06

Francesca

I screamed until my throat hurt, raw from the tension. It didn't make a difference. The door remained closed, darkness all around me. I was locked in and no one was coming to save me. Oh God. I couldn't survive.

My throat was dry and my lungs burned. This was my worst nightmare. Caged underground, where no one would find me. Was there air down here? Chest burning, I fell to my knees. How long would it take to suffocate? Some hours?

I could feel the hysteria moving away from the old panic in my mind. The therapist I saw for my claustrophobia said to breathe and count to one hundred, that staying calm was key. I closed my eyes and started counting.

I tried to focus on the numbers, the rhythm of my breathing, but the musty air reminded me of where I was, who had trapped me. How many men died in these walls? Ravazzani killed someone here?

Of course you do, Frankie. He is the capo of one of Italy's most legendary mafia clans.

Were there ghosts in this dungeon?

Oh, fuck. I curled my hands into my palms, nails digging deep into the flesh. It hurt, but I accepted the pain because it reminded me that I was still alive. I wasn't dead yet. He would get me back eventually. I had to marry his son, after all.

Bitterness filled my mouth. By the time they let me out of here my mind will probably be broken. I'll be completely crazy by then. I gave a hollow laugh. Maybe then he would send me back to Toronto, declare me too unfit to marry the precious Ravazzani heir.

Or maybe he would just kill me.

I rocked back and forth and tried not to think about it. How did this become my life? Two days ago I was an eighteen-year-old woman with a boyfriend on her way to a prestigious college. I planned to study botany. Something with plants and science where I could be outdoors. Now I was locked in a dungeon in Italy, being forced to marry a mafia prince I didn't want.

Tiny claws slid across the stone and I froze. Oh my God. What was that? A mouse? No, it looked big, more like a mouse. I curled up as tight as I could, holding my shaking knees to my chest. I expected Ravazzani to find my corpse eaten by rats. It would be good for him, the idiot.

My brain must have checked out at this point, because I don't remember anything else until strong arms lifted me off the ground. A warm, muscular chest met the side of my face and I didn't fight. I could not. I clung to my savior, desperate to escape.

— I'm sorry, signorina.

The voice was new, one I didn't recognize, but I didn't care. Someone came to save me, thanks to the sweet baby Jesus. And it wasn't Fausto Ravazzani.

He started carrying me up the stairs. — My father can be a real bastard sometimes. — The words were spoken quietly, as if he were speaking to himself.

— You are Giulio. — I sobbed into the rough skin of his throat, tears still streaming from my eyes.

- I am. You must be Francesca Mancini.

I shook my head and tried to burrow closer to him, desperate to purge the lingering cold from my bones. — O.. Thank you for rescuing me.

“You should never have been there in the first place. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

- Your father…

— He has a temper. And you stabbed him with a pen. Not that I'm excusing his behavior.

We reached the top of the stairs and the vast expanse of stars stretched across the dark sky. The knot in my chest loosened and I took a deep breath for the first time since getting off the plane. I could smell earth and grass, a balm for my frayed nerves.

Are you well. You are no longer locked up.

“You can put me down,” I told him through chattering teeth. - I can walk.

— Forgive me if I don't believe you. You were practically catatonic when I found you a few moments ago.

I was? I sighed and rested my head on my arm. — I don't do well in small spaces.

Giulio swore in Italian. — I apologize, Francesca. I'd like to think he wouldn't have put you there if he'd known...

The implication was clear—that Fausto Ravazzani was no stranger to cruelty. That he would gladly use a person's weakness against them. Jesus, what a prize.

Before I could comment, we entered the castle. A small room led to a kitchen, which was surprisingly modern for a place with an actual dungeon.

“I'll ask Zia to bring hot tea,” Giulio said as he entered the house. — That's my aunt. She lives with us and does most of the cooking.

Calming myself down, I started looking around – curious about this different kind of prison. The contrast with the dungeon was surprising. What I could see was light and airy, with shiny wood accents and light plaster walls. Huge oval windows were framed with tasteful curtains, and tiles covered the floor. It was even better than our house in Toronto.

Surprisingly, I didn't see any security cameras. This was the information I kept for future use.

“This is my wing of the house,” said Giulio. — My father is on the other side.

Thank God. I had no desire to see Fausto Ravazzani ever again.

