49. I do not move on
FORTY-NINE
I DO NOT MOVE ON
Thanksgiving
I did not move on. I’m very stubborn that way. Who knew? Everyone, apparently, except me, since I called my plane to pick me up so I could leave Louisville the night I resolved to move on. But then I canceled my flight. Which prompted my sister to call me relentlessly until I answered and allowed her to beg me to come home.
I refused.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
Val came back to the island and is now getting ready to deliver her babies in the sanctuary of our home. People tell me not one but two men are there with her. One of them is the bartender, Antonio, whom I almost executed. The reason he was able to escape the island? My sister saved his life because he’s one of her lovers.
People tell me she has only two. But I’ve been tracking her movements for a while, and I think she’s dating three men. Yes, that’s right. Three.
She’s sworn the staff to silence about the other man who’s at the house in my absence, but I’ll find out who he is soon enough. If I ask. Maybe I won’t ask. Maybe I’ll let her be. Jury’s still out on that one.
Needless to say, I’m still in the US. Tonight, I picked up Miro from a small town near Nashville, Tennessee, where he ate Thanksgiving dinner, posing as the new nice guy next door who bought the sheriff’s old farmhouse. When, in fact, he intends to marry the sheriff’s daughter.
The dinner went well, and Miro snuck into his future wife’s house later for a quick shag, and, at almost two in the morning, we made it back to Louisville.
We pull up outside Lake’s house, a small, two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. Miro looks around. The street is poorly lit, which I reported to the city.
Honestly, I’ve reported many things to the city since I purchased a home nearby. I can’t stand hypocrites who run their mouths in the media about how helpful they are to their residents but then can’t or won’t pay someone to fix a lightbulb on the already dark street.
Maybe I expect too much. Maybe that’s why I should go back home, where I could call Gustavo to fix the light the very next day.
But I digress.
A frown forms on Miro’s face as he pulls out his silencer and his pistol. “I’m pretty sure I drove by this house not too long ago, so I’ll need you to brief me on the target. Is someone holding Lake hostage? Why am I here, Alessio?”
“Put that away,” I tell him.
He does without question. He digs through his black leather backpack and takes out a hunting knife.
“That too. Put it away.”
He drops it in the bag and retrieves a wire garotte. “Old-school, huh?”
“Lake’s by herself.”
Miro drops the wire and turns to me. “We agreed on this, Alessio. I told you after Paris, I want nothing to do with your personal business.”
“I need a favor.”
He makes a sour face. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“No problem. I’ll tell you.” I clear my throat. “That’s Lake’s bedroom over there in the corner. You see?” I point at the dimly lit room with white see-through curtains.
“How do you know that’s her bedroom?”
“After the incident in Paris… I live a few blocks from here.”
Miro gasps. “Why didn’t you say anything? We’re practically neighbors.”
“What should I say?”
“That you need a therapist.”
I give him a pointed look. “Says the kettle to the pot.”
“Yes, well, there’s that. What’s the job?”
“Lake’s been writing a lot. On paper. I think she might be journaling. Every morning, she reads what she’s written the night before, then rips it up, rather violently. Most nights, she cries herself to sleep. I want to know what she wrote tonight before she shreds it.”
“Did you already go through the trash and put the ripped pieces from the other nights together?”
I side-eye him. “Maybe”
He strokes his beard. “Huh.”
“What?”
“I’m trying to picture you digging through trash.”
“How’s it going?”
“Very satisfying imagery.” He nods. “I’ll do it. Do they still have a dog?”
“Yeah.” I show him a brown bag from the fast-food joint I stopped at while Miro slept on the ride over. I can tell the man’s lacking sleep. As am I. “Been feeding her dog at my house.”
“Their dog is at your house now?”
“Yeah, the dog dug a hole in the backyard, and he sneaks out.”
“You’re stealing a family dog, Alessio.”
“He eats and goes back home, like Lassie.”
“In this day and age, nobody knows who Lassie is except me, you, and Troy’s dad, so let’s not mention it ever again.”
I toss him the key to Lake’s house. “Here’s the key to the glass slider in the back.”
“Impressive.” He accepts the key, slides on his mask, and disappears quietly into the shadows.
I lean back in my new luxury car and stretch my legs. A few minutes later, a flash of light in Lake’s bedroom tells me Miro’s reached the destination. I trust he won’t wake her or anyone else in the house. A few minutes go by, and Miro slides back into the car.
