Fight Me Little Pearl

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

VALENTINO

“ H ow do you always look so fucking good?” Roberto asks, walking into my study the following morning.

I finish knotting my tie and turn away from the window, where I was watching Francesca talk and laugh on the lawn with the other women. We’re all ready to head to Castillo Dimora, where Nonna Isadora, the matriarch of the family, lives. That’s where they’re throwing the party for Francesca and me.

“Don’t patronize me, Roberto,” I say, meeting his green gaze from across the desk. “I threatened to shoot your brother; I know you want to kill me. I’ll let you know that I do not regret it.”

The only reason I’m being reasonable with Roberto is because, aside from being family, I genuinely like the guy.

“You shouldn’t regret it either,” Roberto says, reaching for the glass of brandy I’d poured for myself. “If that were me, I would have killed him for talking about my woman that way.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I would have.”

Our gazes meet for a fleeting moment before we both laugh. He drinks from my brandy glass before handing it over. I finish the rest and slam the glass on the desk. “Whose great idea was it to throw this surprise party?”

“Nonna Isadora.”

“She must be finally losing it.”

“I’m going to tell her that,” he says sassily and walks towards the door.

“Do it, and you’ll be lying next to Matteo in his coffin.”

He laughs. “God, if they only knew what a softie you really are.”

“The Japanese sword looks like a work of art until your blood is dripping from its blade.”

“I have a Japanese sword. Wouldn’t be without one when the going gets tough,” he says and slides me a cryptic glance.

Then we walk up the hallway and out of the French doors. Everyone is dressed splendidly, but my pearl shines brighter than all. I cannot look away from her, even when the women stop talking and turn to watch my approach.

Francesca breaks off from the group and starts walking towards me, a deliberately blank expression on her face. I smile inwardly. She wasn’t looking like this when I ate her out last night.

“Hey.” She stops in front of me, gazing up into my face. “They’re all watching, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” I nod. “They would expect us to kiss.”

Her eyes widen as I lean down to kiss her lips. It is just a fleeting brush of flesh against flesh, but when I straighten, her cheeks are bright pink. I married a virgin. In this day and age, a twenty-year-old virgin is rarer than a hen’s tooth. Her innocence intrigues and delights me. She will have far more fun when she fully gives in to me. I hope she knows that.

“Get a room,” Serena teases.

“Nonna Isadora’s housekeeper just called. We’re late,” one of my cousins says as he puts his phone away.

“Where is your watch?” I ask Francesca.

“I’ve put it back in the box. I’m sending it back.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I don’t need or want it. Who wears watches these days anyway? Actually, I’m sending it all back. Everything I bought.”

I stare at her. Is my money not good enough for her? “Why?”

She drops her gaze and chews at her bottom lip, making her look utterly adorable. “Because I bought them for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t want them. I was angry and I wanted to punish you.”

“I see.”

I lead Francesca to my Audi amongst the fleet of shiny new vehicles. Vance and Dutch are already in the front seat, and I settle her in the back before climbing in after her. I notice that she doesn’t scoot to the other end of the seat as she has done ever since we got married, and I can’t stop the big smile that grows on my face.

“Since we’ll be spending the day with your family will we have to kiss all day?” she asks as the car pulls out of the driveway.

I hit the button in front of me, and the partition slides up, giving us privacy. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my lap. She struggles weakly.

“Let me go.”

“Sit still.”

She stills, and the instant obedience makes me rock hard in my pants again. She looks from under her lashes. “Something is poking me.”

“Ignore him, sweetheart. He’s just excited you’re here.”

A soft laugh falls from her lips, and I’m so mesmerized by that tinkling sound that I catch it with my mouth. Francesca melts against me, kissing me with such innocent passion that it stuns me. I stop thinking. The urge to take her completely consumes me. Sinking my fingers in her hair, I angle her head and devour her sweet lips. I get lost in the aggressive tide of desire. My hands move down to her breasts and she moans.

The sound breaks the spell she had cast over me.

What the fuck am I doing? I can’t present her to Nonna Isadora looking like I’ve pulled her backwards through a hedge.

I tear myself away from her lips. For a few seconds, she stares at me with confusion then she swallows hard and scrambles off my lap. I let her, and she scoots all the way over to the other end of the seat.

I exhale slowly.

“Freya isn’t going to be at the party,” she says after a moment of silence. “She said something happened between you and Matteo and it will be awkward for them to attend. I asked Federico, but he said to ask you.”

“You spoke to Federico?” I turn to her, my blood boiling. I already warned Federico to stay away from Francesca. He knows better than to dare me. If he did, it won’t be the first time a Barone party ended up bloody.

“Only for a moment. Should I not speak to him?” she asks in confusion.

I grunt and turn my attention to the window.

“What happened to Matteo?”

“Nothing as it happens. He should count himself lucky.”

