All he wanted was peace between his family members.

Faith clung to him as he led her through the house, avoiding the areas people had congregated. He took her back to her room and sat her on the bed. She was quieter than usual, her gaze downcast as tears slid down her cheeks.

He didn’t know if it was the humiliation and fear or the physical pain that made her cry, but her broken sobs simultaneously awakened his protective urges and his urge to dominate her.

It took all his self control not to force her to her knees and empty himself inside her mouth. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he abused her like that when he was the only sense of safety she had. Still, the fantasy spiraled through his mind.

Leo left her alone on the bed and went to the bathroom for the first aid kit, then he searched through the drawers and closets for her makeup bag. He ran a washcloth under cool water, then brought everything back and sat next to her. She tensed. So she was back to being afraid of him—not just his brother.

“Turn your face toward the light so I can see where he hit you.”

It might not bruise, but it was obvious she’d been hit. He wished he didn’t know so much about covering the marks of abuse, but he’d helped his sister cover marks more times than he could count.

In his family’s line of work where so much violence was commonplace, it was hard for some to separate the brutality they delivered to others from their own family—those they were supposed to love, protect, and care for.

Leo had left far worse marks than this on women, but never their face, and never out of anger. He was controlled. Was controlled violence any better? It was something he didn’t like to think about. If it was consensual, wasn’t it less evil? The Church didn’t make such distinctions, and Faith certainly hadn’t asked for Angelo’s hand to come sailing across her cheek.

He wondered if the violence he’d been raised in was the root of his sadism. The adults had tried to keep him protected when he was young, but he’d seen evidence of things, things that something in his psyche must have taken apart and put back together like a sordid Rubik’s cube, reshaping and refashioning it until all the pieces were in order again.

Leo wiped her tears, but they kept coming in a steady stream. “I need you to stop crying.”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

He brushed the hair out of her face with his fingers. “I know you are. But I need you to try harder.” He kept his voice soft so he wouldn’t spook her. “I won’t leave you alone with any of them again. Especially not after what happened in the kitchen.”

While she tried to gain control of herself, Leo tended to her hand. The piece of glass that had cut her had been large enough not to leave any pieces embedded. It was a clean cut and not too deep. He cleaned her hand with an antiseptic and then dried it with sterile gauze. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, so he pressed the gauze against her hand for a few more minutes.

“I’m going to use a liquid bandage instead of this. It won’t be as noticeable and won’t draw attention.”

Faith nodded and watched as he brushed the liquid bandage over the cut. The moment he’d finished, she jerked her hand away and hissed.

Leo, grabbed her wrist and blew on the cut. “Shhh. It stings at first. It’ll be fine in a second. You can handle it.”

After a minute or so, she settled down. He went to the intercom box beside her bed and pressed the button. Demetri answered.

“Miss Jacobson?”

“It’s me, Demetri. Let us know when dinner is ready. We’ll be here.”

“Of course, sir.”

What he loved the most about Demetri was that he didn’t ask questions. Of all the household staff, he was the one person who hadn’t questioned what Leo would do with Faith once he got her there. He either didn’t care, or recognized more than most that it wasn’t his place to ask anything at all. His job was to see to it that the house ran smoothly and manage those who cooked and cleaned for the master of the house.

Leo locked the bedroom door. It would be better if no one disturbed them. And while he thought most of the adults would avoid a closed door, with so many kids in the house, there was no telling where they would bust in playing hide-and-seek or being nosy and exploring.

“Lie back on the bed.”

Faith’s eyes widened and her lip started to tremble. “P-please, you said you wouldn’t…”

His brows drew together in confusion. Then he realized… the locked door. “I’m not going to touch you in any inappropriate way. I don’t want kids coming in here and asking what’s going on and taking the story back to the adults.”

She looked wary, but seeing she didn’t have any options, and probably not wanting to anger him, she scooted her body up the bed and lay against the pillows.

