Chapter thirteen: The pendant

Fiona’s POV

“Whatever happens, Fiona, promise me you’ll never take this off.”

Those were my mother’s words on the morning of my wedding.

I’d been sitting in front of my vanity, allowing three women to torture my hair into something they called an elegant bridal masterpiece, when Mamma walked into the room carrying a small velvet box.

“Mamma, if that’s another piece of jewelry, I swear I’ll collapse under the weight.”

She didn’t laugh instead she dismissed the stylists and waited until the door closed before approaching me.

“There’s something I want you to have.”

She opened the box.

Inside lay a delicate gold necklace with an oval pendant. A tiny ruby sat in its center, and the gold looked old, the kind of old that couldn’t be replicated no matter how much money someone threw at it.

I picked it up. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was very precious to me.”

I turned it over and there was an inscription on the back.

Anche nel buio, troverai la luce.

“Even in darkness, you will find the light,” Mamma translated softly.

I smiled. “That’s lovely. A little dramatic, but lovely.”

Her fingers closed around mine. “Fiona, listen to me.”

I looked up and her eyes were wet oh, God not another emotional speech.

“Mamma, please. If you cry, I’ll cry.”

She smiled faintly, but it disappeared almost immediately. “This necklace protected me during a very difficult time in my life. I believe it will protect you too.”

I frowned.

“Protect me from what?”

She looked away. “Sometimes, my darling, the people we love cannot protect us from everything.”

That was an extremely unsettling thing to say to someone who was about to marry a mafia Don.

“Mamma?”

She stepped behind me and fastened the necklace around my neck.

“Promise me you’ll keep it safe.”

I touched the pendant. “Of course.”

“And Fiona?”

“Yes?”

Her reflection met mine. “Whatever happens in that house, remember who you are.”

***

I should have asked her more questions.

That was what I kept thinking as I stood in front of an enormous mirror in a bedroom that apparently belonged to my husband.

My husband.

God, that sounded ridiculous.

A few hours ago, I’d been Fiona Romano, nowI was Fiona Ricci.

Wife of a billionaire and mafia Don.

Wife of a man whose former lover had just informed me that he always returned to her bed.

Wonderful, my marriage was going splendidly. “Signora?”

I turned and a middle-aged maid stood behind me, holding a silk robe.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to help you change?”

I looked down at my wedding dress.

The thing was beautiful, but I’d been trapped inside it for so long that my ribs were considering filing a complaint.

“Please. Before I die in this.”

She smiled politely.

Her name was Lucia, and she’d been assigned to help me prepare for what everyone kept referring to as my wedding night.

Apparently, nobody had considered that the bride might prefer to spend her wedding night eating cake and sleeping alone.

Lucia carefully unfastened the dress while I held my hair out of the way.

“Your husband chose this suite himself,” she said.

“How romantic. Did he also choose the locks?”

She paused. “The locks, Signora?”

“Never mind.”

Within minutes, the wedding dress was gone, replaced by an ivory silk robe with delicate lace around the sleeves.

I stared at myself.

Oh! Well! That was certainly a robe, a very expensive, very short robe.

I tugged at the hem. “Is there perhaps another one?”

Lucia looked concerned.

“Is something wrong, Signora?”

“Only that I appear to be wearing a very elegant handkerchief.”

The ivory silk robe clung to my curves like a second skin, its delicate lace barely concealing anything beneath. The neckline went dangerously low, while the ridiculously short hem exposed most of my thighs. Every movement made the thin fabric shift against my body, leaving very little to the imagination.

I felt like a sacrifice in this.

She pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile. “I can bring you something else.”

I considered it and then shook my head. “No. It’s fine.”

I wasn’t going to give Luca Ricci the satisfaction of thinking I was nervous.

Even if I was.

Lucia gathered my wedding dress, then reached toward the necklace resting against my chest.

“Would you like me to remove your jewelry?”

My hand flew to the pendant.

“No!”

She froze, I immediately softened my voice.

“Sorry. No, thank you. I’ll keep this one.”

