Ruined Secrets: An Age Gap Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 4)
Ruined Secrets: Part 1 – Chapter 9

The rain starts as we’re leaving the cemetery. More than two hundred people attended the funeral, and as the drizzle transforms into a downpour, they run toward their cars for cover. Isabella doesn’t change her tempo, and instead stays walking by my side, her head bent. I take off my suit jacket and place it over her shoulders. Her steps falter for a moment and she stops, looking up at me. I can’t see her eyes because she’s wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses, but I’m pretty sure her cheeks are not wet as a result of the rain. Looks like she’s finally allowed herself to cry, but only when there’s no one else around.

I open the car door and watch as Isabella gets into the back seat in silence. When she’s inside, she moves to the other end and leans her head against the window. She hasn’t said a word since this morning. I get inside the car, lean over and wrap my arm around her waist, then pull her onto my lap. A surprised yelp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t protest, just places her cheek onto my chest and snuggles into my body. Her ponytail has loosened, so I remove her hair tie and bury my fingers into her soft hair, massaging her scalp.

When the car stops in front of the house I get out, holding Isabella in my arms as I carry her inside and up the stairs to her room. I put her down next to the bed, expecting her to change, but she just removes my jacket and her sunglasses and slides under the covers. I hate this feeling of helplessness, the inability to make the situation easier for her even just a little bit. So, I do the only thing I can—I carefully remove her heels, arrange the covers around her shoulders and then climb up into the bed behind her. Wrapping my arm around her bundled form, I pull her into my body and stay that way until I hear her breathing even out and she finally falls asleep.

As I stare out the window and look at the setting sun, a realization forms inside my head. Am I falling in love with my wife?

She’s nineteen! My brain yells.

I quickly unwrap my arm from Isabella’s waist, get up and leave the room, urging myself to forget about that ridiculous idea.

Isabella

I don’t remember much of the past two days. What I do remember is Luca carrying me to the car as we left the hospital and me trying without any success to make him put me down. That first night he slept on the sofa which is under the window in my room. The day of the funeral is a complete blur in my mind. I remember the rain and some random moments like Luca holding me inside the car and getting inside the bed fully clothed, but not much else. I’m pretty sure he slept on the sofa last night as well but it looks like he left while I was still asleep.

The sound of a lawn mower invades my thoughts through the open window, and it feels like its rumbling is drilling into my brain. I should get up and close the window but I can’t make myself move. Instead, I stay lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My nonno is gone. I can’t grasp that fact. This morning when I woke up, I reached for my phone, wanting to call and ask how he’s feeling. Like I’ve done every morning. Only this time my hand stilled halfway to the phone when I remembered.

There’s no one around, so I let myself break down and spend the following hour crying my eyes out.

Nonno would be so mad if he saw me now with my puffy face and red eyes. He always insisted on facing whatever life throws at you with your head held high and steel in the spine. I look up at the big clock on the wall. It’s seven p.m., and I haven’t yet told Luca about my grandfather’s warning regarding Lorenzo.

I get out of bed and head into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Hopefully, it will make me feel a little better. Five minutes later, I leave my room and go to the second floor, hoping to catch Damian in his office.

“Isa?” Damian looks up from his laptop. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you. When’s Luca coming back? I need to speak with him.”

“No idea. He has a meeting with the capos on Friday, so he’s trying to tie up loose ends.”

“They’re swearing fealties to him in four days? That’s fast.”

“Lorenzo was starting to make trouble,” he says. “We had to hurry.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk with Luca about. Grandfather told me to warn him. Who else?”

“What do you mean?”

I walk up to Damian’s desk and take a seat across from him. “Who else is against having Luca as a don? And who’s undecided?”

Damian watches me with interest, takes a pen from the table and starts rolling it between his fingers. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you ask?”

I smile. “Humor me.”

“Orlando Lombardi is against. He sided with Lorenzo and insisted on the Family dropping the arms and gambling deals, and transferring all the efforts into drugs. Luca said no.”