Giulio carried me through several rooms, including an office with bookshelves and a music room. He stopped in the middle of the hallway.

— That's my room, the big door at the end. This here is your room.

The room was larger than I expected, with a king size bed that had an ornate metal headboard. An antique chaise longue and a vintage dressing table made up the other side. It was both feminine and classic and I couldn't help but admire it.

As much as one can admire a prison.

Giulio continued through the room to a small bathroom. The size of the room quickened my heart rate again, so I took a deep breath as he placed me on the tiled counter. I was out of the dungeon and would never, ever return.

Giulio walked away and put his hands in his pockets. Her messy dark brown hair fell across her forehead effortlessly, a look that actors and rock stars probably paid a stylist a ton of money for. He had his father's jaw and eyes, but his face was longer. More elegant. While Ravazzani was brutally handsome, Giulio was refined and beautiful. And his body was slender and thin, not yet filled with his father's strength. Several tattoos ran along his forearms. Gia was right - Giulio was a complete snack.

- Are you a model? — I blurted out, only half joking.

The side of his mouth hitched. — I could ask you the same, Francesca Mancini. After all, modeling is in your blood and I'm told you look like your mother.

“I tried once,” I said with a shrug. —I sent photos to a modeling agency in Toronto, but they told me my breasts were too big.

Giulio smiled and kept his eyes on my face instead of checking my chest like most guys. — It's their loss. He shifted on his feet, looking increasingly uncomfortable. — I should let you take a shower. You must be exhausted. — He turned to the door.

It couldn't be that. There was nothing left to discuss, how could I not want to marry him? — Giulio, wait! — When he paused, I said, — Are you okay with this? Us, getting married, I mean. Wouldn't you rather choose your own bride instead of marrying someone random?

His eyes were empty and resigned, hardly the excitement of a man about to get married. — It doesn't matter what I want. All that matters is what he wants.

—That can't be true. You are his only son. We could help each other, tell him we're not a good match. You could say that you don't find me attractive or that I'm too slutty. Something.

—He won't believe me and besides, he wouldn't care. He never changes his mind when he decides something.

The walls felt like they were closing in beneath me and my palms began to sweat. Still, I had to try again. — Giulio, I don't want that. I want to go home, go back to Toronto.

I'm supposed to go to college in a few weeks.

— I'm sorry, Francesca.

I wanted to scream in frustration, but my throat was so raw. “Frankie,” I whispered, needing someone to call me by the name I'd heard all my life. I needed a reminder of home, of people who really cared about me.

— Do you?

— Everyone calls me Frankie.

“Frankie,” he said quietly, his gaze full of pity. — Rejoice. At least we'll be miserable together.

After this enigmatic statement, he left me alone in the bathroom.

Faust

I waited at the bottom of the stairs while my son walked down the steps.

- My office. Now.

Giulio looked at me with a carefully wary expression, but said nothing as he crossed the marble floor and headed to the other side of the castle. Clenching my jaw tightly, I followed him and tried to control my anger instead of yelling at him.

Once in my office, he went straight for the liquor bottles. Marco was still there, sitting in one of the armchairs from our previous meeting. No doubt he wanted to make sure I didn't kill Giulio for interfering tonight. I slammed the door behind me, anger burning every inch of my skin. — Sit down, Giulio.

He did, but not until he held almost a glass full of bourbon in his right hand. — Did you want to see me, daddy?

I poured my own drink and went behind my desk, breathing deeply to keep my head reasonably clear. As a boss, I strive to be sensible and calm in everything. It didn't always work, especially around Giulio. And Francesca, apparently. — Who is in charge of this family?

“You,” my son replied.

—And who is your capo?

- You.

—So are you going to explain why you went against my orders and released Francesca from her cell?

He took a sip before answering me. — She is my fiancée. It's not right for her to be locked in the dark the minute she arrives.

— I decide what is right in this family, Giulio. I... not you. — I raised my injured hand. — She stabbed me with a pen in front of the men. A few hours down there wouldn't have hurt her.

He shook his head. —You didn't see her, daddy. I think she's afraid of the dark or claustrophobic. She was nearly catatonic when I found her.

I ignored the pang in my chest that could have been guilt. I needed. I could not allow weakness. So this was Giulio's attempt to play the hero? To make me look like the villain?