Leo went to the bathroom to run cool water on the washcloth again. He draped it over her face when he returned. “Relax.” He sat on the bed beside her and held her hand, stroking her skin with his thumb.

“I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let anyone here hurt you. I won’t leave you alone again.” He stopped short of apologizing. An apology was weakness, and it was something he’d never been good at. At least not in the standard way. His apologies came through action. In time, she would understand that.

Chapter Eight

The washcloth was soothing and cool against Faith’s heated flesh. It blocked out the world and gave her a place to hide. And in that place she was able to calm down.

Leo’s thumb skimming over the back of her hand made her feel strangely safe. In spite of the kinds of things she knew he enjoyed doing to a woman, and in spite of his family, when he touched her like this, she couldn’t help feeling like everything would be okay.

His voice penetrated the bubble she’d put around herself. “Do you think you can sit up now and let me fix your face?”

He released her when she pulled her hand out of his and pushed herself against the headboard. Reluctantly she pulled the washcloth away. Leo patted her face dry with another piece of gauze. He must have bought stock in a first aid kit manufacturer. Both his home and Angelo’s were like a triage unit.

He didn’t speak as he laid out the items of her makeup bag. She had several concealers and foundations, but she didn’t think he’d know what any of them were for—or why one would have a yellow concealer and a greenish-tinged concealer to begin with. Her experience with men—at least straight men—suggested the contents of a woman’s makeup bag was an arcane mystery impossible for anyone without female genitalia to unravel.

She was about to ask if she could try to cover it herself when he began opening jars and tubes and canisters, whipped out a small makeup brush, and went to work. He’d done this before.

Had he hit other women in the face like Angelo had? Was that why he hadn’t reacted in the kitchen? Was this so commonplace and okay to him that covering his tracks had become second nature?

He’d said he would keep her safe, but he’d meant from others. Would he hit her like this if she made him angry? How else could he be so self-assured about which makeup to use and how? It took everything inside her not to start crying again, but she kept control. If her endless blubbering messed up his work, she might have to find out why he was such an expert at this.

After a few minutes, he closed the tubes and canisters and handed her a compact. “What do you think?”

Faith took the small mirror and turned her face this way and that. The evidence was gone. She nodded, not trusting her voice as a single renegade tear started its way down her face.

He quickly brushed it away with his thumb before the wet trail could undo his work. “Look at me.”

His voice was stern and brooked no argument. Faith’s eyes rose to his. She felt a flood of warmth at the unexpected kindness in his expression.

“No one is going to touch you. No one is going to hurt you. I will not leave your side again. I didn’t anticipate Angelo’s behavior, but I should have known he’d suspect you and I weren’t carrying on the relationship he intended.” Leo pulled her into his arms.

Everything inside her broke into a million pieces; God help her, but a tiny part of her was falling for him. She wanted so desperately for the ruse they were playing on his family to be real, for the story to be true. She wanted to be someone he loved; she wanted this tenderness to be honest.

Leo nudged her off him and reached back to undo the clasp of the gold St. Christopher medal he wore under his shirt. He put the jewelry around her neck. “My ma’s favorite saint. It’ll give you an in with her.”

The medal was warm from his skin, like something magic and alive. It felt like a talisman that could protect her from anything and everything.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Raspallo?”

“Yes, Demetri?”

“Dinner is ready.”

“Thank you. We’ll be right down.”

Faith took a deep, shuddering breath as he helped her to her feet. Whether it was wise or not, she
did
trust him to keep her safe from his brother and anyone else who might pose a threat. When he offered his hand, she took it and followed him downstairs to where the family gathered.

The dining room was large and filled with voices speaking part English and part Italian. If she had to name it, she’d call it Italish. True to his word, a buffet table was set up filled with seafood and pastas and sauces. Another table overflowed with cookies and cakes and fruits and nuts. And of course there was wine. Bottles and bottles of it along with alternatives for the kids.

“It looks like
agita
tonight,” Uncle Bernie said, patting his overlarge stomach as he looked at the buffet table with something close to lust.