“The Bratva has most of the drug business,” I say. “It wouldn’t be wise butting in, especially after Bruno Scardoni almost killed Bianca’s husband.” Damian’s eyes widen in surprise. Yeah, he wouldn’t be the first to underestimate me. “You need to call Orlando Lombardi. Tell him it would be extremely unfortunate if Lorenzo found out what he’s been doing every second Saturday morning.”

“And what would that be?”

“Banging Lorenzo’s wife while she is, supposedly, at her regular manicure appointment,” I say. “Who else?”

Damian crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, smiling. “Santino D’Angelo is undecided.”

“Well, Santino is not fucking anyone except his maid, and his wife knows about it. Shame,” I say. “But his oldest son, Dario, is neck deep in debt. With the Albanians.”

“Gambling?”

“Yes. The last bit of information I have is that it’s close to three hundred grand, but that was last month. It’s probably more now. Dario has a huge influence on his father.”

“If we buy out his debt, perhaps he’ll be able to steer Santino in the right direction?”

“Most probably.” I nod. “Any other problems?”

“None for now.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Where did you get this information?”

“Definitely not in spas or from fashion magazines.” I smirk. “Don’s position is not only about doing the job well. It requires closely watching those who want to stab you in the back, and involves a good deal of blackmailing in order to steer people in the desired direction. My grandfather had Orlando Lombardi’s driver on his payroll, as well as two of the maids working for Santino D’Angelo. He had at least one person in each capo’s household, and paid them triple their salary to update him on anything that might be useful.”

Damian’s body stiffens at my words. “He had someone here, as well?”

“Your previous gardener.”

“Domenico? The ancient guy who spent half of his time trying to get under Grace’s skirt?”

“Well, I don’t know whose skirt he was trying to get under while he was here, but he was providing some rather nice intel. He’s working for Franco Conti now.”

“I’ll be damned.” He shakes his head. “Giuseppe had his own little nest of spies.”

“Yes. My mother and I have been handling them for the last two years since my grandfather got sick. We can continue doing so, but Luca will have to take over the funding.”

“I’ll talk with him.”

“He also needs to call all the big shots in the Family over, after he officially takes over the don position. A month or two from now would work fine.”

“My brother is not a fan of parties.”

“He’ll have to throw one anyway. It’s expected.”

“You can give Luca a shitload of weapons of any kind, and he’ll find a buyer in under an hour. But he has no idea how to organize a party.”

“Good thing he has me, then.” I smile and rise to leave. “I’ll need fifty grand.”

“Fifty grand for a party?”

“It may end up being closer to seventy-five, but let’s start with fifty for now.”

Luca

I fire another round into the target across the field, testing the weight as well as the accuracy of the scope, then put the rifle down on the makeshift table in front of me.

“It’ll do,” I say and turn to Bogdan. “We’re taking four hundred as previously agreed.”

“You can wire the deposit to the usual account.”

“No deposit for the next three shipments.”

“What? I don’t take orders without a 20 percent down payment.”

“You do now.” I take out my phone and start walking toward my car. “Until I’m convinced there won’t be any mix-ups of the containers in the future. That’s how I work.”

“Then you can forget about the fucking guns,” he yells after me. “I’m not loading anything without seeing my money.”

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Bogdan,” I say as I get into my car and dial Damian. “How’s Isabella?”

“Better. I had an extremely interesting conversation with her earlier today.”

“About?” I turn on the ignition, ignoring Bogdan who’s banging on my window.

“It looks like your little wife may prove to be one useful asset.”

“In what way?”

“She took it upon herself to organize your big party. It’s going to be quite an event since she plans on spending seventy-five grand on it.”

“I’m not hosting a party, Damian.”

“Isa says you will.” He laughs. “And she also made me spend three hundred and twenty grand.”

“Are you fucking insane? On what? Wait a second.” I roll down the window Bogdan has been banging on for over a minute and fix him with my stare. “Yes?”

“Only the next three shipments, Luca.” He points his finger at me. “After that, we’re going back to a 20 percent up-front payment.”

“All right. Don’t forget my grenades.” I roll up the window, put Damian on speakerphone and reverse the car. “What did you do with the money, Damian?”

“Paid off Dario D’Angelo’s gambling debt to the Albanians.”