You are the villain. And she should prefer him to you, Stronzo.

I don't know why this bothered me so much. I wanted them to like each other, to find happiness in their marriage. Maybe they would have good luck together, more than Lucia and I ever had. And I needed grandchildren. Dio, I was losing my mind.

I swallowed my drink and let the burn soothe my anger. — I'm glad you helped her, then. No doubt she was grateful to you, which pleases me.

Giulio frowned, eyes so similar to mine growing suspicious. —I didn't rescue her to earn your gratitude, but now I'm wondering if that's why you put her in the dungeon. So that she doesn't fight with me.

I hadn't been that cunning, but I'm glad he thought I was capable of it. — She won't fight you. Still, I will give you a few weeks to get to know each other before we hold the wedding.

— I'm surprised you're waiting.

I cleared my throat, knowing the news needed to be shared but not knowing how he would respond. — She had a boyfriend in Toronto.

Giulio took a sip of his drink, showing no external reaction to the news. - AND?

— And she's not a virgin. It would be wise to ensure that she didn't carry another man's child before marrying her, wouldn't it?

— Are you willing to let me marry a woman who is not pure?

— It's not ideal, but she's beautiful and witty. His mother was one of the most famous women in Italy. Francesca will make an excellent wife. And that pays off the debt to Mancini.

— And it guarantees stronger ties between Siderno and Toronto, if the Canadians want to free themselves.

I smiled at him, satisfied. - Correct. Brotherhood first, figlio mio. Ever. One day you will sit in this chair and call the shots, as all the Ravazzani men did. We serve our 'ndrina brothers above all else.

— I know, Dad. I know.

I tapped my fingers on the table as I studied it. — I'm going to tell Gratteri that you need lighter responsibilities for the next three weeks. This will allow you to ease Francesca into her new role.

He straightened up. - This is not necessary. We're working on opening the new club, so I'll be out at night but home during the day. I'll spend some time with Frankie then.

—Frankie?

—That's what everyone calls her. I thought you knew.

No, she hadn't told me. Between the drugs, the escape, and the stabbing, there wasn't much time to talk. But then she somehow found time to tell my son.

I cleared my throat. — Good. You are dismissed. — I gestured toward the door.

After he left, I leaned back in my chair.

He took it well, considering.

“He's loyal,” Marco said. — An obedient son.

Yes he was. I stroked my jaw. — She better like him.

— It looks like you're convincing yourself. Are you feeling guilty?

I was, but I would never admit it. — You are my oldest and closest friend, my family, but even that has its limits.

- No no. I'm the only one who will put up with your moods. By the way, Mancini apologized for letting her get away. He said he handled security on that part of his wall.

I grunted and flexed my injured hand. Mancini had underestimated Francesca, something I would never do again now that I knew what she was capable of. — Good. Maybe he'll take better care of his other two daughters.

— He also demanded to attend the wedding, as soon as it happens.

Che palle . It was not Mancini who made demands on our relationship. — I'll consider it.

— He's the girl's father, Rav. No father would want to be kept away from his daughter's wedding.

I looked at my cousin. —You have work to do, don't you? — We had hundreds of operations to supervise, from Siderno to Milan, from São Paulo to Montreal. We supply more cocaine and heroin to Europe and the United States than anyone else. Marco was instrumental in a lot of this.

“It's not night,” he said, standing up. — I'm going to stay at home and watch a movie with Maria.

Marco's marriage was happier than mine, as he truly fell in love with his wife. His three sons were already powerful members of the Ravazzani 'ndrina. I tried to tell myself I wasn't jealous, but it was a lie. — I keep telling you to find a maintainer. Less work than a wife.

- It is not necessary. I'll leave the mistresses to you, cugino.

— It's not healthy for a Calabrese man to remain faithful to his wife for so many years. Your balls will deflate and fall off.

He laughed on his way to the door. — Maria would cut them if I kept a maintenance. Good evening, Rav.

I shook my head and looked at my empty glass as I considered the rest of my night. Anger and guilt churned in my gut, my body tired but taut, like a thread. Sleep wouldn't come anytime soon.

There was only one thing to do. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts. When I found the name I wanted, I started typing.

Fifteen minutes. Be ready to get fucked hard.