Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
G aetano
I’m up at my normal time of a little after six in the morning. No matter how heavily I dose myself at night, it never allows me to sleep as long as I would like.
After I eat breakfast, I go into the living room and simply soak it in. I’m not sure what I’m feeling…all I know is I’m feeling something for the first time in a long time. A text comes through from Luca, apologizing for the disturbance while I’m ill, but there is a need for information that only I can provide.
Exhaling slowly, I go into my office while I fight the instinct to answer the text immediately. Too soon, and I wasn’t sick. Too late, and they’ll come to check on me. I’m into the system with a few strokes of my keyboard. I find what he needs easily. It’s only two minutes since he texted me.
I make myself wait twelve minutes before I respond I can get the information, I need a minute. Now, I make myself wait seven minutes before responding with the answer to his question. He responds with thanks and another apology for disturbing me with the hope I feel better soon.
Leaning back in my office chair, I sigh. My office is boring. A former bedroom selected because it was closest to my bedroom. It has the same white on the walls as the whole house. A paint color that was supposed to be changed after the updates were complete to the house before I moved in. Except I didn’t care enough about the paint to change it or anything else since I moved in.
Everything in this room is basic. I walked into the nearest furniture store, went into the area marked office, and bought the first set up that wasn’t glass—I don’t like glass anything.
The only things that are not basic are my chair and my computer. After I found the chair I bought from the furniture store lacked the support I needed for the long hours I spent at my desk. My computer setup needed to have a shit ton of room to hold all the history of what I do. While I also regularly copied everything I did to zip files, the core of what I did needed to remain on the machine. It’s also complete from Valdez—the same way all of our computers are. Firewalls and encryption kept all of our data safe in a way only his hackers could do.
My scrolling screensaver used to be the one the computer came with—until three months ago. Now it’s Bianca blowing chewing gum bubbles. I always hated the sight of the closet doors that were old-fashioned opening out and folding back. Two months ago, I covered them with a massive canvas of Bianca laughing as she threw back her hair.
A framed picture of Bianca sits on my desk, the only thing on my desk besides the plain black mat I got for my mouse so I wouldn’t have to buy one of those stupid little mouse pads. It’s also the only framed picture in the house.
I’m not concerned Sandro will see my office. He’s been here three times, and only once—when I was downloading information onto a zip drive for him—did he come into my office, by my invitation.
The only two people I’m concerned about seeing my office are Bianca and Dario. However, Dario was aware offices were off-limits in the Outfit, brother and also member of the Outfit or not. Estelle will finally have the answer to the questions she’s had since everything began appearing—I’m not looking forward to that.
I log into the feed for the camera in my room and find Bianca still sleeping, and I exhale in relief. The longer she sleeps, the better for her—and me. I can finally admit this was a whole hell of a lot harder than I first thought. Being with her every day feels like we’re a married couple living together. Except it’s not, and it’s getting harder to remember that.
Since I’m already in my system, I decide to get some work in.
Almost two hours later, Bianca triggers my alarm with movement. I pull up her camera to see her snuggling into her pillow. The smile on her face is so wide I wonder what the cause of it is.
Bianca
I’m wondering if it’s a bad thing to wear the same skirt I wore yesterday. It’s not the same skirt, but it’s the same style in a different color. I adore these skirts. These skirts are wrinkly, they’re supposed to be, and I love that about them.
Walking out of the bedroom, I find Gaetano in the kitchen. The sight of him has me smiling.
“Hi.” God, why does it have to come out all breathless like that?
“Morning. What do you want for breakfast?” There’s a coolness to him, to the question that stops me in my tracks.
Oh, wow. How rude of me to let him cook for me every morning. “I’ve got it. I’m going to try the waffle maker with those heart plates. Don’t worry. I’ll clean up after myself and everything. Go sit down in the living room. You’re giving me a complex watching me.”
“Do you know where the waffle maker is?” Is asked drily.
“Okay, after you show me where the waffle maker and pancake mix is.”
That exhalation that might be a laugh. He opens a door, and I find a walk-in pantry. One wall of it is food. Another wall has an assortment of small appliances, including a gleaming, expensive waffle maker next to the waffle maker still in the box.
He grabs the pancake mix and hands it to me as he picks up the waffle maker box.
“Knock yourself out.” He mutters as he sets it down on the counter. “There’s milk in the fridge.”
Marissa was nicer than my mom in letting me help in the kitchen. She even showed me how to cook several of her special dishes. The only thing is it’s been a minute since I’ve been in a kitchen cooking. Sandro treated me like a baby and wouldn’t let me cook after Marissa stopped being my nanny. Despite the whole reason she quit was because I was thirteen and could cook for myself and wasn’t dumb enough to set the house on fire if I was alone.
