My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 4 Poisoned (7 page)

I hung up and ran back to his room,
stopping outside the door. His swearing continued, the man having
the nastiest tongue, even more so than Alberto.

I knocked on the door.

“
Come in!” he
barked.

I entered, closing the door behind me.
Frano now had his pajama pants on, but his muscular chest was still
bare. He sat down on the bed and gestured for me to take a seat. I
did, watching as he picked up the tray. I jumped up and grabbed it
off him, his hands shaky, the drugs he’d been injected with earlier
probably the cause. At a guess, he was coming down, the shaking a
side effect. Well, as long as he ate his soup, he would be getting
much needed rest, the man a workaholic.

I placed the tray on his lap. Frano picked
up the spoon, looking at his hand, which had stopped shaking. “Take
a seat,” he said, placing the spoon in the soup. He stirred it, his
gaze moving to me. I swallowed, the man intense to say the least,
his anger rippling off him.

“
Have you seen Sasha?” he
asked.

“
Not for the past three
days. He’s been visiting someone, a lover Alberto said.”

“
Merda
,” he swore. “No wonder he hasn’t
called that Black Fucking Freak.”

I smiled at his reference,
watching as Frano took a sip of the soup. He let out a satisfied
sigh, then took a large spoonful, the food softening his harsh
expression. “Tastes like how my
nonna
used to make it. Who’s the cook for
today?”

“
Maria.”

“
Well, tell her the minestrone
is
perfetto
.”

“
I will
.”

He gave me a quizzical look. “And why have
you been ordered to serve me? It’s not one of your
tasks.”

“
Alberto allowed the
Gambino
family to take a break due to a celebration. But
unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of the Donatelli coming, so he has
all the other servants busy preparing for the dinner.”

He pointed his spoon at
me
. “Make
sure you wake me up an hour before they arrive. I must prepare
myself.”

“
Alberto said you should
stay in bed, which is another reason he sent me. He wants to make
sure you’re taking adequate rest.”

“
Not if it means I would miss a
meeting with those savages.” He took another spoonful of the soup.
I watched as he swallowed it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing. My
mind went to Jagger and how he loved me nibbling on his Adam’s
apple.

Frano scooped up more soup, my
brother-in-law looking ravenous.

“
How are you feeling?” I
asked.

He looked up as he shoveled the minestrone
into his mouth, a dribble running down his chin. He wiped at it.
“My head is killing me, and it doesn’t help with psychotic Russians
phoning me.”

“
What did the Black
Russian want?”

“
Someone he
canno
t
have.”

“
Is he still persisting on
getting Jagger?”

He frowned. “How do you know about
that?”

“
Alberto told me. And I find it
repulsive the man thinks he can buy Jagger.”

“
And I think it’s wrong what you
are doing with my cousin.”

I
pulled a face, not appreciating his
berating tone. “I was going to talk to you about him.”

“
Why bother? You already had a
conversation with Alberto’s boot, and if you’re thinking of
divorcing him, think again. Divorce is not permitted in our
famiglia
.”

“
Why not if a marriage
isn’t working?”

“
Because of the church. Alberto
doesn’t wish to leave it; therefore you must abide by your
vows.”

“
But I love
Jagger.”

“
Open your eyes, woman,
Jagger has no
interest in you.”

“
Don’t say
that!”

“
Why ignore the
truth?”

“
Because it isn’t the truth, he
told me he loved me today.”

Frano
frowned
. “I
thought he was in New York.”

I went still, realizing I’d let slip, then
I exhaled loudly, making out that my next words were obvious. “He
phoned me.”

“
Oh…” Frano picked up a piece of
bread and wiped the bowl with it, then took a bite, looking as
though he was thinking. “You still can’t keep cheating on Alberto
with Jagger; they had a fight over you.” He paused, his frown
growing. “No, it was only partly over you. I think Jagger went
crazy over Honey being sent away, but she’s still here...” He put
down the bread and rubbed his forehead, no doubt getting confused
over what was real and what wasn’t.

“
They never fought over me or
that slave,” I said, not liking Honey, not one bit. Jagger had
spent way too much time with her when he should’ve spent it with
me. “Do you wish me to get Honey for you?”

Frano
dropped his hands. “Why would I want
that?”

I smiled softly, the man clueless. “Isn’t
that obvious?”

“
Not to me.”

“
As a bed-warmer,” because the
bitch was never going to warm Jagger’s bed again.

“
I don’t wish for a slave in my
bed…” His eyes lit up, “...unless you can get me Rita.”

“
Who’s Rita?” I
feigned.

“
The brunette slave.”

“
We don’t have any
brunettes.”

“
We do, I know we do, I can
remember her; she looks like Sophia Salvi, just with brown hair and
older.”

“
I’m sorry, but there is no such
woman. You probably dreamed her.”

“
No, no, she
is
real,” he said, looking
frustrated.

“
You did take a hard
knock.”

He
started massaging his temples,
mumbling that there
was
a brunette, then his eyelids slowly closed, the drugs in
the soup finally taking effect. His eyes shot open as his body
listed to his right. He placed a hand on the bed to steady himself.
“What is wrong with me?” he said.

“
It will be the
concussion.”

His gaze moved to me, his glare making
my heart beat faster. “You’re lying.”

“
No, I’m not.”

“
You are, so is Alberto,
because that woman is real.” His hand slipped out from under him.
He fell onto his side, the empty soup bowl tumbling onto the
bed.

I got up and removed the tray and bowl,
placing them on the bedside cabinet.

