God Of Vengeance (Kings Of Mafia)

It took me the whole day to get settled in the suite, and when I walk into the dining room for dinner, Mrs. Falco and Mrs. Accardi are already seated at the table.

“Where have you been hiding today?” Mrs. Accardi asks.

“I’ve been unpacking everything.” I take a seat at the table and give Gerardo a tentative smile when he also joins us.

Martha brings out the food, and when she places a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of me, I whisper, “Thank you.”

“I looked for you in your room and left the Wifi password on your bedside table,” Gerardo informs me.

“Thank you.”

Good, now I’ll be able to check my social media pages.NôvelDrama.Org content rights.

Crap, I’ll need an address for any promotional merchandise I get sent.

I glance at Gerardo, then push through and ask, “Which address can I use to receive packages?”

A frown forms on his forehead, and stabbing a meatball, he asks, “What kind of packages?”

“Sometimes I receive makeup and skincare products to promote on my social media pages.”

He thinks for a moment, then says, “I’ll arrange for a postbox where the stuff can be sent. Don’t ever give out the mansion’s address.”

That won’t happen, because I have no idea where the mansion is.

“Okay.” I nod quickly, then add, “Thank you.”

Mrs. Accardi cuts Mrs. Falco’s meatballs into smaller pieces before focusing on her own plate.

I twirl some spaghetti onto my fork and take a bite. While I chew, I glance at my dinner companions, thinking things seem much calmer here than at my parents’ house.

We never ate dinner as a family.

There were days I didn’t eat at all.

My hand stills as my thoughts slip away to the times when my mother would lock me in my room for disobeying her.

Once, she forgot about me for four days. Luckily, I was able to get water from the bathroom.

“Is there something wrong with the food, cara?” Mrs. Accardi asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I quickly shake my head and force a smile to my face. “Not at all. It’s delicious.”

I continue eating, forcing the depressing thoughts to the back of my mind.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

I constantly repeat the words to remind myself to remain strong no matter what life throws my way. I won’t let anything break me.

“Can you cook, Gabriella?” Mrs. Falco asks.

“Yes. I was taught all the skills I’d need to make a good wife,” I answer.

She stares in my direction. “What would those skills entail?”

“Cooking. Needle work. Cleaning. How to handle myself in social settings.” I hesitate for a moment before I continue, hating the words as they spill over my lips, “How to be obedient to my husband.”

A frown forms between Mrs. Falco’s eyebrows, then she shakes her head before taking a bite of her food.

Did I say something wrong?

“What can you cook?” Mrs. Accardi asks.

“Mostly, Sicilian food.”

“Do you have a favorite dish?” she asks before taking a bite of her spaghetti.

“Coda alla vaccinara,” I murmur. “I love oxtail.”

I once added too many vegetables and got hit over my knuckles with a wooden spoon until my skin turned blue.

My head jerks as I shove the memory away. Lifting my chin higher, I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

“You should make it for us one day,” Mrs. Falco says. “I can’t remember when last I had coda alla vaccinara.”

With a polite smile on my face, I reply, “I’d love to.”

Once we’re all finished with our meals, and Gerardo leaves with Mrs. Accardi and Mrs. Falco, I stay behind to gather all the plates and utensils.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Martha says, rushing toward me.

“I kept you busy all day long. It’s the least I can do.”

She takes the dishes from me and shakes her head. “You’re a guest, ma’am. Mr. Falco would be very upset if he heard about this.”

Not wanting to get the housekeeper in trouble, I nod before leaving the dining room.

When I walk up the hallway toward Mrs. Falco’s sitting room, I hear Gerardo ask, “Are you going to read one of those romance books again?”

“Yes, so you better make a run for it,” Mrs. Accardi warns, her words followed by a chuckle.

Gerardo comes out of the sitting room and nods at me before he walks away.

Romance books?

“Let’s see. Where were we?” I hear Mrs. Accardi say.

Mrs. Falco replies, “Beau was on his way to tell Daisy he loved her.”

I stop right outside the door and listen as Mrs. Accardi reads, “I bring my truck to a screeching stop outside Daisy’s house, and jumping out, I run up the path to the front door. I knock, impatient for her to open.”

Mrs. Accardi pauses, then murmurs, “Oh, my heart.”

“What?” Mrs. Falco asks. “Don’t stop reading now!”

A smile curves my lips, and I lean my shoulder against the wall.

“When Daisy opens the front door, my hand flies up, and I grip her behind the neck. Yanking her toward me, my eyes lock with her startled gaze. ‘I love you, Daisy Adams. I’ve always loved you. Stay in Paradise with me. This is where you belong.’ I hold my breath while I wait for her to say something.”

“Aww,” Mrs. Falco coos. “Finally.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Accardi mutters.

Mrs. Falco gasps, “On no what?”

“Daisy pulls away from me, shaking her head. ‘No. You had years to tell me how you felt. Waiting until I’m leaving isn’t fair.’ My heart cracks down the middle when I see the anger in her beautiful gaze.”

“No, Daisy,” Mrs. Falco whispers, totally caught up in the story.