He looks at me and removes his mask. “This is the part where the driver drives away from the scene of crime,” he says as if speaking to a dimwit.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere until I see what she wrote.”
“Drive, Alessio. This isn’t healthy for you. You need to sleep. The job is done. We don’t linger at the scene until the neighbors get suspicious and call the cops. I don’t need an arrest for breaking and entering when they can’t get me for other things.”
“I’m not moving,”
He reaches into his pocket and hands me a pair of green cotton panties. “Here’s a souvenir. Drive.”
“You went through drawers?”
“No, I took the first thing I found. Could’ve been a sock for all I cared.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Why is that, hm? Why are we obsessing over this woman when nine out of ten women in the world would kill their own sister if that meant they could have you? And why in the world do you stalk her instead of approaching her? I mean, do you love this woman? Is that it?”
I pull away from her house.
“Go up to her and tell her how you feel and ask her to marry you,” Miro continues, because now he’s like a cat after catnip. “For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I’m having to tell you to approach her. You’re the most assertive person I know. Just tell her.”
A while later, I park in my garage and close the door behind the car.
Miro starts to get out of the car, but I grab his forearm. “I told her.” When he turns toward me, I elaborate. “I told her how I feel, and I asked her to marry me. It happened the morning you found her in the room on the fifth floor.”
Miro blinks. “What did she say?”
“She refused.”
He winces.
“Leo was there. He accused me of chasing her away, and he mentioned his mother as if I chased her away too. And he’s right. I did chase my sister away. I also chased away Lake, even though I promised him I wouldn’t. I was sure she’d say yes because she told me she loved me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, friend.”
He scrubs his face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. I can’t go back without her. Leo won’t forgive me.”
Miro chuckles. “You’re telling me you’re doing all this to hire her back as a governess?”
I laugh. “It’s what I tell myself because I can’t handle the truth.”
Miro shakes his head, then sighs and side-eyes me. “She wrote you a letter.”
I sit up in the car. “How do you know?”
“Because I just returned from creeping around her bedroom, where I spotted a letter with your name on it on her desk.”
I lean in to hear more, but Miro leans back, then opens the car door.
I grab his arm again. “Why are you just telling me this now?”
“If I told you before, you wouldn’t have told me how you felt or what happened between you two.” He escapes my grip and slams the door.
I get out of the car. “And?”
He pauses on the steps to the house. “And now you have, and it’s off your chest and in my heart.”
I join him there. “Hang on to that feeling, because I’m about to put a bullet in your heart. Where’s the letter?”
“On her desk.”
I reach for my weapon. It’s gone. Miro holds out my gun and flashes me a smile. “This woman makes you do crazy things. I took your gun and left the letter on her desk. And now we’re going to drink and watch Lassie reruns until morning. Lake’s going to mail the letter, and then you can read it. Hell, we’ll steal it from her mailbox.”
“What if she doesn’t mail it?”
“She will.”
“How can you be sure?”
“On the back, it’s sealed with a kiss.” He air kisses me, then opens the door but closes it quicky again when the dog barks from the backyard.
Shoot. Forgot the food. I grab the doggy burger from the car, and we enter the house. Lake’s dog is a large mix of some sort. He’s friendly and wags his tail. I toss his burger into the yard so he can eat and go home whenever he wants.
“There’s no furniture in here,” Miro says from the living room.
“I’m a minimalist.” I close the back door.
“Since when?”
I shrug.
Miro walks down the hallway and into the bedroom, then comes right back out, holding up my bed.
“A sleeping bag?” He drops it on the living room floor and pulls out his phone, checking the time before he dials someone.
“Mayday, Mayday,” he says into the phone. “Alessio crashed.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Living a simple existence away from the island has allowed the managers of my business more control over it, which has been great for me and for them. Niksha has taken over some of my more delicate dealings, and I hope it gives him enough of a thrill that he can quit working for the intelligence agency, since they’re about to send him on an undercover operation that’s almost guaranteed to cost him his life.
I want him to disappear. I want him safe.
Miro puts the phone on the counter and my sister on the speaker. I pour Miro and myself each a whiskey. He takes his with soda and ice, but I don’t have any, so he pinches his nose before drinking a sip. Contrary to popular opinion, the fiercest men in the world don’t take their whiskey neat. They take it any way they like it.
When he hangs up, I ask, “What do you think is in the letter?”