NOVEL DRAMA ONLINE His Tesoro: Chapter 6
Mila and I spent countless hours dreaming of everything we wanted to do in the outside world—the destinations we wanted to travel to and what we wanted to do when we got there. We’d called it our Dream List, and I could already check off my first item: flying on a plane.
Of course, I’d never expected to be on a private plane with wide, soft seats and a flight attendant bringing snacks and champagne. I gave her a quick smile as I took a package of warm chocolate chip cookies. She was gorgeous, her dress highlighting her curves, and I felt a flash of jealousy, especially when I saw how her gaze lingered on Matteo.
I tried to focus on how exciting it was to be above the clouds, to see the sunset paint the sky in oranges and pinks as we hurtled towards our destination, but there was a hard lump in my throat. My new husband had made clear I would never complete several items on my list—being loved, creating a happy home for children.
It had been childish to even put them on there. What woman in my world ever got happiness? We learned to live without it. The unlucky ones ended up like my mother—empty shells, destroyed by cruel husbands. The fortunate ones with absent husbands spent their days looking after kids, shopping, and complaining to friends.
Matteo was brusque and serious, but there weren’t signs yet that he was cruel. He hadn’t commented on my wheelchair, hadn’t called me a “waste of space” like my father had when he saw me using it this morning. Matteo had even carried me up to the plane, his touch gentle, instead of forcing me to scoot up the stairs on my butt.
I wished I could have met my husband on a better health day, but I’d woken up this morning, like I had too many mornings lately, with my knees and hips ready to give out at any moment. Would Matteo have been interested in a real marriage with me if I were prettier or skinnier or less damaged?
“What do you think of flying?” Angelo asked, breaking me out of my melancholic thoughts.
I turned to the guard with a smile. “It’s amazing.”
“You’ve never traveled before?”
“I’ve never left Chicago.” The truth was, I’d barely even left the east wing of my house. When Mila and I were younger, before my condition worsened, we would sometimes attend parties or go on outings with our nanny. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.
“New York is a great city. I think you’ll like it there,” he said.
“Have you lived there your whole life?”
“Yeah. Born and raised. I grew up poor and sort of fell into all of this”—he waved his hand at our luxurious surroundings—“when I was younger. The Boss has been good to me.”
I met his gaze, looking at him intently to see if he was telling the truth. Mila always said I was too trusting, but I would rather believe that people were fundamentally good than spend my life expecting them to lie or hurt me. Maybe I’d been born into the wrong world.
“Can you tell me more about him?” I whispered.
Matteo had headed to the back of the plane a while ago, but Romeo was across the aisle from us, and more guards were sitting on the couches—yes, freaking couches, which couldn’t possibly be normal—and I didn’t want them to overhear.
Angelo gave me a kind smile. “You might have guessed that he’s not very expressive. But he’s a fair Don. He rewards people who are loyal to him.”
The unsaid words hung in the air—what happened to those who weren’t loyal.
“Does he have a family?” I asked.
“He has a sister. She lives in the same building as him. But I think that’s it. You know his parents were murdered?”
I furrowed my brow and shook my head. I hadn’t known that. I knew essentially nothing about my husband except that he looked good in a suit.
“By his uncle,” Angelo said, voice low. “It took the Boss two years to overthrow the traitor and reclaim New York.”
“When was that? How long has he been Don?”
“That was thirteen years ago.”
My eyes widened. “How old is he?”
Romeo chuckled from across the aisle, and I realized I’d spoken too loudly. I blushed and curled in on myself. My father couldn’t stand when I asked questions.
“Don’t worry,” Romeo said with a wink. “The Boss ran away, so now he has to face the consequences.”
I raised my brows, shocked at the way he was talking about his Don. If anyone spoke about the Pakhan like that—even his right-hand man—they would be punished.
“Matteo is thirty-eight,” Romeo continued. “Old fucker.”
Angelo snorted. “And how old are you?”
Romeo flipped him off. “Thirty-seven,” he answered begrudgingly, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Romeo just winked at me again.
I couldn’t believe how young Matteo had been when he became Don, and I felt a burst of sympathy for my new husband. No wonder he was so serious. He’d been responsible for all of New York for so long. I bit my lip, thinking about the seventeen years between us. The age gap didn’t bother me, but it was probably another reason Matteo wasn’t interested in me. I was young and naïve… why would he want to spend any time around me?
“Tell us about yourself, Sofiya,” Romeo said.
I shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m not very exciting.”
“On the contrary, I expect you’re about to bring no end of excitement into our lives,” he said, leaning back in his seat.
I gave the gregarious second-in-command a hesitant smile. “I like baking and reading. Boring, like I said.”
“Are you any good at baking?” Angelo asked, rubbing his stomach.
“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “My sister and our bodyguard seemed to like my creations enough.” My parents never stepped foot in the kitchen so it had been a safe place for Mila and me to spend our time, surrounded by sympathetic staff. But my health had stolen even that from me as it became harder for me to go up and down the stairs. Would my new home have stairs?
“I don’t actually know what traditional Russian desserts are,” Romeo said.
“I do make some Russian baked goods, like piroshki, which are little hand pies, and blini, which are like crepes. But I mostly learned from watching American and British baking shows, so I make a lot of cookies and cupcakes and things like that,” I said.
“Any Italian desserts?” Angelo asked, an interested spark in his eyes. “Tiramisu is my favorite.”
“I’ve never made it, but I’d love to try,” I responded. I kept a notepad with all my favorite recipes, along with a list of ones I still wanted to make. My list had grown long this past year as I’d spent months on end stuck in bed.
“My favorite is cannoli,” Romeo said. “And I’m much more important than this guy, so you should definitely make my dessert first.”
Angelo snorted and crossed his arms. Warmth settled in my stomach at their playful banter. Maybe I wouldn’t have a loving husband, but there was already more kindness in these small interactions than I’d ever gotten at home. Mila and I had done our best to create our own world in our wing of the house, and our guard, Nikolai, had gone along with our antics. But with the rare exception of when Dimitri visited, we had been an island in the midst of cold, harsh men.
“I’ll have to make both,” I said. “What’s Matteo’s favorite?”
Romeo frowned. “You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him eat a dessert.”
Just then, the man himself appeared. I hadn’t heard him coming, and I jumped a little.
“Ahh, perfect timing, Matteo,” Romeo said. “What’s your favorite dessert?”
Matteo’s icy expression fixed on me as if he knew I was the reason for the question. He quickly looked away, dismissing me, and my heart broke a little.
“I need you in the back,” he said, jerking his head. Romeo gave an exaggerated sigh before getting up and following the Don.
Angelo must have caught my crestfallen expression because he patted my hand. “The Boss has been dealing with a lot in his territory. It’s keeping him very busy.”
I nodded, turning back to the window. Night had fallen and the blinking lights over the wings of the plane joined the stars in illuminating the sky. My father didn’t believe that women should know anything about Bratva business, and I guessed it would be the same in my new home.
We had another hour or so of the flight and I decided I would let myself wallow in self-pity until we landed. Then I would be ready to face my new life and make the best of it.