Corsican Crime Lord: The Complete Series

Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

Sabella

At sunrise, Sophie walks into my room, rubbing sleep from her eyes with one hand and clutching Beatrice in the other.

“Hey,” I say, only half-awake. “Did you sleep well?”

She stops next to me. “Beatrice is hungry.”

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I say with a smile, “Then we better feed her.”

She runs ahead of me, barging down the stairs.

“Slowly,” I call after her. “Don’t trip and fall.”

When I catch up with her in the kitchen, she’s already seated at the table.

“What would you like?” I ask. “Bacon and eggs?”

She nods with enthusiasm.

I switch on the radio and turn to a music station. While I’m preparing our breakfast, Sophie hums along to the songs and plays with Beatrice. I steal looks at her as I cook, my heart squeezing at the sight of her tiny frame and thin body. When the food is ready, I dish up a generous helping for her. She can do with a little weight on those fragile bones.

After each bite she takes, she offers one to Beatrice. When our plates are empty, she runs to the lounge and snuggles up under the throw on the sofa in front of the television.

After tidying the kitchen, I sit down next to her.

“Aren’t you going to the village today?” she asks.

I give a start. “Why do you think I’m going there?”

“Beatrice saw you walking down the hill.”

“I see,” I say slowly. “No, I’m not going.”

She lies Beatrice down on her lap. “What are you doing there?”

“In the village?” Biting my lip, I consider how honest to be with her. As I don’t want to lie and lose her trust, I opt for the truth. I’d rather face the consequences if my secret is revealed than deceive her. “A few odd jobs.”

“Grandpa didn’t want us to go to the village. He got angry when we talked about it. He said if Mr. Russo knew, he’d be angry too.” She continues in all earnest. “Don’t worry, Sabella. I won’t let him be angry with you. I won’t tell him.” She looks at the doll. “You won’t say anything, will you, Beatrice?”

The exchange leaves me uncomfortable. I shouldn’t ask a child to conceal the facts. In any event, I can’t hide my outings forever. My husband only visits me at night, but that’s not to say he won’t decide to come earlier one day. He’s bound to catch me out. As soon as I have enough money stashed away, I’ll tell him myself.

“Can I go with you?” Sophie asks in her musical voice.

“You want to go to the village?”

She averts her gaze. “Beatrice wants to, but the people in the village aren’t kind.” She lifts her big, brown eyes to me again. “They scare her.”

“You’ve been there?” I ask, unable to imagine her making the long walk alone.

“Yes,” she admits reluctantly, brushing the frayed rope from Beatrice’s face. “I sometimes go alone. Other times, I go with my brothers.” She looks at me quickly. “I won’t slow you down. I promise. Beatrice walks really fast too.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” I stroke her arm. “I’m not worried about you or Beatrice slowing me down. I’m more worried about you getting tired. It’s a very long walk.”

“I won’t get tired.” She shakes her head vehemently. “I promise, Sabella. I promise I won’t get tired. I really, really, really want to go. Pleeeease.”

“All right,” I say slowly, unable to deny her. “We’ll have to dress you warmly though. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

She jumps from the sofa. “Can I look in your closet?”

“You may.” Smiling, I stand. “I’ll come help you.”

A short while later, we’re both dressed. Sophie is wrapped up in one of my sweaters that reaches her knees. Underneath, she wears leggings that are rolled up several times and a pair of my sneakers with socks stuffed into the front. I wind my scarf around her neck and pull my beanie over her ears. A warm fleece jacket serves as a coat. Beatrice has an extra scarf tied around her shoulders. I stock up on food and water, and then we set out for the village.

To be on the safe side, I go out the backdoor and around the cliffside of the house. From there, I keep to the thick vegetation at the fringe of the trees, making sure we stay out of sight from the road. The odd feeling that someone is watching me still makes the hair in my nape stand on end. It was probably only Sophie I sensed, but I prefer to be cautious.

Mrs. Paoli does a double take when she opens the door. Diva goes ballistic. Sophie hides behind me, fisting her hands in my coat.

“It’s all right, Sophie,” I say. “Diva is kind. She’s only barking because she doesn’t know you.”

Mrs. Paoli scoops Diva up and balances her under one arm. The dog immediately goes quiet.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Paoli says. “Isn’t this one of the Russo broods?”

“This is Sophie.” I add with emphasis, “My niece-in-law.”

“My goodness,” Mrs. Paoli says again. “What is she doing with you?”

I smile at Sophie. “She’s staying with me for a while.”

Mrs. Paoli places a hand over her heart. “Is that convenient for you?”

