Shark Bait

10. Bite the bait

TEN

BITE THE BAIT

TROY

The horses trot past the gates and up a private driveway, around a fountain with a statue of embracing lovers. A sheet covers whatever his hand is doing between her legs.

The meticulously cut grass, the two gardeners working around the fruit trees, and the massive size of the house are all consistent with the image of wealth Alessio painted when I met him.

“This is a big house,” I inform him.

“A mansion,” Shark specifies good-naturedly.

It wasn’t a boat but a yacht. It’s not a house but a mansion. There are at least twenty windows, indicating many rooms. Pillars support the portico to the front door, which a small boy swings open and rushes out of, screaming what I think might be Shark’s name.

Before the carriage makes a full stop, Shark hops onto the bench we’re sitting on, bends his knees, then launches into a front flip, landing on the asphalt. The boy claps, jumping up and down. Shark picks him up and twirls him around, much to the kid’s delight.

Alessio steps out of the carriage, then offers me his hand. I don’t need help but take it anyway because I like being treated like a princess. Doesn’t every girl?

Shark’s gaze brushes over our connected hands, and he makes a distasteful expression, even as he’s busy with the boy who’s got Alessio’s blue eyes and dense dark hair.

“Leone,” Alessio says, “we have a guest.”

Shark puts the boy down, and Leone stands in front of me like a small soldier, his eyes on my big belly and not on my face.

“This is Troy Montgomery, from Tennessee,” Alessio says.

The boy frowns and looks up at Alessio. “Where is Tennsie?”

“In the United States,” Alessio says. “I’ll show you on the map.”

Blue eyes refocus on my belly, and his hand stretches out for a feel of it. “So biiiiig.”

Alessio tsks. “Leone, manners.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” I cover his small hand with mine. “Inside is a baby boy.”

“Girl,” Shark corrects.

“My hundred dollars says boy. You wanna bet?” I ask Alessio.

“No, thank you.”

Heels clicking over the steps herald a woman wearing a classic beige flowy shirt over a pair of beige jogging pants. Her rich chestnut hair, piled messily on top of her head, bounces as she descends the steps. A thick gold chain with a single hollow heart hangs from her neck.

Her whole face lights up when she smiles, revealing the same dimples Alessio presented. She hugs Shark first and kisses him on the cheek, saying, “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Don’t I always?”

She nods and turns to me, her hand extended. “Valerina Angelini.”

I shake her hand and introduce myself. “I half expected Giulia Angelini since I saw the name at the airport.”

The woman swallows, and I can tell I said something wrong. “That was my sister.” She taps Leone’s head. “His mother.”

Was. She said was. Oh, now I’m a total ass. I drop my gaze, feeling really bad that I brought up the airport named after someone they lost, but Shark throws an arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay to ask. Guilia’s accident happened a few years ago.”

“Last year, I named the airport after her,” Alessio says.

Alessio didn’t name the airport after his mother or aunt. He named it after his dead sister. “You must really miss her, huh?” I miss my brothers, particularly my oldest brother, Denver.

At least Alessio’s not like Peggy’s brother, who named his mule Pegs, then begged my dad to arrest his sister for trying to sell the animal. Yeah no, none of that over here on Angelini Paradise Island. I’ll call it that since I can’t remember the actual name.

“Come inside.” Valerina waves. “It’s really humid today.” Her English is perfect, her accent, almost as if she’s from upstate New York. Maybe she’s an Italian from New York or she’s spent time in New York. I don’t know, but I’d like to ask her sometime. I haven’t been in the company of another woman in months, and I missed it too.

I miss a lot of things I’m hoping I won’t be missing for much longer.

Before we go in the house, I glance behind me at Shark, who’s unloading my money from the carriage. Two men wearing jeans and white T-shirts arrive to greet Shark, giving me the impression he’ll catch up with them for a while. I’m apprehensive and maybe a little scared to part from him, but Valerina is a woman, and that makes me feel more at ease, even though it shouldn’t. Sometimes, women hurt other women more than men do.

But as Shark said, I have to integrate myself back into society, and that means forcing my legs to step over the threshold and into the foyer.