She’s about to respond when the car pulls into the driveway of Castillo Dimora . We descend, and I slip my arms around Francesca, a picture of romance. Federico is there with Serena, and so are Giuseppe and Isabella. I don’t see Roberto yet, but no doubt he’s somewhere around. I exchanged a handshake with Giuseppe back at the house, but Federico and I haven’t seen each other until now.

“Ciao, Fra Valentino.” Federico walks toward me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds out his hand in front of me, and I know he’s not greeting me because I’m his blood cousin, but because I am the Boss. He would rather drive a wooden spike through my heart. When I don’t take his hand, he nods stiffly and walks away from me with Serena following behind him.

As we walk into the house, Francesca whispers, “Why didn’t you shake his hand? Where I come from, that’s just rude.”

“It was either that or socking him in the jaw, la mia perla. ”

That shuts her up fast, but I feel her slipping away from me again. We’re nearing Nonna Isadora’s room, and I stop her at the top of the hallway.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Nonna Isadora is fierce, but fair. Don’t flatter her and don’t show fear.”

She nods, and I show her into my great-grandmother’s parlor. The huge room is full of lilies and their strong perfume fills the air. At least a dozen uniformed servants are swarming around like ants, but when we enter, they part to reveal their Queen, a tiny, scrawny, ancient woman seated on a throne-like intricately carved, but extremely hard and uncomfortable mahogany armchair.

She is dressed wholly in black. Even though it is the middle of summer she is wearing thick black tights. Her small feet are encased in black crocodile leather shoes and her wrinkled face is partially obscured by a small black lace veil. On the exceptionally large coffee table in front of her many Sicilian desserts and sweets are laid out on pretty porcelain platters. I have never seen her so much as nibble on these treats, but the table is always full of them.

You can never tell by looking at her, but this frail ninety-seven-year-old woman is the real head of the Italian side of our family. From behind the scenes, she commands her large clan with an iron hand. Hardly ever leaving this room, she executes her role of family Matriarch and she does a fucking great job as well. Hell, I respect her more than any of the men in this family.

If Francesca is surprised to see Nonna Isadora, she doesn’t show it.

Nonna Isadora waves the monogrammed white handkerchief in her hand and all the servants quickly stream out of the room. When we are alone with her Nonna Isadora’s eagle gaze narrows on me.

I move forward and lightly kiss her veiled powdered cheeks. Ever since I can remember she has smelled the same. A special lavender and rose fragrance that she orders four times a year from Tuscany.

“Ciao, Nonna.”

“You raised a gun to Matteo?” Her voice is a husky whisper.

“Yes. He disrespected me.”

From the corner of my eyes, I see Francesca looking at me with shock, but the shriveled woman in the hard chair nods.

“That boy is as senseless as a rampaging bull, and I’m sometimes tempted to shoot him myself, but I detest attending the funerals of my own family.”

Her tone is mild, but the message is clear. We are blood, and our very survival depends on our unbreakable bond of trust and loyalty to each other. It is the iron-clad rule that made our family the undisputable winner in this business. No one outside the family is allowed in, and we don’t cultivate made men. My great-grandfather understood that they were always the first ones to turn and bite the hand that feeds.

Even spouses were only given positions of lesser importance. Their children were considered blood, but they themselves were not blood and hence could never be fully trusted. It is the rule by which I used to operate too, but where Francesca is concerned, it is I who have become the senseless rampaging bull. Even now my blood boils at the thought of that little prick thinking he could use my wife as bait. Fool.

Having made her point, Nonna turns her attention to Francesca and scrutinizes her.

“You’re too small, child,” she grumbles. “How will you manage my great-grandson and bear him many sons?”

“You of all people, should know that you can’t judge a person by their appearance,” Francesca quips sweetly.

I almost laugh at the flare in Nonna’s eyes, but a moment later, she laughs, a dry hoarse sound. People shiver at that sound, but Francesca smiles innocently at her.

“Come and kiss me,” she commands.

Francesca hesitates, then walks up to her, and tentatively kisses her cheeks. Nonna Isadora’s thin claw-like hand reaches out of her voluminous black sleeve and closes over Francesca’s hand. “I like you.”

Francesca’s eyes widen with surprise, and she glances at me uncertainly.

I shrug, masking my smile.

“That’s good,” she murmurs. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you finally.”

Nonna’s cunning eyes gleam. “I’ve heard a little about you, too. I hear you hated your father as much as I did. Is it really true you hated him so much you refused to spend a dime of his tainted money from the time you turned eighteen?”

Frances glances at me before saying, “Yes.”

I frown. Is that why she is returning the stuff she bought in Paris? Because she hates me that much?

“I also heard,” Nonna continues, “that you believe your husband is like your father. If there is one thing I can say with certainty, child, it is this. Your husband is nothing like your father.”

Francesca glances at me again, a strange speculative expression in her eyes. “You’re that sure?”

Nonna Isadora smiles. “Absolutely. You can take my word for it. Now go join the party. I won’t be able to attend, but do come and see me before you leave.”