I pull the waffle maker out of the box, and it’s even neater than I thought it would be. Giggling at the idea of Santa Claus waffles, I scrub everything with anticipation—another clean before you use it commandment from Marissa.
The instructions for the waffles are pretty easy to follow. At first, I pick out the heart and Santa Claus. Then I’m too excited by how cool they are and use all the plates, so now there are snowflakes and leaves on the plate. I’m sad when I run out of batter.
I decide to give Gaetano one of each considering how small they are. Putting them on a plate for him. I butter them and warm up the maple syrup that was in the fridge in a small ramekin so he can decide how much he wants to use. Then I take everything into him.
“Gaetano, I got you a few of each.” I present him with the plate and the syrup with pride.
His jaw is hard as he looks from the plate to me. My stomach drops as I brace for the words that will match the coldness in his eyes. Only for him to blink as he takes the plate. “Thanks.”
Relief sends me back into the kitchen with a happy skip to my steps. I grab my own plate and ramekin of syrup and carry them back into the living room.
I find one of the trays already set out for me when I sit down with my plate. “Aren’t they neat?” I ask as I watch him cut into the snowflake one.
That eyebrow. “Santa Claus?”
Giggling, I nod. “These suckers are smaller than I thought they would be. So the batter went further than I thought it would. There are enough of these to eat every day for a solid week. It’s a good thing they freeze well.”
We eat in silence as we watch the old sitcom we both like about a group of friends in New York. Except it’s not a warm silence the way it has been. I don’t dare tease him or ask him questions the way I did the day before.
Once he’s done, he takes his plate to the kitchen, and I want to kick my own ass for not cleaning up as I hear him begin to wash the dishes from the mess I made.
When I finish and carry my plate into the kitchen, he’s got everything clean. I hand him my plate, and he accepts it with a nod. “The place is open. Give me a minute, and we’ll go.”
“Okay.”
Minutes later, I follow him out into the garage and wait for him to open my door.
“Not the car. If we’re getting a rug, we’ll need the SUV.” Gaetano says from behind me.
God, he thinks of everything. I move to his wicked, black SUV. He opens the door for me, and I climb up into the seat. When he turns the car on, he immediately turns the stereo down, but there’s no invitation to plug into it. Instead, he presses a button, and Sinatra comes through the speakers—it’s the station Bobby likes to listen to.
The drive to the store is quick. Once we’re inside, I grab a shopping cart and point it toward the rugs. Gaetano hangs back, not offering a word of input as I flip through the hanging rugs.
Ew, no. No. Ugly. Really ugly. No one actually buys something that ugly. Ew. Double ew. Ugly. Ugly. Not awful. Maybe it works, but not amazing, so wait to see what else there is. Ugly. So totally ugly. Absolutely not. That has to be a joke. Oh wow, I love it.
“Four hundred dollars,” I exclaim in pain.
Chuckling, Gaetano is behind me. “Let me see.” He considers it, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “It’s not bad.”
“Yeah, but four hundred dollars. There was another one?—”
“This is the one. It matches the colors in the ottoman and the console.” I’m astonished he gives the reasons why I picked it. He has been paying attention. “Move back so I can find it among this ridiculous system for storing rugs.”
“While you do that, I’ll be in the window coverings. They’re on this back wall.”
He sees me pointing and nods.
The window coverings are almost overwhelming. While nothing is ugly, it’s all boring. I’m almost ready to give up when I find the perfect pattern: a white background with interlocking waves of gray. And they’re also blackout curtains once closed, perfect for the heat here in Las Vegas.
“Find it?” Gaetano is at my back.
“Yep, I just can’t figure out what size and how many we need.”
“I’ve got that. I measured the two windows last night.” He gives me the length and width.
“Ouch, that’s three panels on one and four on another. That’s…”
“It’s not a big deal. Did you pick out the curtain rods and get their hardware?”
I nod. “Yeah, I have them leaning against the end of that aisle. Let me grab them.”
When he sees them, he nods. I don’t miss his look of relief. They are basic black with matching hardware.
“Oh wait.” I stop in front of the prints. Someone has thought of purchasing two Monet prints that complement each other. Both are of his garden in Giverny. “What do you think for the huge wall the television is on?”
He considers them before nodding. “It’s not kittens. It will work.”
“Please don’t tell me that you don’t like kittens?” I beg.
“I don’t dislike kittens. I’m also not a fan. Most animals require more care and attention than I’m willing to expend on them.” One shoulder lifts.
Sighing. “I guess that’s not bad. I’ve always wanted a cat. Sandro said no, though, because he thinks I wouldn’t take care of it. The minute I get my own place, I’m totally getting a cat. Expend…” I giggle. “Sometimes you talk like a freaking computer.”
“Expend was better word usage than wasting my time.”
I gasp. “Animals are not a waste of time.”