The mansion’s interior is done in black-and-white marble, consistent with the majestic exterior of the house. It’s also cool and, Valerina’s right, more pleasant than the humidity outside.

“Kitchen’s this way,” she says.

Huh. We’re going to the kitchen. I find it odd that she’s not having me sit in the living room, but what do I know of Italian customs? When I arrived in Italy, I saw only a little bit of it during the first week in Rome, and mostly, I walked around the hotel. I’ve never visited an Italian home.

Valerina pulls out a chair for me to sit at the pristine white granite top of the kitchen island. The sound of the chair scraping the floor helps draw me out of the memory.

It seems to me that while I was on the yacht, I had an easier time keeping the memories at bay. Since we left the yacht, I’ve been thinking about everything from the hotel a lot more.

I don’t want to think about my captivity. Not the part on the yacht, and most definitely not the time I spent in the hotel. Maybe I could just forget about it altogether? Not happening, but wishful thinking moves me forward. For all I know, I’ll be on a plane landing at JFK airport tomorrow.

I sit down in the chair. Bags of groceries on the island tell me Valerina’s in the middle of putting them away and preparing dinner.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she says, “but we’ve only just arrived from Rome, and our staff will be here on Monday.”

“Rome?”

“We live there. Have you ever been?”

Oh God. I freeze and, like a fish with my mouth gaping, say nothing.

Valerina pretends nothing’s wrong with me, even though I know she knows something isn’t right. You’d have to lack social astuteness not to know, and Valerina gives me the impression that she’s a socially well-rounded person.

She stops speaking while she puts away her groceries, and I feel like she’s giving me time to recover, even though she can’t have any idea what I’m recovering from.

Once done, she starts folding the paper bags. I grab a few and fold with her.

“I’ve been on a cruise for a while,” I say by way of explanation.

“Is that where you met Miro?”

Miro. A four-letter name like mine. “Yeah, but I call him Shark.”

She giggles. “What’s he say about that?”

I shrug. “I don’t think he has a choice anymore. It stuck.”

Valerina laughs. “For what it’s worth, I don’t like boats or sailing. Are you hungry?” She pulls out a tube of pink lip gloss from her pocket and applies it. I must stare longingly at it, because she offers it to me. “Have some. I don’t have any cooties, I promise.”

I bet she doesn’t. Even with the messy bun, she’s well put together, with manicured fingernails and expensive jewelry on nearly every finger. My lips are chapped. My hair is breaking at the ends after going so long without conditioner. It’s not as if Fis and Co. provided feminine products or five-star accommodations.

The gloss tastes like grapes and reminds me of a yearly grape harvest. I extend a hand to return it, but she waves it off and puts on a black apron decorated with a pink cupcake that has eyes and a smiling mouth.

“Keep it,” she says.

I read the luxury brand on the tube. “I couldn’t.”

“Sure you can.” She starts to clean the counter.

“Thank you.” I tuck the tube between my breasts. “This stupid dress they made me wear has no pockets.”

Valerina pauses with the wiping. “Then you need a new dress.” Valerina chews her lip. “Oh, but wait, to get to the shops, we have to go on a ferry, and since that’s a boat of sorts and we’ve sworn off boats, we will take my brother’s plane. What do you think?”

“I don’t want to go,” I say, immediately regretting it since it feels like I keep pouring a bucket of hot, muddy water over her shiny sunflower personality. She’s trying to lift me up, and I can’t seem to keep up. But I also can’t take it back.

“I truly can’t go,” I say, hoping she’ll understand and not press.

“There are other places where we can shop. I hear Paris is divine.” She winks.

I gather this is how rich women make their shopping plans. Just hop on a private jet and go wherever you need to go in Europe. Wait, why wouldn’t I shop in Paris? And with a new friend who seems kind and hasn’t once made me feel uncomfortable.

“I’ve never shopped with my own money in my pocket,” I say. “Now I can.”

Valerina stops what she’s doing. “Why would you spend your money?” She shakes her head. “We don’t spend our money. We spend their money.” She points outside and behind me, I’m pretty sure at the men.