“Of course, Signora.” She gave me a small bow and left.

And just like that, I was alone in my husband’s bedroom on my wedding night.

I stared at the enormous bed, it was easily large enough to accommodate six people not that I was suggesting anything heavens forbid.

I walked toward the windows, pulling my robe tighter around myself.

Outside, the estate glittered beneath the night sky. The reception was still going on somewhere below, and faint music drifted through the gardens.

I wondered whether Luca was still entertaining his guests or perhaps entertaining Isabella.

My stomach twisted and I frowned absolutely not, we were not doing that, I did not care whose bed Luca Ricci returned to.

He could sleep in Isabella’s bed, Matteo’s bed, or the Pope’s bed for all I cared.

I was still congratulating myself on my emotional maturity when a loud cheer erupted outside.

I approached the window to see several men were gathered near the entrance to the private wing, raising their glasses and standing in the middle of them was my husband.

Matteo clapped Luca on the shoulder. “Go on, Ricci! Your bride is waiting!”

Another man whistled. “Don’t keep the poor girl waiting all night!”

Someone shouted something in Italian that made the entire group burst into laughter.

I understood enough to wish I hadn’t. Oh, dear God, they were cheering him on.

Like this was some medieval ceremony where the entire village had gathered to celebrate the bride being dragged into the marriage bed.

I stepped away from the window.

“Animals,” I muttered.

Then I heard footsteps in the corridor, my heart immediately began misbehaving.

I was not going to stand there trembling like some innocent heroine in a romance novel.

I was Fiona Romano, well Ricci unfortunately, I straightened my shoulders, smoothed my robe, and practiced my most unimpressed expression.

The door opened and Luca walked in.

***

He had removed his tuxedo jacket.

His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, and his dark hair looked slightly disheveled.

Which was deeply unfair because a man should not look that good after ruining someone’s life.

He closed the door behind him and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his gaze moved over me from my bare feet to the hem of my robe, then upward until his eyes met mine.

Something unreadable crossed his face and I folded my arms.

“Enjoy your little cheering squad?”

His mouth curved. “You heard that?”

“I believe half of Italy heard that.”

“They’re celebrating.”

“They sounded like they were sending you into battle.”

“Perhaps they were.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be offended?”

“Only if you intend to be difficult.”

“Then you’re in for a very long night.”

He laughed softly and started walking toward me.

This was happening, he stopped a few feet away, studying me with an intensity that made me suddenly conscious of how little fabric I was wearing.

“You look beautiful, Fiona.”

I swallowed.

“Thank you. You look annoyingly pleased with yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I be? I just married a beautiful woman.”

“Against her will.”

His smile faded slightly. “You’re going to remind me of that forever, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

He stepped closer and I resisted the urge to move backward and his hand rose, I thought he was going to touch my face.

Instead, his fingers paused near my collarbone and his expression changed completely.

The amusement disappeared, his eyes fixed on something resting against my chest on my pendant.

“Where did you get that?”

I blinked. “What?”

His voice was different now. “That necklace.”

I glanced down. “Oh. It’s just something my mother—”

He moved so suddenly that I gasped.

His hand closed around the pendant, pulling it forward. The chain tightened painfully against the back of my neck.

“Luca!”

He didn’t seem to hear me, his eyes were fixed on the tiny ruby then he turned the pendant over to read the inscription.

And went completely still.

For a moment, I could hear nothing but my own breathing, his face had lost all color.

“Luca, you’re hurting me.”

His grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

He looked at me and the expression in his eyes made my blood run cold.

Gone was the charming groom or the arrogant man who enjoyed teasing me, the person standing in front of me looked like he wanted to destroy something.

“Where,” he said slowly, “did you get this?”

I swallowed.

“I told you. My mother gave it to me.”

His jaw tightened. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Martha Romano gave you this?”

I nodded, he looked at the pendant again, his thumb brushing over the inscription.

Then his eyes snapped back to mine.

“Tell me the truth, Fiona. What the heck LO is your mother doing with this necklace?”