“Absolutely.” My smile stretches. “Sophie wanted to come with me today. Can I introduce her to Diva?”

“Oh.” Mrs. Paoli clutches the dog even tighter. She only loosens her hold when Diva yelps. “I suppose so. She looks…” She lifts her gaze from Sophie to me and mouths, “Clean.”

“Here.” I gently pull Sophie out from behind me. “Offer Diva your palm like this.” I show her how. “Let her sniff you. It’s how dogs get to know humans. It’ll reassure her that you’re not going to hurt her.”

Sophie takes a hesitant step forward. She stretches out her little arm, offering her hand, but at the last minute, she snatches it away as her courage fails her.

“She won’t bite, dear,” Mrs. Paoli says. “My Diva has never bitten anyone in her life.”

Sophie tilts her face up to me.

“Go ahead,” I say with an encouraging nod. “Shall we do it together?”

When Sophie nods, I take her hand and let Diva sniff it. Sophie jerks away again when the dog licks her fingers.

“That’s her way of giving you a kiss,” I say.

A radiant smile splits the little girl’s face, making my chest ache with tenderness.

“She kissed me, Sabella,” Sophie says in a soft voice.

I exchange a look with Mrs. Paoli. “Yes, she did, sweetheart.”

“She likes you,” Mrs. Paoli says.

“You see?” Sophie whispers to the doll. “I told you not to be scared.”

Mrs. Paoli hands me the leash before setting Diva on the floor. “Are you walking Diva with Sabella today?”

“Yes,” Sophie says, standing taller. “Can I hold the leash, Sabella?”

“Only if Mrs. Paoli agrees,” I say. “And you first have to practice in a clear area where there’s no traffic.”

“Can I, Mrs. Paoli?” Sophie asks. “Please?”

“I trust you, my dear,” Mrs. Paoli says to me. “You’ll be the judge.”

“We’ll walk to the river today. We can do a practice run where the path is quiet.”

“Yay,” Sophie says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Crouching down, she tells the dog, “I’ll be really good, Diva. Don’t you worry.”

Mrs. Paoli casts a glance at the too-big sneakers on the child’s feet. “Just be careful not to trip.”

As Sophie is engrossed in smoothing a hand over Diva’s back, I whisper, “I’m hoping to get her some clothes in her size soon.”

Mrs. Paoli winks with understanding.

While I attach the leash to Diva’s collar, Mrs. Paoli disappears into the house and returns a moment later with a zip lock bag filled with cookies.

“Here you go, Sophie.” She gives her the bag. “You may need to recharge your energy during the walk.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Paoli,” Sophie says, suddenly shy.

“It’s a pleasure, my dear.” Mrs. Paoli waves us off. “See you later.”

Sophie skips out ahead of me, the bag of cookies dangling in one hand and Beatrice in the other. She hums to herself as we make our way to the river. On the path that runs next to the water, I take Beatrice and the cookies so that both her hands are free. When I hand her the leash, her small face is scrunched up with concentration.

“Not in the mud, Diva,” she cries out as the dog almost trots through a puddle of water.

Sophie takes great care to steer her around it, clearly taking her task very seriously.

When we return Diva, she tells Mrs. Paoli proudly how she didn’t get the dog’s legs dirty. At Mrs. Paoli’s praise, Sophie’s face glows.

Mr. Martin is less surprised when I knock on his door with a little girl in tow.

“She yours?” he asks, motioning at her with his pipe.

“She’s my husband’s niece,” I say.

“Ah. Well, I’ll let you get on with it then. I’m taking the boat out, so I won’t be under your feet.”

After giving me a few instructions, he grabs a fishing rod that leans against the side of the house and gets into the boat. The engine sounds when I usher Sophie inside the house. The space smells of pipe smoke and cabbage.

Wrinkling my nose, I open a window. Mud is caked on the tile floor of the kitchen, and the dust lies thick on the furniture in the lounge. The windows are grubby, the view outside obscured. I don’t have much experience in cleaning, only the little I’ve done at the new house, but there’s only one way to learn.

After installing Sophie in the lounge where she plays with Beatrice, I roll up my sleeves and dive into the deep end. I start with the dusting and polishing the wooden furniture. Then I tackle the stove and counters in the kitchen. After changing the linen on the bed in the upstairs bedroom, I put the washing in the machine. While I’m vacuuming, Sophie waters the plants. She walks ahead as I’m mopping, pointing out the spots I miss. After I scrub the bathroom, we eat the sandwiches I packed for lunch in the kitchen while we wait for the floors to dry. Sophie has the cookies for dessert. Lastly, I put the linen in the dryer and wash the windows.