I laugh. “That sounds even better. What do we do with our money?”

“We invest.”

“Well then, let’s hit Paris on Capital’s jet and drop a mil on clothes and makeup. But after I deliver and my body is back to where it was.” I’ll probably be home by then, but maybe Valerina and I will keep in touch. I don’t know what’ll happen in the future, but I loved making this plan with her.

“We’ll shake on that.” Valerina extends a hand, and we make a pact. “Who’s Capital?” she asks.

“Alessio.”

She throws back her head and laughs. “That’s so appropriate. What do you want to call me?”

“Cupcake.” I point at the cupcake on her apron.

“Yes! That’s fitting. Do you get a name?”

I shrug. “I don’t think so. Shark hasn’t come up with one.” When she starts chopping mushrooms, I add, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Actually, yes, you can, if you don’t mind.” She pushes a white cutting board toward me. “Help me with the mushrooms and celery.” She opens what looks like a pantry. “Oh, and grab the milk from the fridge.”

I open the fridge and spot a large pink cake with pink bows and candles shaped into a cross at the top of it. “Did you bake this?” I ask.

“Valerina joins me and regards the cake with a sigh. “I bake one every year on Guilia’s birthday.”

“Awww. What a nice way to remember someone. It’s a beautiful cake.”

“Thank you.” She gets back to work. “I did it in Rome and wasn’t sure how it’d turn out, but it’s not bad, I’d say.”

“It’s amazing.” I pull out the carton of milk and put it on the counter, biting my lip and wondering if I should say something about my own birthday. Is it a coincidence this Guilia and I share a birthday and I’m in her house with her family now when I have no family of my own to celebrate with? I don’t think so. Still, I feel awkward about saying anything. I rub my belly.

Alessio walks into the kitchen and stands next to his sister. “Miro asked if you can bake Troy a cake for her birthday.”

“Sure. When is it?”

“Today,” I say.

Valerina wipes her hands and grabs me by my shoulders. She kisses both my cheeks. “Happy birthday! So exciting! We get to eat two cakes.”

I laugh. “That’s not necessary.”

“Nonsense. I’ll bake you one. What kind of cake do you like?”

Shark joins us. He sits next to me and rubs the small of my back before he puts both his elbows on the counter. “Valerina,” he greets Alessio’s sister. “What’s cooking today?”

“I’m making lasagna with fresh salad. And now also cake for your birthday girl.”

He chuckles. “That’s what I’ve been calling her.” He taps his temple. “In my head.”

Valerina sighs and touches the hollow heart pendant hanging from the thick golden chain around her neck. “It’s always nice to know a man thinks about you.”

“Is it, now?” Alessio slides his phone into his pocket. He rounds the island and sits on my right.

Being sandwiched between two men makes me sit up straight, and my heart starts to pound. I close my eyes and try to breathe through the fear because Alessio will not hurt me. He will not. Shark wouldn’t let him even if he tried.

My chair moves left, and I snap open my eyes (when did I close them?) to find myself sitting between Shark’s spread legs. Since he’s tall with long legs, he stretches them and hooks his heels on the footrest of my chair. He rubs my back, asking me nothing, not if I’m okay or if I’m comfortable or uncomfortable. He asks nothing at all. But his actions speak a thousand words.

He responded to my distress by pulling me into his space and away from Alessio.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

Valerina’s layering the lasagna, pretending as if nothing awkward happened, while Alessio traces his bottom lip with a thumb, eyes on me and Shark. If he apologizes for sitting down in his own kitchen and next to me, I might just lose it. I want to be normal so bad. I don’t want people to act weird around me, and yet I’m being weird around everyone.

“How many candles?” Alessio asks me.

I smile because he’s moving on, and I appreciate that. “You really don’t have to bake another cake. I’m happy to share the one already made.”

“How many?” he asks again, slightly harder this time.

I swallow before answering. All three of them are older than I am, with Alessio and Shark being well into their thirties. I could lie. “Twenty-five,” I say and then remember I told Shark I’m nineteen. Damn it.

