Page 57 of His Vicious Vow
“Nope, he paid Milos for everything Milos spent on your security and buying from you. Milos thought it was cute. He also didn’t want to accept the money but understood why Sandro felt the need to give it to him. Since the whole reason Milos was doing what he did was me then I should the money for the rescue.”
“Holy freaking crap, how rich is Sandro?” The words fly out of my mouth in shock.
I swear I can hear her shrug over the phone. “I’m guessing a lot. There is no way Carlo would marry you to someone who wasn’t close to his level. Should I not have told you or something?” Her voice lowers.
“Between what he gave Milos and what he paid for my doctor to swap out my birth control shot I tried to get for a flu shot he’s spent more than a million dollar like almost a million and a half.”
Her laughter surprises me. “Milos did the same thing to me. But he gave me a shot of a fertility treatment. And since you are happy I can tell you my news but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”
“You’re pregnant? Already?” I would expect something like the shot thing from Milos the man is brutally ruthless and scary, but I don’t know I thought Sandro was a little more…I guess he just seemed less scary than Milos.
She giggles. “Yes, you’re going to be an aunt. I can’t wait. I want half a dozen and all of them little boys. But Milos is demanding girls.” I can hear her talking to someone. “Speaking of Milos he’s taken time off for lunch with me so I need to go. I’m so happy you’re happy. I can’t wait to see you again for your wedding. Thank you for letting me pick my maid of honor dress.”
“You’re welcome. Love you talk to you later.” I force a smile as I end the call.
A calendar reminder comes through that Natasha put in yesterday. I can’t believe I have a calendar and from three days after the wedding it’s filled with stuff for me to attend with Sandro: dinner at a Senator’s house, a fundraiser for school supplies for both teachers and students, a campaign fundraiser for the mayor, a golf tournament the hotel is sponsoring and so many more. All I could think was thank god Sandro had me go shopping.
The calendar thing goes off again. I turn it off. There’s no putting it off, I have a therapy appointment at two—so in an hour.
For the first time in…ever, I can’t sleep. I can’t call it insomnia when it’s because I wonder where Sandro is. He’s a ghost, I hear him—barely. But I don’t see him. He comes in super late and he leaves after only a few hours.
I’ve encountered Bianca more than Sandro. She’s often home, spending most of her time either in the pool or in front of the television.
She complains bitterly over the changes happening, telling me the wallpaper I picked for the living room is ugly and asking loudly what kind of idiot would cover the gorgeous hardwood in the living room with massive carpet I picked. I ignore her, but it isn’t easy.
The bitch has also broken several of my favorite mugs. I heard a crash yesterday and ran into the kitchen to find four of them in pieces on the floor. Her eyes were wide as she gave the fakest apology in the world. It was an accident she said. She reached for one and it caught several, oops. Then she walked away without looking back, leaving me to clean up the mess. After I cleaned, I hid my remaining favorites behind my tea tins so she couldn’t see them and destroy those too.
Her door slams closed, telling me she’s leaving her room. That’s another thing she does that annoys the hell out of me—she always slams her door closed. The slamming door reminds me I need to get my ass in gear.
I get ready quickly deciding to ditch a full face of makeup for a simple tinted face cream, brush of mascara, and lip gloss. The maxi dress is a royal blue I team with basic black velvet ballet flats. When I’m done I blink fast at the change from before I met Sandro. I recognize her. She’s the girl from before nonna died.
Shaking my head I grab the beautiful designer handbag I found outside my door the first day. Inside the handbag was a brand new phone. The phone was loaded with the sim card from my old one. I toss the matching wallet that was inside it. It’s filled with three credit cards in the name of Carina Leonetti there’s even a debit card for a large bank. Out of curiosity I checked the balance of the account connected to the debit card, there was twenty thousand dollars sitting in it. How does he do that? Get around things like banking rules and I don’t even know what.
There’s a tall, thin man waiting in the living room—mafia. He nods at me, no smile. “Mrs. Leonetti, I’m Paolo. I’ll be your driver.”
“Thank you.” I don’t bother inviting him to call me Carina.
Walking through the kitchen I stop at the box on the counter. The picture on the front of the box has me smiling. “Can you give me just two minutes to open this?”
Another nod. “Yes, ma’am. Sandro hoped you’d want to open it right away.”
Very carefully I pull the styrofoam surrounding it out of the box. Removing one side of the styrofoam I gasp. This is neatest tea pot ever. There is a glass pot large enough for a single cup of tea with a strainer for loose tea held up by the hands of a beautiful woman with long hair down her back. A little lever tips glass pot over to fill a cup waiting beneath it.
Setting each piece onto the counter I don’t want to go to therapy I want to make some tea with this. Then I see there was another box on the counter, it’s a standing electric kettle in pink.
“You like it, Mrs. Leonetti?” He’s watching me closely, I guess he sees the tears I’m trying not to let fall.
“I love it. I’m not used to gifts.” I try to explain.
He nods. “My sister is the same. We didn’t get gifts growing up. Now I give her a birthday gift and she’s crying for days from happiness.”
Wiping the tears away I force a laugh. “Women and emotions.” I force myself to move away from the beautiful teapot and out of the kitchen.
The drive to the appointment is relatively quick. He drops me off outside the office building informing me of the therapist’s name and how to find her.
She’s nice. The thought is almost instinctive when she introduces herself. Her name is Ruth. An older woman probably in her mid-fifties, I’m guessing from the amount of gray among her blonde hair.
Most of the appointment is spent going over my history and the panic attacks. She asks few questions as she writes in her pad. When I finish our time is close to up.