Impenitent Claim (Vlasov Bratva #4)

Chapter 8 – Isabella

S tifling a yawn, I pushed the samples of food around my plate. Chicken Marsala was not only a wedding dinner cliché, but this didn’t look like a good batch. It was hard to screw up mushrooms, chicken, and sauce. The chef and owner, who was a cousin to Cecilia’s late father, somehow managed. I placed a tiny bite in my mouth so watchful eyes would see me tasting the food. That was what we were here to do after all, the last taste test before the wedding menus were finalized.

It was bland, and the chicken was dry.

“And then the contractor used an off-white to paint the ceiling,” Bella Silvio said, feigning indignation.

Of all the conversations circling around the table, this was the most interesting. But only because the capo’s wife was rumored to be sleeping with her contractor. It was not only common for the Made Men to sleep around, but also encouraged. A status symbol. A wife, however, did not have such a luxury. While I would never condone that behavior, I hated the double standard. In the case of the contractor with a thick tool belt, hopefully, the poor man knew the risk. I slid a look to Bella. She didn’t look like she was that good in the sack. Definitely not sensational enough to risk life and limb.

Not that I was brimful with experience.

With a sigh, I poked at the overcooked vegetables. The spring semester last year was supposed to be me enjoying my illicit romance in the Windy City. I wasn’t promised to anyone, and my father was going to let me have a say in my marriage after college. It was very generous and open-minded of him. I knew that. But still, I grew up knowing the eligible boys, and none of them struck my fancy. So I chose my first lover, vowing to make the most of our time together—which ended up being far more brief than I would have liked.

Now I was trying to find anything nice to say about the poorly cooked samples that would be served at my wedding. Sure that no one was looking, I flicked a veggie that could have been a zucchini once upon a time onto the napkin on my lap, where I promptly dumped it on the floor.

“Cecilia, these are a little overcooked, don’t you think?” Maria spoke in an undertone, nudging the strega with her elbow.

I didn’t dare look directly across the table at the matrons. This was my life, pretending to enjoy the company of women who wouldn’t save me if I was drowning.

Cecilia whispered something that I didn’t catch. Lifting my gaze, I focused on reading their lips as they continued to converse. Cecilia had three unplucked chin hairs. They danced as she spoke. It was highly entertaining to see the witch coming out of her shell.

“Please tell Raphael that I would like to speak with him,” Cecilia commanded the tuxedoed waiter.

The obedient penguin scooted out of the restaurant’s private room to track down the chef.

That poor man. He was in for it now.

It was the perfect time to excuse myself. I didn’t want to hear the tongue-lashing Cecilia was going to give the chef. Plus, I needed to make my escape to the bathroom and dispose of the evidence of last night’s fun. But first, I flicked more veggies off my plate, this time tossing them away from my seat so there wouldn’t be a pile of food around only my chair.

The air exchange kicked on, a fresh breeze blowing softly against my back.

“Isabella….”

Gooseflesh broke out over my arms, bringing back the rush of excitement I’d spent the whole morning suppressing.

The nocturnal events flickered through my mind. The shadowy encounter had to have been a dream. Especially since my sleep had been filled with a monstrous spectre. I knew two things with complete certainty: Drinking rum before bed with a dark Halloween novella had happened, and after that, I took off into the wooded back stretch of the estate. But everything else? It blended with the images from the deep slumber. The only evidence from last night was the empty rum bottle that needed hiding this morning. It was concealed in the purse at my feet, and I planned to toss it in the garbage in the bathroom.

There was no travel journal, scrapbook accessories, or camera that printed mini photos. That part I must have dreamt.

It was quite possible I imagined the conversation under the shelter of the slumbering trees. It wouldn’t be the first time my brain was overly active when properly stimulated.

Was the voice in my head? A product of my loneliness and isolation?

If I tried, really hard, I could envision him lurking in the shadows, right here. Right now!

I need to get some fresh air.

Murmuring to Giulia, who was deep in conversation with Bella on her other side and paid no attention to me, I scooted out of my seat and fled the private dining room. The rumble of a full house enjoying lunch greeted me. The other dishes had to be half decent or there wouldn’t be this many patrons filling the restaurant. Granted, many of the tables were filled with the bodyguards of the mob wives and daughters. I nodded to those soldiers I knew as I wove through the tables. Cecilia’s pair of meatheads gummed over their tureens of soup as I scooted past. Bracing myself for their unwanted stares, I was pleasantly surprised they didn’t look up. I must not be as interesting as the hot broth and veg.

At the mouth of the back hall, an eerie presence washed over me. This was neither memory nor imagination. I couldn’t hold back the chills that crackled over my skin.