Alessio narrows his eyes, and he taps the island. “Who wants to tell her?”

“Me,” Valerina says. “Troy, unfortunately for all of us, Alessio has this thing where he spies inside people’s heads and knows when they’re lying. It’s true. I’ve tested it several times.”

“If you can see inside my head, then you know how many candles the cake needs.”

Alessio smiles, all dimples, eyes flashing with mischief. “Nineteen,” he says.

I gape. “You can’t know that.”

“Jesus,” Alessio says, eyebrows shooting up. “Are you kidding me?”

“Sorry.” I giggle because he’s being dramatic. I’m a grown woman, and with what I’ve gone through in the last six months, I’ve aged a decade.

Valerina washes her hands, then grabs several bowls and starts to prepare cake batter. “When I was your age, Alessio arranged a marriage for me to a man well into his fifties.”

My eyes widen. How old is Shark again?

“We don’t have to talk about that,” Alessio says.

“We can talk about it.”

He’s shaking his head. “No, no, we’re fine not talking about it.”

Valerina ignores him. “One of his rivals. He tried making peace by giving up his sister, you see. But then he changed his mind when I told him how Boyd treated me on our date.” She leans in conspiratorially, blue eyes twinklingly, signaling trouble. She points at Shark. “This man showed up for my second date. I got to see him work.” She winks and swipes a thumb over her throat, implying murder. “If you know what I mean.”

I giggle. “I do.”

“She doesn’t,” Shark bites out.

Silence falls, and I realize what happened. She befriended me to get me to say I was a witness to his “work.” My shoulders slump. “I see what you did there,” I say. “This sucks. I’m so naive.”

Valerina rounds the island, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry I baited you. We didn’t have time to prepare for your arrival, and with such sensitive matters, I had to know who you were and what you know. But I promise, I won’t do it again. And to be honest, in our little circle, the more fucked-up shit we share with each other, the closer we become to one another. Welcome to the Angelini vigilante family. We have cake.”

My mood perks up. “I can’t resist cake.”

She spreads her arms. “Hug?”

We hug, and she gets back behind the island.

Alessio shakes his head. “You met her two minutes ago, Valerina. There’s no reason to tell her everything about us.”

“It’s not everything, but only the good bits. Besides, I have a feeling Troy and I are gonna be lifers.”

I nod, even though I doubt it. “Yes, yes, we are.”

“Besides,” Valerina adds, “if she’s a witness and in our home, I take it we decided we’re keeping her, so we should all be more forthcoming with her.”

“That’s enough,” Shark says, more forcefully than I expected.

Valerina huffs but changes the subject. “Lunch will run late, maybe a couple of hours. Miro, would you show her the guest house?” She turns to me. “It’s newly renovated, and I’ll be curious to know what you think.”

“Thank you for the hospitality,” I say.

“Anytime. Miro is our brother from another mother, and if you stick with us, which I think you will, you will be my sister.” She points up. “I consider you a blessing. You even share the same birthday as Guilia, who would’ve turned twenty-five today.” Goose bumps crawl up my arm, and Valerina rubs them. “You are safe with us. I hope you understand that.”

Alessio gets up. “Valerina gets to bake another cake. Leo will nap then eat until he throws up, probably. You’ll celebrate your birthday day. A win all around.”

“What kind of win is in store for you and Shark?” I ask as Shark and I follow Alessio through the mud room and into a courtyard with a pool.

Alessio answers me in a language I don’t understand. Shark responds.

Uh-oh. They don’t want me to know what they’re saying.

We walk past the pool toward a white cottage with a blue door and two windows with blue shutters. Alessio opens the blue door, but when Shark and I try to enter, he stops Shark with a hand on Shark’s chest. “My office.”

“Give me five,” Shark says.

“Now.”

The men are locked in a staring contest while I’m taking in the warm beiges and teal blues of the interior decor. A large black-and-white sticker in the shape of a palm tree curves on the wall above the couch. There’s a kitchenette and a door that I presume leads into the bedroom.

“This is the cutest,” I say, but when I glance back at the entrance, the men are gone.