I had no idea Santino’s son’s gambling problems were so serious. Why the hell would we be paying off . . .? Oh. I’ll be damned. “Does this mean we’ll have Santino’s support?”

“Yup. And Lombardi won’t be a problem anymore, either.”

“You bought his debt, too?”

“No. I called Orlando to let him know that we expect his ‘yes’, or else he may want to change a certain ‘manicure appointment’ in the future.”

“Orlando doesn’t get manicures. His hands look like they belong to a butcher.”

“No. But Lorenzo’s wife does. According to Isa, every second Saturday. Orlando has been fucking Lorenzo’s wife under his nose for who knows how long.” He laughs. “Your wife and her mother are running a damn spy network within the Family. They have someone in every capo’s household. Domenico was in ours.”

“That old scumbag who kept hanging around the kitchen all day?”

“Yup. Your woman is dangerous, Luca.”

Indeed. And in more ways than I thought.

* * *

The moment I get home, I run up the stairs and go straight to Isabella’s room, intending to give her a lecture. When I enter, however, she’s not there. I turn around, about to head out in search of her in Rosa’s room, when I hear the shower turn on.

“Isabella.” I bang on the bathroom door. “We need to talk.”

“I’m taking a shower. It can wait.”

“You can shower later.” I bang on the door again. “I talked with Damian. You’re dropping your spy hobby starting now.”

“You’re welcome, Luca,” she shouts over the sound of running water. “I was happy to help.”

“This is not a fucking game! If anyone even suspects what you and your mother are doing, it won’t end well!”

“You said you don’t allow yelling in this house.”

“New rules.” I beat my open palm against the door. “Open the door, or I’m breaking it.”

The water shuts off, and a few seconds later, the lock turns. I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for the door to open before I continue. When it does, all I can do is stare.

Isabella

“I’m listening,” I say and lean my shoulder onto the doorframe, enjoying the way Luca’s eyes are eating me up as they travel down my naked body.

“Cover yourself up.” A muscle in his jaw ticks as he bites out his words.

“I was in the middle of a shower, and I plan on continuing after you’re done with your tirade.”

“Tirade?” He takes a step forward and looks down at me. “It’s not a tirade, Isabella. It’s an order. One that you better follow.”

He’s trying really hard to focus on my face, but his eyes keep wandering downward every couple of seconds.

“Or else?” I ask.

He places his palms on the doorframe on either side of me and bends his head to whisper in my ear. “Do not provoke me, Isa.”

Isa? Oh, he must be really angry if he let that slip. I tilt my head up so my lips are nearly brushing his earlobe. “But I enjoy doing so,” I whisper back, then lick the shell of his ear with the tip of my tongue. “Very much.”

He takes a deep breath. There is a strange cracking sound to the left of me, but I don’t move, enjoying the feel of having him so close. The need to lean into him, to press my cheek to his, and bury my fingers in his hair is eating me alive, but I fight it. I need him to come to me of his own accord—because he wants to and not because I pushed him over the edge into mad lust. I’m already toeing the line as it is.

Standing before him naked was a gamble. I half expected him to succumb, but he’s still resisting. Stubborn, stubborn man. What do I have to do to make you see me, Luca? Not the girl they made you marry, but the woman who’s been in love with you for so, so long. I don’t have any more ammunition left. If he doesn’t want me after all the things I’ve done to seduce him, is there a point in continuing to try?

His head tilts slightly to the side and I feel the tip of his nose touch the side of my neck. My body goes still while my heart starts thundering in my chest as I listen to his breathing. Having his body looming over mine, and not daring to touch him, makes me want to scream in frustration. Do something, damn you!

“Go back to your shower, Isabella,” he says, then disappears through the door into his room without saying another word.

I stare at the door joining our rooms, closed now, and wonder how it’s possible to hate a fixture with such passion. Oh, how much I loathe that door and everything it represents. Sighing, I lean my back onto the doorjamb and only then do I notice it. The trim on the other side is askew, its upper part separated from the wall. I move closer to inspect the damage and trace the surface of the board where his hand had been with my fingertips, then head back to my shower, a wide smile plastered on my face.

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