Not wanting one of the guards to come and ask what was wrong, I forced myself to take a step into the narrow space. The walls were a deep burgundy. Murals were painted to look like plants. The lights were yellow and ambient. And the only doors were for the bathrooms, back office, and the kitchen at the far end. There was nothing spooky about this, and yet I couldn’t stop the feelings with any logical argument.

I’m going insane! I believed in something impossible like an intruder breaking into the house to leave me gifts, when there could be a multitude of explanations for the other small trinkets. It could be Gio. It could be Alonzo. A maid. Hell, maybe a guard. But an intruder? No, that was me chasing ghosts. No one was stupid enough to dare the don’s wrath.

I dashed into the lady’s room, closing the door quickly behind me.

The guest bathroom reeked of fake flowers. I coughed, attempting to breathe through my mouth. Too much wine at lunch wouldn’t give me a headache, but this fake scent would without a shadow of a doubt. Removing the cone lid on the trash, I moved some paper towels, buried the rum bottle, and reached for the stack of clean ones. I crumbled a half dozen more to cover any trace before replacing the lid. After Cecilia moved in with her brother to chaperone the children—her ridiculous description, not mine—I learned quickly to hide everything I did. Candy wrappers, booze bottles, and even the books I read.

I let out a long breath. There. She wouldn’t find this.

I made the mistake of inhaling. Only…it wasn’t fake flowers stinking the air. It was something more sinister. I took another tentative breath. Smoke, heavy and thick.

Abandoning the plan to relieve my full bladder, I tugged open the door. The hall that led to the kitchen was filled with tendrils of pale grey. I ghosted to the swinging doors, pushing them open. Shouts about grease fire rang out from the staff. They were going to put it out and didn’t want the front of house to know.

Something tingled at the base of my neck. A sixth sense fluttered in warning. I turned quickly, but as I swung my gaze back to the restaurant, there was nothing.

“What in the hell is that?” I muttered.

Throwing one final look into the kitchen, and seeing the flames engulf an entire workstation, I took a quick step back. It was time to leave. But the staff running about with red canisters promised that they had the mess under control. Biting my lip, I turned. I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was as if I was being watched. I took a step in that direction, pulled by the magnetism of the otherworldly presence.

Stepping into the bustling front of house was like coming into another world. Disaster brewed just feet away, and yet everyone sat at their lunch as if nothing was wrong.

I should leave.

But a glance at the front door had me hesitating. The women of the famiglia might not save me if I was drowning, but that didn’t mean I wanted them to burn alive. Besides, their deaths wouldn’t solve my problems, and I didn’t need those nightmares plaguing my mind.

Hating my sense of duty, I hurried back into the private dining room.

The poor owner! I winced for him. Crumbling his kitchen hat in between his nervous fingers, Raphael was on the receiving end of a lashing by the forked tongue strega. I approached, but a waiter scooted around me, tugged on the chef’s coat, and stammered about a situation. Relief spread across the chef’s pudgy face as he followed the waiter from the room.

“Isabella, sit down,” Maria insisted, brows drawn together in a quizzical look.

I opened my mouth.

“Are you deaf?” Cecilia chirped, teeth bared behind her smile.

Maybe I should have let her burn.

Folding into my seat, I determined to watch how this morbid comedy played out. I picked up my glass of white. The acidic tang of the Pinot Grigio spread over my tongue. Maybe we would all burn, and I wouldn’t have to go through with this farce of a marriage.

I couldn’t actually die. There was someone who needed me. Alone, Gio was as defenseless as a puppy amongst wolves. He might yap and think he had teeth, but the ravenous fiends would tear him apart for sport.

“I think that’s enough of that, honey.” Cecilia kicked me under the table.

Glaring at her, I refused to budge. I took another long sip. She would have to pry the glass from my hands. I watched her debate how much of a scene she wanted to make. This second, no one was watching us. But that could change in a flash.

“That will be your last,” she hissed past her forced smile.

“There’s a fire in the kitchen,” I drawled, loud enough for several pairs of ears to hear. “That’s why Raphael had to leave so suddenly.”

Her dark brown eyes flared wide. “What?!”

A hush fell over the group. The ripple of panic was a welcome change.

Cecilia cleared her throat. “I’m sure you were mistaken. The sprinkler system would turn on before we were in any real danger.”

“I’m sure I was,” I agreed. “But you’d better go see what actually happened. The chef did run off in a hurry.”

Murmurs circled the table.

Pursing her lips, Cecilia rose and marched out of the room.

Soft laughter bubbled up my throat as I reached for the bottle of white chilling in the marble holder. My hand froze halfway to the container. The table arrangements were soft, pale flowers. Snapdragons, light greens for fillers, and delicate white miniature flowers. But in the vase closest to my seat was a large bloom.

A large yellow bloom with a black center.

I plucked the sunflower from the arrangement, my fingers shaking.