Four hours later, the house is sparkling clean and smells like lemon-scented floor wash instead of stale smoke. Even if I have to say so myself, I did a good job.

Mr. Martin returns just as I’m closing the windows and switching on the central heating to warm up the place.

“My golly,” he exclaims, standing in the open door of the kitchen. “I dare say this place hasn’t seen such a shine since the days my Patricia was alive.”

He lifts his foot, making to take a step, but I stop him with a palm poised in the air.

“Uh-uh. Take off your boots. You’re not going to walk mud onto the clean floors again.”

He grumbles something about me sounding just like his late wife but takes his rubber boots off and leaves them by the door.

“That’s better,” I say when he walks into the room on his socks.

Sophie comes charging down the stairs with a pair of slippers that she puts in front of him. “Here, mister. So that your feet don’t get cold.”

“Thank you, child.” He brushes a hand over her head. “You’re most considerate.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she says, imitating Mrs. Paoli’s words and tone. “My name is Sophie.”

“Thank you, Sophie,” he says. “You’re a sweet child.”

He pays me, and then we’re on our way. I’m worried that Sophie will be exhausted by the time we reach the house, but she’s still skipping and humming as if she has no cares in the world.

“How about a hot chocolate?” I ask when we’ve washed up. “I think we earned one.”

“With marshmallows like in the picture on the tin,” she exclaims, clapping her hands.

We’re sitting at the table with a mug of hot chocolate in front of each of us when the front door opens.

Sophie has been talking non-stop about the day, her excitement palpable, so I didn’t hear the car arrive. Sophie stills when Angelo appears in the kitchen door, carrying a big shopping bag in each hand.

“Hi, girls,” he says, smiling with disarming warmth.

The jeans and leather jacket he wears make him look unfairly sexy in a bad boy kind of way. When he smiles like that, the harshness of his male beauty is softer. If possible, it makes him look even more handsome, and the potency of that appeal hits me like an arrow in the gut. I’ve always been attracted to his physical looks, right from the moment I met him, but it’s not only the superficial quality that drew me to him. It was his darkness and his dangerous side, those elements that reminded me so much of water.

A spark of heat ignites in his black eyes when he catches me staring. He holds my gaze for a couple of seconds too long. Clearing my throat, I turn my face away.

A strained note slips into his voice as he directs his question at me. “How was your day?”

It almost sounds like an accusation, although it may just be my guilty conscience playing tricks on me.

Sophie looks at me and winks.

Angelo’s eyes tighten, telling me he didn’t miss the gesture, but he doesn’t question the meaning of it.

He lifts the bags onto the counter. “Heidi sent groceries and an extra set of linen for the spare bedroom.”

“Who’s Heidi?” Sophie asks.

“My housekeeper.” He turns to Sophie before continuing carefully. “You’ll meet her tomorrow night.”

“Why?” Sophie asks, grabbing Beatrice from the table.

“She’s going to stay here for a while to take care of you,” he explains.

Sophie’s eyes flare. She presses Beatrice against her chest. “I want Sabella to take care of me.”

I open my mouth to set her at ease, but Angelo beats me to it.

“There may be times when Sabella will be busy, for example, like this weekend,” he says. “We have to attend a dinner in a different city. Heidi will keep you company until Sabella gets back.”

“No.” Sophie stands, almost knocking her hot chocolate over. “I want to go with Sabella.”

“Sophie—” I start, but Angelo holds up a hand.

Going over, he stops in front of her. “Sometimes, we have to attend evening functions that are for adults only. I promise Sabella will be back.” He crouches down, putting them on eye level. “If you like, you can call Sabella on Heidi’s phone every day.”

Biting her lip, Sophie dips her head.

“Heidi will take good care of you,” I say, pushing to my feet. “You don’t have to worry. She’s a very nice lady.”

“Do you like her?” Sophie asks.

I smile. “Very much.”

“We’re leaving on Friday, and we’ll be back by Sunday,” Angelo says. “The weekend will pass quickly, especially if you help Heidi with all the baking she has planned.”

“Will you come back, Sabella?” Sophie asks in a small voice.

“Of course I will.” I go around the table and pull her into a hug. “Like Mr. Russo said, I’ll be back before you know it.”

She wraps her thin arms around my waist, holding on as if she never wants to let go.

I catch Angelo’s gaze when he straightens, my heart squeezing with compassion and worry for the little girl.

Pulling away to look at her, I ask, “Are you hungry?”

She loosens her hold on me and shows me the doll. “Beatrice is very hungry. Look how flat her stomach is.”

Angelo’s lips quirk.