An exhale of air that might be a laugh. “If you say so.”
“I worry about you, Gaetano.” I’m shaking my head as we get in the checkout line.
Back at his house, he carries everything inside without letting me help. I decide I can at least push his recliners back and move the ottoman so the rug can be laid down. When I try to move things back because I have to pick them up, I’m warned to stop so he can do it. Sighing, I don’t argue.
Once it’s all back in place, I fight not to do a happy dance. Everything looks great. Maybe I should be in interior design instead of marketing.
Gaetano is back from the garage carrying a ladder and drill. He has everything put up in only twenty minutes. We both study the windows once it’s up.
Shaking his head, he sighs. “It looks good.”
I giggle. “Was that so hard to say? Does this mean I get a look in your library?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Following him down the long hallway, I spot an open door to a large bathroom. One other door in the hall is closed. Gaetano opens a door down the long hallway. Holy crap, it’s huge, with shelves on every wall. Even the wall with a window has shelves underneath the window seat.
The shelves are a color somewhere between black and gray. While the wood floors are the same that run throughout the home, they look darker with the dark color on the shelves.
“Now I understand why you put your gym in the dining room. This is a much better use of the space.”
“Exactly. If I really hadn’t wanted Dario over, I would have set this room as my gym. But I didn’t. The minute I saw it, I knew this would be the best room for the library. This window had a ton of rot in it and needed to be replaced. I figured it would be perfect for a window seat.”
“A window seat? I love it.” One wall of shelves is filled with classics, some I’ve read, most I haven’t. Another wall is full of recent bestsellers in the crime and mystery genre. The third wall has all graphic novels, a few I’ve heard of, but most are new to me.
“My dad wasn’t in love with all the reading. It reminded him too much of my mom. He understood comic books, so he bought them for my brothers. I read theirs when they were done with them.”
The doorbell rings, shocking me. “That will be your laptop from Valdez. Once you have most of your papers written, you can come in here and read.”
“How do you think of everything?” I had wondered briefly if I would end up taking two weeks off school simply so I could finish up all the papers I had to write.
“I should have thought of it sooner. You’re going to be busy catching up.”
I hang back as he opens the door to someone. Gaetano walks with the laptop into the kitchen. It’s a brand new laptop that I swear costs two grand easily, and that’s without all the safety stuff Valdez does to them before members of the Outfit are allowed to use their electronics. Even my laptop for school had to get the Valdez treatment, per Sandro’s order.
I accept it with a grimace. “Thanks, I feel bad again about all the money you’re spending for me being here.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m thinking of making ribs for lunch. Is that okay?”
“Sounds good.” I nod.
It isn’t until he’s done cooking that I finish setting up everything and get into my email.
I’m trying not to be hurt when he doesn’t make my plate, simply tells me it’s ready, and then carries his plate into the living room.
The only warning I have is a muttered swear word from Gaetano before the front door opens to a booming voice calling out Gaetano’s name.
“You don’t look sick.” The man is carrying a bag into the kitchen filled with orange juice and tissues. Even if I weren’t sure it was his brother from being able to get into the house—the sight of the man confirms it.
This is Dario. He’s a younger, thinner version of Gaetano. The man smiles at me then loses his smile as he looks to Gaetano.
“Who are you?” The man asks the question softly.
I don’t dare answer and look to Gaetano. “I’m going to go take a nap,” I whisper and flee the kitchen.
“Who is she?” Dario asks the moment the door is closed behind me
“Bianca, Sandro’s sister.”
“Sandro’s sister? Jesus fucking christ. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He yells loud enough I could have heard him if I were asleep.
My ear is pressed to the door, but I can’t hear what Gaetano says.
“Calm down. You want me to calm down when you have the only reason Sandro would kill someone without asking permission first in your bedroom. Are you sleeping with her?”
“No. I’m not. She got carried away on speed. This is purely to help Sandro.”
“Bullshit. This has nothing to do with Sandro and everything to do with her. If you had called Sandro?—”
“Sandro would lose his shit if he found out she was hooked on anything. He would have never forgiven himself. I wasn’t about to put him through that hell. She's eighteen, and she’s going to make mistakes. All Sandro would have seen was he failed her. Neither one of them deserves that.”
My chest aches at hearing Gaetano once again trying to protect Sandro from me.
“You won’t wind up dead.”
“Not unless you tell him. Because I’m not about to, and neither is she.”
The television gets turned up, and I can’t hear anything else over the noise of the movie. After a little while, I give up and take the nap I said I would.
When I wake up a few hours later, Dario is gone, and Gaetano doesn’t say a word about the visit.
Dinner is pizza, and I’m in bed doing my papers by nine. I turn out the light by ten thirty. For the first time, I welcome the oblivion of taking too many damn gummies.