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Rafe blinked and turned toward Cordiano. “Sorry?”
“I said, this has surely been a long day for you and here I am, boring you with my stories.”
“You’re not boring me at all,” Rafe said, and forced a smile.
“Is the grappa not to your liking?”
“I’m afraid I’m not a grappa man, Don Cordiano.”
“And not a cigar man, either,” Cordiano said, with a quick flash of teeth.
“Actually…” Rafe put his glass on the small table beside the chair and rose to his feet. The pig man stood up, too. Enough, Rafe thought. “I am also not a man who enjoys being watched as if I might steal the silver, so tell your watchdog to relax.”
“Of course.” The don chuckled, though the sound was remarkably cheerless. “It is only that Giglio sees you as competition.”
“Trust me, Cordiano, I’m not the least bit interested in taking his job.”
“No, no, certainly not. I only meant that he is aware that I have been searching for a way to thank him for his years of dedication, and—”
“And I’m sure you’ll find an appropriate reward but that doesn’t concern me. I’m here on behalf of my father. I’d appreciate it if you’d read his letter.”
Cordiano smiled. “But I know what it says, signor. Cesare begs my forgiveness for what he did almost half a century ago. And you, Raffaele—may I call you that?—and you are to assure me that he means every word. Yes?”
“That’s pretty much it.” And still not a word about daughters and marriage, thank God. “So, I can return home and tell him his apology is accepted? Because it’s getting late. And—”
“Did your father tell you what it is he did?”
“No. He didn’t. But that’s between you and—”
“I was his—I suppose you would call it his sponsor.”
“How nice for you both.”
“He repaid my generosity by stealing la mia fidanzata.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t speak—”
“Your father stole my fiancée.” Cordiano’s smile turned cold. “He eloped with her in the middle of the night, two days before we were to marry.”
“I don’t understand. My father has a wife. She…” Rafe’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying my mother was engaged to you?”
“Indeed she was, until your father stole her.”
All that “dark passion” stuff was starting to make sense. Now what? What could he say? It was hard enough to picture a young Cesare but to imagine his mother as a young woman running away with him.
“Did you think this was about something simple?” The don’s voice was as frigid as his smile. “That is why he sent you here, boy. To offer a meaningful apology, one I would accept. An eye for an eye. That is our way.”
Rafe shot a quick look at the capo. Was that what this was all about? He’d put in his time in the Marines; he and his brothers had all served their country. He could give a good account of himself against, what, 350 pounds of fat and muscle, but in the end.
“An eye for an eye. Or, now that so many years have gone by, a deed for a misdeed.” Cordiano folded his arms over his chest. “Your father took my bride. I will show him forgiveness by letting you take my daughter as yours. Do you see?”
Did he see? Rafe almost laughed. No way. Not even a genius would see any logic in that.
“What I see,” he said flatly, “is that you have a daughter you want to get rid of.”
Pig Man made a humming sound deep in his throat.
“And somehow, you and my old man cooked up this cockeyed scheme. Well, forget about it. It’s not going to happen.”
“My daughter needs a husband.”
“I’m sure she does. Buy one, if that’s what it takes.”
The mountain of muscle grunted and took a step forward. Rafe could feel the adrenaline pumping. Hell, he thought, eyeing the capo, he could do more than put up a good fight. Angry as he was, he could take him.
“I have your father’s word in this matter, Orsini.”
“Then you have nothing, because it is not his word you need, it’s mine. And I can damned well assure you that—”
“There you are,” Cordiano said sharply, glaring past him. “It took you long enough to obey my orders, girl.”
Rafe swung around. There was a figure in the doorway. Chiara Cordiano had come to join them. A weak finger of late-afternoon sunlight pierced a narrow gap in the heavy window draperies, lending a faint outline to her thin shape.
“Have you turned to stone?” the don snapped. “Step inside. There is a man here who wants to meet you.”
Like hell he did, Rafe almost said, but he reminded himself that none of this was the girl’s fault. If anything, he felt a stab of pity for her. He’d already figured that she was homely. Maybe it was worse than that. For all he knew, she had warts the size of watermelons.
She was also a woman defeated. Everything about her said so.
She moved slowly. Her head was bowed, showing dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her hands were folded before her, resting at her waistline, assuming she had one. It was impossible to tell because her dress was shapeless, as black and ugly as her shoes. Lace-ups, he thought with incredulity, the kind he’d seen little old ladies wearing back home on Mulberry Street.
He couldn’t see her face but he didn’t need to.
It would be as plain as the rest of her.
No wonder her father was trying to give her away. No man in his right mind would want such a pitiful woman in his bed.
Okay. He’d be polite. He could do that much, he thought, and opened his mouth to say hello.
Pig Man beat him to it.
“Buon giorno, signorina,” the capo said.
Except, he didn’t say it, he slimed it. How else to describe the oiliness in the man’s voice? Maybe Chiara Cordiano thought so, too. Rafe saw a tremor go through her narrow shoulders.