I stifle a laugh. “Shall we see what Mr. Russo brought for dinner?”

He stiffens. “There’s no need to be so formal. My niece can call me Angelo.”

“Angelo,” Sophie says as if testing the name on her tongue. “Uncle Angelo?”

He ruffles her hair. “Either uncle or Angelo is fine.”

Escaping the intense gaze he locks on me, I go to the counter and unpack the bags. Sophie helps to put the meat and vegetables in the fridge while Angelo watches with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

I do my best to ignore how his quiet observation unnerves me as I start dinner. He offers to set the table when I usher Sophie upstairs for a bath. By the time she’s clean and dressed in another one of my outfits, the salmon and zucchini are cooked.

Sophie talks up a storm during the meal, telling us how she knows the edible wild berries from the poisonous ones.

“My brothers fish too,” she tells Angelo. “Trout in the river and other fish in the sea.”

“What about you?” he asks. “Do you like fishing?”

She shakes her head. “Beatrice is scared of water. She won’t go in the river or the sea, so we stay on the shore.”

I’m surprised at how good Angelo is at making conversation with Sophie. He’s different when he’s talking to her, a lot more relaxed than he usually is. It never occurred to me that he may like children. I suppose it’s because he rarely shows his softer side when he’s with me. For me, he reserves his much darker feelings.

After dinner, Sophie and Angelo load the dishwasher while I tidy the kitchen and put the spare bedding in the linen closet.

When Sophie has brushed her teeth, Angelo and I tuck her into bed.

“Beatrice wants to watch more television,” Sophie says as I place the doll next to her on the pillow.

Angelo pulls the covers up to her chin. “Tomorrow. Little people need their sleep, because that’s when they grow.”

She turns her face to me. “Is that true, Sabella?”

“Yes.” I switch on the lamp. “That’s why it’s important that you sleep enough.”

She sighs. “All right. I’ll sleep so that I can grow tall like you, Bella.”

I tap her nose. “We’re all different. You’ll grow as tall as you’re supposed to be.”

She wrinkles her nose. “How tall is that?”

Angelo grins. “It’s hard to say, but a doctor can make a calculated guess based on your weight, age, and a few other factors. Would you like one to visit to see how tall you may get?”

She takes her arms from under the covers and crosses her hands over her chest. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” he says. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Can we go tomorrow?”

“I can do better than that,” he says. “I’ll arrange for a doctor to come here.”

“Will he measure Beatrice too?”

“Yes.” Angelo kisses her forehead. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Sophie,” I say, following Angelo to the door.

“Angelo?” Sophie says. When he pauses in the doorframe, she continues. “Are you sleeping here too?”

“Not tonight,” he says with a smile.

Sophie frowns. “Sabella?”

“Yes, Sophie?”

“If you and Angelo are married, why don’t you live in the same house?”

Not knowing how to answer that question, I look at Angelo.

He replies with a blank expression. “I work a lot, and sometimes, I have to work very late. It makes more sense that I sleep at the big house.”

“Will you work less someday?” she asks.

“That’s enough questions for one night, young lady,” he says. “Sweet dreams.”

He steps aside for me to exit and closes the door behind him.

For a tense moment, we face each other in silence.

Lowering his voice, he says, “I should go.”

“Can we talk first?”

He purses his lips.

I add quickly, “About Sophie.”

He turns on his heel and walks downstairs to the kitchen, leaving me to follow. He left only the lights under the cupboards on. The room is basked in a soft glow. A memory of the night I caught Colin and May kissing in the light of the fridge in her kitchen jumps into my head. I hope they’re happy. Colin deserves nothing less.

Angelo takes two glasses from the cupboard and pours wine from the open bottle. “I instructed Fabien to fit the spare room out for Sophie. It’ll look more like a child’s room when he’s done.”

“That’s a good idea,” I say, accepting the glass he offers me. “It will help her feel more at home.”

He takes a sip of wine, watching me from over the rim. “Her clothes should arrive tomorrow.”

“That’s great. What about her brothers?”

“The cave was empty. The fire was cold, and the footprints were at least a couple of days old, so I took a drive to the camp.”

I lean against the cupboard. “Where is this camp?”

“A good two hundred kilometers away.”

“Did you question your grandfather?”

“I didn’t have to.” He rubs his nape. “The boys were there.”

“What?” I exclaim. “How did they get there?”

“They hitchhiked. Caught a lift with a truck driver who dropped them not far from the road. They walked the last few kilometers.”

I can’t believe it. “They just left their little sister like that?”

“They said they saw you taking her in. They assumed she’d stay here.”

