27. Home is… not here any longer
It takes longer to clear Andrea of the charges than we expect. The way Andrea’s handprints were submitted to the police, via anonymous sender, was inadmissible in court, as Shelly and DeRossi had argued. They were found on Mia’s arms but not her throat and she died by strangulation.
I wish I could say we’re relieved, but it doesn’t change the agitation coursing through Andrea’s body.
Each night, he takes it out on me, our bodies writhing with lust and hunger for each other. Every time is more delicious than the last. The way he learns to play my body like his favourite instrument settles what I thought was broken forever. He’s performing kintsugi with the pieces of my soul, glueing them back together with gold.
It’s like I’m relearning sex all over again, with him as my centrefold. I’m not in control when he touches me and that excites me more than anything else I’ve ever attempted with a partner before.
The attention on Mia’s murder hasn’t died down. Everywhere we go, we’re followed by the press. People are wary of Andrea, and by extension, of me.
Rougebuilding site is on pause because the workers I had on contract refuse to be associated with me and the Capaldi name. It helps that Andrea owns his own construction company and can take over, but the transition isn’t happening until the new year.
And accepting his help as the gesture of a husband rather than a handout is still difficult for me. Just because we have sex doesn’t mean I’m healed from my trust issues.
That’s how we end up on a luxurious private jet on December 26, flying to Kalliste, in need of a break from it all.
I’m holding on by a thread, between Nico’s silent frustration of not finding Addam’s nanny, the murder investigation being at a moot point, and Andrea falling back into who I believe he really is. A cold-hearted killer ready to pounce on his prey.
I witness the shift in the weeks since his arrest. He has nothing to lose anymore, and it shows. He’s back at the helm of his security company, hacking into government files like it’s his day job, which I guess it is, ordering his people to follow whoever he suspects to be against him. His paranoia and obsession with Addams is at an all-time high, but I still have that voice at the back of my head telling me we’re missing something.
My heart flutters at the knowledge that no matter what he does, he comes home to me every night, sleeps in my bed, which has become our bed, and dotes on me.
When I’m not being bad and deserving of a punishment. That happens often. I might provoke him and coax the frustration out on purpose. I smile to myself.
“Something, funny, guerrieritta?”
“Just thinking about last night.”
After we had dinner at Catalina’s, Andrea took me in the car. The windows fogged so much and it rocked so hard, his mother had to come knocking to ask us to take it somewhere else. She’d said, she didn’t want the cops to show up on her doorstep for indecent exposure. It was more than exposure at that point. I was mortified, but she winked at me so I guess she didn’t hold it against me.
He hums and reaches for me over the comfortable leather seat of the jet to land me on his lap. “And pray tell, sweetheart, what’s so funny about my cock inside you?”
Nico swears under his breath before leaving for the closed room at the back of the plane, and we both chuckle like teenagers.
“Be on your best behaviour this week,” I tell him.
He places a hand to his heart, mocking concern. “Io?”
“Yes, you. I know you and Pierce have history, but Christmas time is important for me and my family.”
“You mean, for you and Lana?”
“No, for everyone. Dom can’t be at the estate this year, but my other cousins are there too, and I’ve missed them. I don’t want to have to stop a war between you and Pierce.”
“Pierce and I get along just fine.” He says it like it pisses him off, but I know he suffered at the hands of his cousin.
Their newly found cordial understanding is fragile and considering his frustrations at not getting one up on Addams and still being suspected as a murderer by most, I wouldn’t get it past him to start shit just to be able to hit someone.
Where Pierce is cold and controlled, Andrea holds fire in him that threatens to boil over and raze everything and everyone to the ground.
“We’ll take it out on the mat, sweetheart. I’ve heard the Morettis have a nice boxing ring I can use. That’s the perfect excuse to hit my cousin.”
When we land, the first breath of Kalliste air I get fills me with nostalgia so strong I almost feel like crying. It’s cold and crisp, the wind coming from the Sea carrying the smell of salt in its mist. Even the day after Christmas, the sunrays warm up my skin and I have to put on my favourite white heart-shaped sunglasses.