“Evacuate! Run for your lives.” Cecilia’s shrill call sent a fresh rush of panic through the women.

The tip of my finger traced over the sunflower. I was ninety percent certain that hadn’t been in the vase before I went to the bathroom. It was right there! Front and center. I wouldn’t have missed it. Especially with the wine right next to it.

I twirled the thick stem between my fingers. It was beautiful, alluring. One of my favorite flowers, they were the predominant symbols decorating my bookish reading nook. Was it ridiculous to think it was placed there for me? A sign I couldn’t fathom the meaning of.

Someone tugged at my shoulder. I swatted at them. When the hand reached to yank the flower from my grasp, I shot to my feet, rounding on the panic-stricken wife of a wealthy mafioso.

“Touch me again and I’ll break your wrist,” I snapped.

Signora Eminati’s eyes widened, and she lifted her hands, rattling a string of Italian appeals to heaven to save her from the demons and devils. She grabbed her daughter Rosa and fled.

It was out of character. I knew it, and the look in her eye confirmed it. But I was hoping I could play off the sudden outburst as the natural reaction fueled by panic. Closing my eyes, I focused on calming my racing heart.

I’m a bubbleheaded ditz. I’m an airhead. It’s too dangerous to show intelligence.

I can never fight back.

Gathering the strength necessary to continue playing this hated game, I blinked and looked around the empty space.

Why couldn’t I be the fae queen, summon my army, and smite the men calling the shots? I sighed. Like the terrible hydra, if I removed one threat, more would creep out of the mob to take its place. It seemed the only way to be free would be to crush this nightmare completely.

Too bad I didn’t have a rare and awesome power at my fingertips.

With a sigh, I scooped my tote from the ground, and cradling my precious flower, I followed the herd out to the sidewalk. The bodyguards cleared a path through the restaurant. Patrons stared after us in alarm. In the distance, sirens wailed. Not caring to see what happened, I allowed my guards to escort me to our waiting SUV.

“No, fratello, I need you to come down here and deal with this—now!” Cecilia screeched into her phone, the high pitch carrying across the chaos. The orcish bodyguards flanked her, and I made the mistake of meeting the one’s gummy stare. A wave of disgust made my stomach flip. “The fire suppression system was disabled. That’s why the sprinklers didn’t go off.”

Her words banished the unease evoked by her guards. That nefarious detail sent a chill down my spine.

But…there could be a logical explanation for that.

Like the stalker and his tokens of affection?

I spun the stem of the sunflower. It would have been the first thing I noticed when sitting down to the tedious meal. That was why I was certain it hadn’t been there before I went to the bathroom. It was placed there—for me.

It’s a gift. A small, but very thoughtful gift. Something a best friend would leave for me.

Pursing my lips, I climbed into the SUV and considered my original explanation for the sudden appearance of the presents and trinkets. My fiancé wasn’t subtle or romantic. He would give me a gift that fit the social conventions of our status such as jewelry or expensive purses. My dork of a brother wouldn’t think of anyone but himself. An otherworldly being haunting my nights? Yeah, I didn’t live in a smutty fairytale—it wasn’t that. A member of the famiglia who wanted me to be friendly toward their cause made the most sense.

Someone was plotting something, and I was key to their plans.

But it would never work. I would never side with their agenda and risk the don’s wrath falling upon my brother. Whoever was behind this needed to stop. They were going to land themselves in hot water, possibly bringing trouble to me as well. While I enjoyed the small presents of friendship, I couldn’t have friends. And I would tell them, just as soon as I found out who.

Leaning back in my seat, I scanned the crowd of ladies. They were most of the women who’d been at the dress fitting and the don’s supper party. I needed to make a list and narrow down who was responsible.

The flower spun between my fingers. The cheery face seemed to encourage me. I already knew the symbolism of a sunflower was strength, good fortune, and loyalty. They were given as reminders of hope and optimism in difficult times—and if that wasn’t my current state of being, I didn’t know what was.

Was there a secret message behind the sunny bloom? Or was someone merely brightening my life with joy and positivity, and I shouldn’t read too much into the gesture?

As the driver crept through the mess of vehicles and merged onto the road, I closed my eyes and examined the entire meal. No one showed an ounce of genuine friendlessness to me. If they weren’t complimenting me, they were watching me with hawkish intentions. While it was true I was playing a part, acting every second of every day, it was hard to believe they were too. I knew these women; I'd grown up with them.

They weren’t my friends.

It was easier to think they wanted me to burn.

A chill broke over my skin. What if the fire hadn’t been an accident? What if one of us, all of us, or me specifically had been the target? I rubbed my arms, suddenly freezing. The few bites of the meal churned in my stomach. My gaze dropped to the sunflower. A stroke of good fortune—I had to believe that.