“Signor Giglio has spoken to you,” the don snapped. “Where are your manners?”
“Buon giorno,” she said softly.
Rafe cocked his head. Was there something familiar about her voice?
“And you have not greeted our guest, Signor Raffaele Orsini.”
The woman inclined her head. Not easy to do; her chin was damned near already on her chest.
“Buon giorno,” she whispered.
“In English, girl.”
Her hands twisted together. Rafe felt another tug of sympathy. The poor thing was terrified.
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. “I don’t know much Italian but I can manage a hello. Buon giorno, signorina. Come sta?”
“Answer him,” Cordiano barked.
“I am fine, thank you, signor.”
There was definitely something about her voice.
“Why are you dressed like this?” her father demanded. “You are not going into a convent. You are going to be married.”
“Don Cordiano,” Rafe said quickly, “I’ve already told you—”
“And why do you stand there with your head bowed?” Cordiano grabbed his daughter’s arm, his fingers pressing hard. She winced, and Rafe took a step forward.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
The capo lunged forward but Cordiano held up his hand.
“No, Giglio. Signor Orsini is correct. He is in charge of things now. It is his right, and his alone, to discipline his fiancée.”
“She is not my…” Rafe shot the woman a quick glance, then lowered his voice. “I already told you, I am not interested in marrying your daughter.”
Cordiano’s eyes turned hard. “Is that your final word, Orsini?”
“What kind of man are you, to put your daughter through something like this?” Rafe said angrily.
“I asked you a question. Is that your final word?”
Could a man feel any worse than Rafe felt now? He hated what Cordiano was doing to the girl. Why in hell didn’t she say something? Was she meek, or was she stupid?
Not my worry, he told himself, and looked at Freddo Cordiano.
“Yes,” he said gruffly, “it is my final word.”
Pig Man laughed. The don shrugged. Then he clamped his fingers around his daughter’s delicate-looking wrist.
“In that case,” he said, “I give my daughter’s hand to my faithful second in command, Antonio Giglio.”
At last the woman’s head came up. “No,” she whispered. “No,” she said again, and the cry grew, gained strength, until she was shrieking it. “No! No! No!”
Rafe stared at her. No wonder she’d sounded familiar. Those wide, violet eyes. The small, straight nose. The sculpted cheekbones, the lush, rosy mouth.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “just wait one damned minute…”
Chiara swung toward him. The American knew. Not that it mattered. She was trapped. Trapped! She had to do something…
Desperate, she wrenched her hand out of her father’s.
“I will tell you the truth, Papa. You cannot give me to Giglio. You see—you see, the American and I have already met.”
“You’re damned right we have,” Rafe said furiously. “On the road coming here. Your daughter stepped out of the trees and—”
“I only meant to greet him. As a gesture of—of goodwill.” She swallowed hard; her eyes met Rafe’s and a long-forgotten memory swept through him of being caught in a firefight in some miserable hellhole of a country when a terrified cat, eyes wild with fear, had suddenly, inexplicably run into the middle of it. “But… but he… he took advantage.”
Rafe strode toward her. “Try telling your old man what really happened!”
“What really happened,” she said in a shaky whisper, “is that—is that right there, in his car—right there, Papa, Signor Orsini tried to seduce me!”
Giglio cursed. Don Cordiano roared. Rafe would have said, “You’re crazy, all of you,” but Chiara Cordiano’s dark lashes fluttered and she fainted, straight into his arms.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS like being trapped in a nightmare. One minute, Rafe was about to launch into his father’s all-too-florid verbal apology. The next—
The next, Chiara Cordiano was lying as limp as laundry in his arms.
Was she faking it? The woman was a class-A actress. First a tough bandit, then a demure Siciliana, when the truth was, she was anything but demure.
A little while ago, she’d attacked him with the ferocity of a lioness.
And there’d been that sizzling flash of sexual heat.
Oh, yeah. The lady was one hell of an actress and this was her best performance yet. Claiming he’d tried to seduce her. He’d kissed her, was all, and one kiss did not a seduction make.
The don was holding his capo back with a hand on his arm and an assortment of barked commands. Rafe knew that Pig Man wanted to kill him. Good. Let him try. He was more than in the mood to take on the load of lard.
First, though, the woman in his arms had to open her eyes and admit she’d lied.
He looked around, strode to a brocade-covered sofa and unceremoniously dumped her on it. “Chiara,” he said sharply. No response. “Chiara,” he said again, and shook her.
Pig Man snarled an obscenity. Rafe looked up.
“Get him out of here, Cordiano, or so help me, I’m gonna lay him out.”
The don snapped out an order, pointed a finger at the door. The capo shrugged off his boss’s hand. Like any well-trained attack dog, he did as he’d been ordered but not without one last threatening look at Rafe.
“This is not over, American.”