Lana is there to meet us on the tarmac of Sant Armellu airport, dressed in a warm black wool coat over her jeans and dark oversized cardigan. We fall into each other’s arms. It’s the first time I see her since she was abducted almost four months ago. Her eyes hold a haunted quality to them and it seems like she hasn’t seen the sun in days. The skin around her eyes is purplish, a tale of sleepless nights.
“You don’t sleep,” I say. It isn’t a question. I know what trauma looks like, and she’s drowning. I almost want to beat Pierce’s ass for not taking enough care of her, but when he steps in behind her and lands a hand on her shoulders, the clouds behind her green eyes lift.
Dressed in a fine grey suit under his trench coat, he couldn’t look more different than Andrea and his traditional black on black jeans and hoodie, though they have the same intense energy.
“She’s getting there,” Pierce says.
“And she can speak for herself.” Lana throws him a look that would make a lesser man whither. He just raises both hands in surrender and chuckles.
Good. She’s still in there, somewhere.
“Have you heard from Igor?” I ask, knowing it might not be the best topic to start with, but his absence at her back is a hole too deep to forget.
Pierce shakes his head behind Lana’s shoulders.
“Okay. Where’s Jules?” I ask.
She tenses. “I don’t know.”
Julian hasn’t been the same since Igor’s disappearance and Lana told me many times how distant he’s become. He lost the love of his life and no matter what Pierce does, no one can find him. My theory is that Igor doesn’t want Julian within breathing distance of his fucked up brother and doesn’t want to be found.
“Alright, enough depressing shit. Let’s get to Mammona’s, I’m fucking starving,” I joke to diffuse the tension that wraps around us, clinging to our skin like oil. It’s easy to fall back into the persona of everyone’s sunshine, but the words feel hollow.
As we drive to the Morettis’ estate, the sea glimmers with specks of sunshine over the turquoise waters. I’m captivated by the view from the hills, as if it’s the first time I see it. The Mediterranean Sea calls for me but all I hear is the appealing murmur of the dark green forest outside my window back home.
When we get to the Moretti’s estate, my uncle Pietro and my father Umberto welcome us with open arms, elegantly dressed in their custom-made three-piece suits. Does anyone wear anything else but suits in this country? After being around Nico and Andrea, who only wear laid-back outfits except at functions, it just feels unusual, almost too-much.
I embrace Pietro first, our host for this week. Every time I see him, it’s like watching a male and older version of Lana with his dark green eyes and dark thick hair.
I turn to my father, a carbon copy of Pietro, and clench my jaw as I kiss his round cheeks. Then, I introduce Andrea.
When he shakes my father’s hands, his face is sombre and I don’t miss the slight flinch on my father’s face. I drop my gaze to their hands. Of course, Andrea’s crushing my father in his.
“Behave,” I whisper low enough only for him to hear.
“Thank you for having us, Mr. Moretti.”
He addresses my uncle but doesn’t spare a glance in my father’s direction in clear disrespect. With his hand on my lower back searing my flesh, he settles next to me, waiting for me to enter the house first.
“Go on, I’ll be with you in a second,” I tell him.
I’d rather have the painful conversation that I know is coming up now.
Andrea doesn’t say a single word, but his eyes move to my father then, a promise of retribution behind the hazel colour swirling with violence.
“One word and I’ll slip something in his drink, Gigi,” my father offers, using the nickname I hate once Andrea’s out of earshot.
“You didn’t seem to care for the past four months, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you now.” Sarcasm drips from my tongue though I already know it’s useless.
“What was I supposed to do? Lana said you were fine, and she’s a sister to you.”
“It wouldn’t have hurt to check in. Do I mean so little to you?” I’m getting agitated. I don’t want to have this conversation on the front steps of my uncle’s house—I don’t want to have this conversation at all—but inside with every ear trained on us would be worse. The Morettis gossip like old women at the Sunday market.
My father takes my face in his hands, his eyes shining with rare honesty. I’m not sure I can stand it right now. After dealing with confusing emotions for my husband, I don’t need to do the same with my father. That wound has barely healed.
“Mia cara zitella, you mean everything. I don’t check in because I know you can take care of yourself. You always have. You’re closer to Lana than to me. I believed her when she said you were fine. Is there something you want to tell me about him?”
