Page 25 of Single Malt Drama
Nicolina
I knewa little something about hostile situations. I was the youngest of six children, and only girl. I’d grown up in the mafia. I’d participated in Milan Fashion Week as a model and fledgling designer. However, none of that prepared me for walking into the Marchionni mansion.
The only reason I didn’t leave, my one saving grace, was Marco. The way he smiled when I walked out onto the pool deck sent my heart racing.
He stood and pulled me into a tight embrace. “There you are.”
Fighting back tears, I nuzzled my face into his chest.
“How are you holding up?” Marco released me and motioned to the chair beside his.
“Confused.” Understatement of the century. I sat and leaned close enough to speak to him without Enzo and Shanna overhearing. “They believe my family is responsible for the problems at the wedding, and the arson at Shanna’s apartment and Enzo’s restaurant.”
He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Right, but just because you have the same last name doesn’t mean you were involved.”
My throat tightened. He thinks my father did these things? “You agree with them? You think my father is a liar?”
“I don’t know what to think. But the circumstantial evidence is pretty damming.”
“What does that mean? Circumstantial evidence?” I’d learned English, French, and Portuguese in Italy. While I could hold my own with native speakers, I’d never lost my accent, and I struggled with some phrases and idioms.
He answered my question in Italian. “It means there is no real proof, but the circumstances seem to indicate the guilty party.”
“What circumstances?”
“The problems started around the same time your father demanded the engagement to my brother.”
“Yes, but my father has repeatedly denied any involvement.” I glanced toward the other couple to make sure they weren’t eavesdropping. “I asked him outright. He would not lie to my face.”
“There is lying, and there is bending the truth.”
“I am not stupid. I understand the difference.”
“I didn’t say you were stupid, Nic. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You may have never set foot in a traditional school, but those tutors your dad hired were legit.”
“If by legit, you mean demanding assholes, you are right.” Most people never looked past my face or my modeling career. They assumed my only skills were walking in stilettos and smiling for the camera. Not Marco. He’d always seen the real me.
He trailed his fingertips down my arm. “It’s been a long day. Let’s agree that neither of us know who is responsible for the violence and leave it at that, okay?”
“Okay.” I didn’t want to drop it. In my eyes, my father had one redeeming quality. He spoke the truth. Sure, the truth wasn’t always easy to hear, and it sometimes hurt people, but it was the only part of him I could look up to.
Marco lowered his voice. “How would you feel about staying someplace else? Just the two of us?”
Yes, please. Take me anywhere Enzo isn’t.“Where would we go?”
“Wherever we want.” He flashed me his thinking-dirty-thoughts grin. “Somewhere warm, sandy, and romantic.”
While I loved the idea of putting distance between myself and Enzo, leaving the mansion came with its own set of problems. “We wouldn’t be alone. We’d need security. Plus, we’d have to pay for a hotel. I can’t use my credit cards.”
He hitched a shoulder. “I’ll use mine.”
He doesn’t understand. “My father already suspects you helped me escape. Everything we do will leave a paper trail. How long will it take before he convinces your mother to check your finances?”
“There’s cash in the safe upstairs…” He took my hand. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Nic. The question is, do you want to live in paradise with me?”
“It’s not that simple. There are things you don’t understand.” I couldn’t decide if he was naive or reckless. Not that either option boded well for our safety.
Marco sighed. “Then explain them to me.”