Faith clung closer to Leo, too overwhelmed by so many people crammed into one room.

“Who brought the
zuppa di pesce
? It looks amazing,” one of the men asked.

“Gemma did,” answered another voice.

“It’s a new recipe. I hope it’s okay,” a voice answered from the back of the room.

“Gemma, I didn’t know you’d arrived,” Leo said, turning toward the dark-haired beauty. His voice had gone softer, kinder—as if he were trying to settle a spooked horse or a stray dog that had been abused and kept in a cage.

The room grew chilly as the woman looked away. A few guests closest to her stiffened as well. It was as if a behavioral contagion had been let loose on the room.

“This is my fiancée, Faith. Faith, this is my sister, Gemma,” Leo said, as if nothing was wrong. His tone, his posture and body language… none of it revealed what might be going through his mind or whether he noticed the change in the atmosphere.

“Hi,” Gemma said shortly, not making eye contact either with her brother or with Faith.

Faith didn’t have time to puzzle over the coldness of the sister because an older man was giving her the once over. Not in a lecherous way—more sizing her up like she was a prize heifer at the state fair.

“The babies will be good drinkers,” he said after a beat. Then he looked to Leo. “You had to go Irish on us? I didn’t mind when you were just dating them, but marrying one? For God’s sake…”

“Uncle Sal,” Leo said. It sounded like a warning, but there was no bite behind it. Nothing like the encounter with Angelo earlier. “She’s Catholic. Let that be enough.”

The old man shrugged. “We’ll see. I just hope those babies have your strong Italian looks.”

Faith was sure she winced visibly at that and equally sure Leo’s uncle believed it was about her heritage. No one could suspect the real source of her angst. Would she truly be expected to be Leo’s baby factory? He’d promised he’d never make her do any of that, but what would he tell his family when no babies came? Would they pity her or be angry she’d taken something away from them which they felt entitled to? When no children came, would they then hold her racial background against her?

“At least she’ll
have
babies,” Gina said. “You’ll need to get started on that soon, Leo. At forty-one, you aren’t getting any younger. Thank God, you didn’t join the priesthood, or there would be no one to carry on the family name.” She pinned Angelo with a glare and crossed herself. Whether this was to put a point on her thanks, a prayer against her other son’s homosexual nature, or guilt for disparaging the priesthood, Faith couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was a melting pot of all three.

Faith tried to hide her shock at the revelation. Leo’s priestly ambitions hadn’t been on the questionnaire. She knew he was religious. She’d asked one of the household servants where he’d gone one Sunday, and the answer had been “Mass, of course”, as if it were ludicrous for her to ask what the man might be doing on a Sunday morning. But the priesthood? Never would she have guessed he’d once had such saintly ambitions. It made her feel safer—even if she knew that was ridiculous.

A man’s goodness or badness could not be measured by whether or not he was a member of the clergy. Scandal after scandal in the news had proven that. Nevertheless—like many people—she couldn’t resist the desire to trust those who were closely entwined with the Church.

Angelo and Davide sat at the far end of the table trying not to look like black sheep and sinners. No, they would never have grandchildren for Gina. And Leo’s mom would hate Faith when she realized Leo may as well have followed his original plan.

What else didn’t she know about him? As she glanced around the table, she wondered if everyone knew the family business or if the women were kept out of it. Did all the men know or only some of them? Not every man at the table looked like a thug, but some fit the stereotype to a T. Were they all involved in crime, or had some opted out like Leo? What was with the iciness between Leo and his sister, and why had Leo almost become a priest? More importantly, what had motivated him to abandon his calling?

Faith wondered if Sal was the boss, or if Angelo was. Angelo had seemed pretty powerful to her when he’d kept her at his house, as if he were the one who gave all the orders for how the mob universe should run. But something about the power that emanated off Sal told her different. But then, what about Leo’s grandfather, Carmine? He was old, certainly, but he could still be the boss. He clung to the back of the room like a fading cologne, observing everything in silence. Maybe he was the one to be afraid of.