“No. Everything’s fine.”
“You’re always doing fine, Gigi.”
He kisses my brow and I don’t chase after him to yell that he didn’t give me a choice. It’d be useless, anyway. My father believes I was always able to take care of myself and he’s not ready to face the fact that I had to because he prioritised Dom in everything. Not that my brother wanted to be in our father’s spotlight.
I suspect he stayed in Mallorca on purpose, avoiding our family gathering and my father’s hopes and dreams for him. It doesn’t mean he gets a free pass from me, but I understand.
I enter the old house renovated with modern furniture, and greet my aunt Colomba, Lana’s mother. She’s looking as gorgeous as she always does, with her brown hair cascading in waves on her shoulders. Seeing her in her usual modest blue dress that highlights her emerald eyes should feel like coming home, but I just notice her. Just like I just notice Alessio Bartoli, Pierce’s father, and his wife Bea, lounging with wine glasses in their hands.
Every step I take in the house should settle my nerves like it always did, but it just makes me miss the cottage in the British countryside. Makes me miss the silence and solitude. Everything is modern and sleek here, lacking the rugged surfaces of raw wood we have everywhere around our house. And it’s so… loud and busy.
We. Our. Complaining about loud noises and too many people. Who am I and what has been done with Giulia Moretti?
Oh, right, she became Giulia Capaldi.
I shake my head as if it’ll diffuse the emotions swirling in my chest. I’m having an identity crisis and I don’t need that right now.
Mammona is in the kitchen as usual, giving orders like a commander to the staff that look both amused and terrified.
“Zitella,” she shouts as she embraces me. She’s not really my grandmother. She’s Julian’s and Pierce’s, but I grew up in the Bartoli household as much as I did in the Moretti. Our two families are close-knit; we might not share blood but we’ve chosen each other over and over again. “And who’s this handsome young man?”
I catch Pierce rolling his eyes and smile while I introduce Andrea as my husband.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he says, a sultry tone in his voice, while he dips down to kiss Mammona”s hand.
“Oh, I like him.” She winks at me.
Andrea shines his best smile in my direction and heat pools at my core. I shouldn’t like him around my family as much as I do. And it certainly shouldn’t make me feel like I want to climb him like a tree, but here I am. If he eats everything Mammona cooks for us today, I’m screwed. I’ve always loved to watch the man eat, but knowing the amount of love that goes into preparing the Moretti-Bartoli Christmas dinner, it will cement our bond even more. I’m not sure I dread it or want it more than anything.
“And this is Nico, Andrea’s brother,” I introduce him next.
Nico dips his head to Mammona and tries to smile. It looks fucking painful and I want to laugh. Then I remember he’s definitely not used to so many people. I’ve known him long enough to know he prefers the comfort of solitude and must feel overwhelmed. More unknown people means more overtime work for his brain to analyse every single piece of conversation and gestures, and the meaning behind them.
“Giulia!”
Before I can take Nico to a quiet room while we wait for dinner to be ready, my twin cousins Lisa and Marie jump on me, sandwiching me in between them in a tight hug. Lisa’s wearing her traditional little black dress, though she went for a puffy design to her usual skin-tight, and Marie’s looking radiant in a midnight blue short dress threaded with silver that shows off her generous body. I know she often compares herself to her lithe sister, but I find her to be the most gorgeous of my cousins.
When Lisa notices Andrea behind me, she doesn’t wait for me and introduces herself with excitement. She did the same with Pierce six months ago, so I’m not surprised, but I have no intention of saving Andrea from my two very curious and very persistent cousins.
When I turn back to Nico, he’s engaged in a staring contest with Marie. They don’t move an inch and if it weren’t for the rise and fall of their chest, I’d almost think they forgot how to breathe.
“Nico?” I try to get his attention and he clears his throat, averting his gaze.
“This is my cousin Marie, and that, talking Andrea’s ear off, is Lisa,” I chuckle.
When I look back at him, he’s still looking into Marie’s eyes intently, like he’s never seen twins before.
“Nice to meet you,” Marie says before hurrying back to the living room.
“Come on, you two,” I address him and Andrea. “We gotta freshen up before dinner.”