Of volume lineage

VII

 

Isabella

 

I could’ve chewed my fingers down to my palms with how nervous I was.

There was no real reason to be nervous, after all I would have a chaperone and my honor wasn't as intact as it once was thanks to Harry Gruenfield from my senior biology class. But the idea of facing Giova

When his car came to pick me up, I was surprised to see him in the backseat. I had expected to meet him at the restaurant. 

“Isabella,” he greeted, a

Giova

I took them gingerly, almost flinching when I felt the sharp thorns through the ribbon.

“Thank you. You didn't have to.”

“Didn't I?”

I eyed him. Giova

I took the roses on my lap, listening to the sounds of his driver close the door behind me and slide into the front seat. My chaperone/bodyguard, an old soldato named Luigi, joined him in the passenger seat. Both kept their eyes facing forward.

“Where are we going for di

“You’ll see.”

I kept looking at him, trying to peel beneath the layers of armour and fancy suit. He met my gaze every time, eyebrow arched.

“Is there something you wish to say, Isabella?” he asked after my fifth glance.

Something I couldn't name seemed to quiver every time he said my name. It made me furious. Couldn't he say my name the same way everyone else did?

“What’s Marzia doing tonight?”

“She should be asleep right now.”

Lights and shadows danced over Giova

I tried to recall every conversation opener I had ever heard in some desperate attempt to create a relationship with the statue sitting next to me.

“The weather's been horrible lately.”

Giova

My nerves paired with my sudden flare of anger led me to snapping, “Has anyone ever told you you're very unsettling?”

“They have.” He tilted his head. “I imagine you've also been told similar things.”

I huffed. “Unsettling, no. Volatile, yes.”

“An assessment I agree with.”

“I bet you do.”

Luigi and the driver both stiffened. Giova

The car pulled to a slow stop in front of a dimly lit restaurant. It was an old-fashioned place, with great arch windows and steel shaped like metal vines ru

I wanted to see if Giova

Usually, I was the first to open my door without any help or snap off the head of a man holding the door open for me. I had two arms that worked perfectly, thank you very much. But I wanted to see if Giova

Something strange inside of me ignited, suddenly thrilled.

I opened my own door and stepped out into the night. Snow had begun to melt, leaving icy concrete in its wake, but the wind remained bitter cold. Goosebumps rose up and down my exposed skin.

I had spent hours choosing the right outfit, forcing Uncle Angelo to help me. After changing over a hundred times, I had settled on a wine-red dress that ended above my knees paired with a fur shawl of the same color. My hair was pi

Giova

The doors to the restaurant opened before I could touch them, revealing a pretty woman with eyes the size of headlights.

“Welcome, Mr. Vigliano.” She stepped aside to let us into the restaurant, warm air instantly brushing against me. “Your table is right this way.”

I realized instantly: the place was empty.

Not a single table was filled with hungry patrons, no waiters zipping between chairs. Instead the place was dark–except for a single table upstairs. It looked over the busy street but was far enough from the window that there would be no sniper shots. If anyone else had arranged this, I would’ve considered it romantic.

Giova

“It’s strange,” I said suddenly as I slid off my shawl, revealing my exposed shoulders and chest. “Empty restaurants. Don’t you think?”

He regarded me, lips thi

When I continued to look around, he clarified, “I do not like public appearances, Isabella. You will grow used to it.”

Would I? Or would my father be Don again by then?

I eyed him. There hadn’t been a single photo of him anywhere, not from a fellow La Cosa Nostra or government agency. “Why don’t you like public appearances?”

“Becoming recognizable instantly makes you memorable. I am a target of law enforcement and many other enemies. I would rather them not be able to identify me instantly.” I sensed there was another reason, but I was too surprised by his candidness to argue with him.

“That makes sense,” I said.

A waitress arrived at our table, quietly pouring wine, leaving a breadbasket, and then disappearing back into the shadows. She hadn’t looked at Giova

“You’ve demanded this evening, Isabella,” he said. “Feel free to take control of the conversation.”

“You don’t seem like the type of man who ever surrenders control,” I shot back.

Giova

The way he recounted my actions with such calculation made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. Giova

“Like I said before.” I took a sip of the wine. Expensive, sour. “I’m volatile.”

“Mmm.”

I quickly added, “You really wouldn’t mind living with a near stranger? Coming home to an outsider, sleeping beside one?”

“It would bother you more than me.”

“What about Marzia?”

His eyes shifted, just slightly, barely noticeable, but I knew the moment I said it that I had gotten my hook into him. Emotionless monster Giova

Giova

“I’m not threatening you. I wouldn’t dare.”

I felt the pressure of his stare as he took in my expression, peeling away at the humor and i