Frano blinked up at me, his
expression both sleepy and upset, the anger simmering underneath
making me nervous
. I made a mental note to avoid him after he woke
up.

“
You drugged me,” he
said.

“
Alberto wanted you to
sleep.”

He closed his eyes, then reopened
them, trying to fight the drugs. “Yoou wiiiill be punished fo-for
this,” he slurred, his eyes closing again.

His body went lax, all fight gone out of
him, his mind drifting into unconsciousness. I shook his shoulder
to double-check. He was out cold. I grabbed him around the waist
and pulled him down the bed, then covered his body with a sheet. I
stopped to stare at him for a moment, thinking he looked a bit like
Jagger asleep. I forced down the lump in my throat at what Jagger
was enduring, then picked up the tray and left the room.

I headed down the staircase and through
the flapping doors that led into the kitchen. Maria, the old cook,
was rolling fresh gnocchi between her hands, the results lined up
on the bench, while her daughter-in-law was chopping onions. And on
the other side of the room, Thierry was washing dishes, trying his
best to ignore the assistant’s five-year-old daughter, who was
pulling on his shirt, pestering him to sing. The cook turned to
look at me, Maria’s craggy old face showing her displeasure that I
had served Frano, the woman having given me some trouble over
it.

The battle-ax barked at Thierry in Italian
to take the tray. Jagger’s brother stopped cleaning dishes and
glanced over his shoulder, his confused look telling me he didn’t
understand a word that Maria had said, his Italian rather
poor.

“
Don’t worry,” I said,
putting the tray down on the bench, “Alberto ordered me to take
Frano his food.”

“
Still, you are a D’Angelo, you
shouldn’t have to serve,” Maria said. She was a heavy-set woman
with more hair on her face than Thierry had on his whole
body.

“
I don’t mind,” I replied,
looking at Thierry. “And he’s a D’Angelo too.”

The woman huffed, not looking happy with
my reply, no doubt because Thierry was a love child, or in Maria’s
terms: a bastard child. She turned back to what she was doing,
mumbling something under her breath.

Ignoring her, I walked around the central
food station, heading for the little girl and Thierry. He looked
scared, as though the cook and her helper would find out about what
we had discussed earlier. I smiled at the boy reassuringly,
thinking he was far too sweet to be caught up in this mess. To a
certain extent, minus Alberto’s violence toward me, I knew what I
was getting myself into since the D’Angelo family was known for
their ruthlessness, but this boy hadn’t had a clue when he’d walked
through the front door with only a suitcase and Jagger’s name on
his lips.

I shooed the little girl away from
Thierry, the five-year-old running to her mother. I watched her
with her mother for a second, then returned my attention to
Thierry. “Be here around five,” I whispered to him. I patted his
hand then turned and left, my nerves making my heart skip a beat,
but in a good way, because...

A
LBERTO WAS GOING TO DIE
TONIGHT!

***

The three Donatelli men and their guard
entered through the front door as if they owned the place. I
clamped my teeth together, wishing I could shoot them all for
kidnapping and hurting my Jagger.

The gra
y-haired and very loud don walked
alongside Alberto, my husband stealing Frano’s role. But unlike
Frano, he looked like the hired help, his taste in clothes
substandard, most notably the hideous charcoal jacket he had on,
something I was sure I’d thrown out. Which proved he wasn’t up for
the job of being a don. Although Alberto was a big and
strong-looking man, he didn’t give the impression of a leader, his
lack of dress sense and his definite lack of charisma a major
problem.

The two Donatelli brothers and a guard
followed the frail-looking don and Alberto, along with… My eyes
widened as Matteo entered through the front door, the man giving me
a wide grin. He walked up to me and took a hold of one of my hands,
giving it a kiss.

“
I thought you were dead,”
I said as his lips brushed my flesh.

Still holding my
han
d, he
straightened, those stunning blue eyes of his twinkling
mischievously. “As you can see I’m very much alive and by the way,
did Alberto tell you who I am?”

“
You’re FBI.”

“
No, I’m a Donatelli.” He let go
of my hand and did an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “My full name
is Matteo Lorenzo Donatelli, I’m Marco’s son.”

“
You’re Lucky’s
boy
?” I said
in shock.

“
Yes.”

“
But you’re
Americano
.”

“
Only half. My mother was once a
slave. And because I’m blond, a rarity in the family, my father
decided to reward her by setting her free.”

“
Huh,” I said, still stunned,
“Then why was I told you were FBI?”

“
I was an
infiltrator.”

“
Still, how come I haven’t
heard of you prior to this year? I’ve met all of your father’s
children.”

“
I lived in America for
most of my life, and you were probably only introduced to his
wife’s children, because my father has spawned thirty-four kids
altogether, that is, the ones he knows about. He really hates
condoms,” Matteo laughed.

I blinked, totally shocked. I knew
Lucky was a ladies’ man, but that number was staggering.

Matteo smiled at me. “By the way, how is
Frano?”

“
Good considering what happened
to him, but unfortunately he won’t be attending tonight due to his
concussion. He had to be given a sedative.”

“
That’s understandable; my
father did go overboard with hitting him over the head. Is he still
having trouble remembering?”

“
He’s confused, and doesn’t know
what is real and what isn’t.”

“
Then make sure he only knows
what Alberto wants him to.”

“
S
ì
.”

Matteo kissed my hand again, making me
blush. The man was lovely-looking and very suave—unlike Alberto,
and his dark suit was gorgeous, the cut accentuating Matteo’s
athletic physique.