“Taking a step back, I shake my head. ‘Don’t do this to us, Daisy.’”

Mrs. Accardi pauses for a moment, and when she continues, emotion fills her voice.

“Her chin starts to tremble, then she says, ‘You did this to us.’ When she shuts the door, intense heartache bleeds through my soul.”

I hear a soft sob, and peeking into the sitting room, I see Mrs. Accardi and Mrs. Falco sniffling because of the sad scene.

Mrs. Accardi spots me and smiles through her tears. “Come join us, Gabriella.”

I quickly shake my head. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, hush. Come take a seat.”

Stepping into the sitting room, I walk to one of the armchairs and take a seat.

“We love reading for an hour after dinner,” Mrs. Accardi explains. “Afterward, we watch an episode of a TV show. You’re welcome to join us at any time.”

“Thank you.”

“This book is too sad, and we’re already three-quarters through it. Let’s start a new one so Gabriella’s not lost,” Mrs. Falco says.

Mrs. Accardi stands up and walks to the bookshelf. While she’s perusing the books, she asks, “What do you feel like reading?” She glances at me. “Do you have a favorite genre?”

I shake my head. “Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to read romance books. I’m good with whatever you choose.”

“Caro Dio. I would die without my books,” Mrs. Accardi mutters. “What else weren’t you allowed to do?”

Crap.

“Ahhh…” I hesitate, but not being one to lie, I answer honestly, “My parents were very controlling. Especially my mother. She decided everything for me.” I let out an awkward-sounding chuckle. “When I started making money from my social media pages, I bought my own clothes. It made her angry.”

“Why?” Mrs. Accardi gasps. “I think your outfits are stylish.”

“They preferred I wear modest clothes.”

Mrs. Accardi grabs a book, and when she comes to take a seat, Mrs. Falco says, “It sounds like you didn’t have a happy childhood. I’m beginning to understand why you didn’t want to call your family to let them know you arrived safely.”

“I don’t come from a loving home,” I admit.

My eyes drift over her beautiful face, and for a moment, I wonder whether she’s always been blind.

Clearing my throat, I add, “I just want you to know I’m enjoying my stay here.”

“That makes me happy,” Mrs. Falco murmurs before lifting an eyebrow in Mrs. Accardi’s direction. “Which book have you chosen? Read us the blurb.”

Mrs. Accardi’s mouth curves into a smile, then suddenly, she holds the book out to me. “I’ve been reading for years. It would be nice just to listen.”

“Oh.” Taking the book from her, nerves begin to spin in my stomach as my eyes dart over the words on the back cover.

I clear my throat, and lifting my chin, I begin to read, “Readers should brace themselves for an epic tale of love and found family. Caution: This erotic bestseller should be read with the AC on.”

Erotic?

Feeling hesitant, I start with chapter one but soon get lost in the story.

When I reach chapter two, laughter bursts from me. “Uhm, so there are curse words in this book. Do I read them?”

Mrs. Accardi chuckles before answering, “You read every word, cara. Don’t leave out anything, or it will take away from the story.”

My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and as I continue reading, my eyes grow wide as saucers. “Staring at Josephine’s curvacious … ahhh,” I glance at Mrs. Falco and Mrs. Accardi, who are both waiting with bated breath, “curvacious ass, I can already tell she’ll be a good … Dio.”

My eyes jump over the page, and with every filthy word, they grow wider. “Oh wow,” I whisper, then I read the part where the hero fantasizes about plunging into her wet core. “Holy crap.”

Mrs. Falco lets out a burst of laughter, then says, “Put the poor girl out of her misery, Greta. Choose something tamer for her to begin with.”

Mrs. Accardi chuckles as she retrieves another book from the shelf. “This one only has a three-chili pepper rating.”

“What’s a chili pepper rating?” I ask as I take the book from her.

“There are no more than four or five spicy scenes, and they aren’t too hot.”

Caro Dio.

I begin to read, and when I reach chapter three, and there is only a curse word here and there, I relax. The plot gets better and better, and I keep reading.

When I reach a scene where the main female character is betrayed by her best friend, I mutter, “What an awful friend.”

“I think we should have some tea. You must be thirsty from all the reading,” Mrs. Falco says.

“I’ll prepare the tea,” I offer as I set the book down on a side table.

When I get up from the armchair, Mrs. Accardi waves a hand in the air.

“We’ll join you in the kitchen. I want to see if there are any of those chocolate cookies left that Martha baked.”

I wait for Mrs. Falco and Mrs. Accardi to walk and follow them to the kitchen.

After I pour water into a kettle, I search through the cupboards until I find the teacups.

“Found them,” Mrs. Accardi exclaims, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see her place a cookie in Mrs. Falco’s hand then she comes to offer me one.

“Thank you,” I murmur before taking a bite.

While I chew, I prepare chamomile tea.

I glance at Mrs. Falco and Mrs. Accardi, then think about the short time I’ve spent here.

So far, my stay has been enjoyable. It’s a million times better than being at home with my family.

I hope I get to visit for a while before Damiano follows through on whatever plan he has for me.