“That may be true, but what if it wasn’t the case? How could they be so irresponsible?”

He takes a long drink. “I don’t think they know the meaning of the word. Besides, they’re still young themselves.”

“So, what happened?” I ask, breathless with worry.

“The old man is willing to sign guardianship over to me.” His lips tilt with a wry smile. “For a sum of money of course.” Scoffing, he adds, “He doesn’t give a fuck about anything else.”

“What will happen when you have guardianship?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

I wipe a hand over my brow as I consider the consequences.

“It’s not your problem, Sabella. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I can’t help being concerned about those kids.”

“Just focus on Sophie for now.”

“She has to go to school.”

His jaw hardens. “I know.”

“Has she ever been?”

“I put them in a boarding school in Bastia when I moved them into the house, but that didn’t work out. After that, I hired a private tutor who quickly quit. Before then, it’s hard to say. I doubt it. I got their birth certificates from the old man. She’s six years old. She should’ve been enrolled in primary school, but if you ask me, she’s never seen the inside of a classroom before Bastia.”

“What about the local school?”

He sips his wine, not looking at me.

“Surely the principal will understand?” I continue. “If you explain the situation, won’t he accept a late enrollment? Sophie is a bright little girl. She’ll catch up quickly.”

“The school year finishes in June. There are only four months left.”

“Then let her start officially with the new school year. What prevents you from putting her in school in the meantime? She’s been so isolated with no good role models. Being in an environment with other children of her age will do her good.”

He studies me from under his lashes. “Not if they make fun of her or bully her.”

“Why would they do that?”

He clenches his jaw. “Because of whom she is and where she comes from.”

I remember Isaac and the teasing. “I don’t want that for her either, but you have to try. Integration is important. Bullying and teasing can always be addressed.”

“I agree that she’ll have to learn how to handle those things. Bullying happens even between adults.”

“But?”

He puts his glass on the table. “A school in a different city may be a better solution.”

I gape at him. “In a different city? You want to send her away?”

“For her own good.”

“For her own good?” I whisper-exclaim. “She’s only just connected with you, her only family besides her brothers and great-grandfather, maybe the first person in her close circle who she perceives as being reliable. You can’t send her away now.”

“She’ll go back to boarding school. A different one. She’ll be well cared for.”

“No doubt,” I say, slamming my glass down on the counter. “She’ll be clothed and fed and educated.”

“Exactly,” he bites out.

“What about stability and affection and love?”

“There’s stability in routine. She’ll have that at a hostel. And she’ll be at my house on the weekends.”

“You can’t do it.” I ball my hands into fists. “That little girl has suffered more than enough in her short life. What she needs is a family she can depend on, not a tutor in some fancy girls’ school miles away from everything that’s familiar to her.”

Advancing on me, he asks, “Are you a child psychologist now?”

“No,” I say with thin lips. “But maybe you should consult one. You may be shocked to find that a psychologist may agree.”

“Sophie is not your problem and not your responsibility,” he says, animosity sparking in his eyes as he cups my nape. The touch isn’t a caress. It’s a dominant grip meant to intimidate. “She’s my niece, and I’ll decide what’s best for her.”

“I don’t mean to interfere, but?—”

His voice hardens. “Then don’t.”

“Mr. Russo, you have to?—”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” he says, giving me a shake.

“Then what am I supposed to call you, seeing that your name is off limits?”

Anger glimmers in his eyes. “You want to say it? Go ahead. Say my name.” When I only clamp my lips together, he shakes me harder. “Say it, damn you.”

I throw my oath at him. “I’ll never say your name again.”

He lets me go, reeling as if I’ve slapped him. Taking a step back, he stares at me with disbelief etched on his features. “Is this your way of getting back at me? You think you’ll hurt me with your little rebellion, with something so insignificant?”

It’s got nothing to do with a rebellion and everything to do with my pride. My self-preservation. But I don’t tell him that.

He closes the distance again, putting himself in front of me. “Go ahead. Play your game if it makes you feel better. I don’t give a fuck.” Splaying his fingers over my jaw, he brings our mouths together, brushing soft words over mine. “You want to know why?” I feel his smile as his lips curve. I feel its cruelty even before he says, “Because I don’t care.”

Jerking my face away, I step out of his touch.

His smile turns wider. Colder. “Don’t think just because my niece temporarily lives under this roof that you’ll get away with not doing what you’re supposed to be doing, which is greeting me naked on your knees. You’re two punishments behind, and I’ll collect them soon.”

With that promise, he turns and walks away, leaving an ugly hollowness in the air. His goal was inflicting injury, and I’d lie if I said he didn’t succeed.