Chapter 10
10
M assimo
The steam from the hot shower dances around me as I grab a towel from the rack and dry myself.
I've been gone for two days. The driver was resolute in not talking, but we made a deal with him—we'd ensure his family's safety if he told us what he knew. He knew he didn't have a chance at staying alive.
And it turns out that the Santinis are more audacious than we gave them credit. They're loose cannons without as many resources as our family. But the lack of vision can be annoying for us—they're a bunch of crackheads who have nothing to lose. Unhinged.
I considered calling Amara when I was away, but that was too much. What would we talk about? Then I thought about texting her to let her know I'd arrive a day earlier than expected. But that also seemed silly. Now it's well past six pm, and according to Anthony, she's been at her mom's all day.
She had much to talk about, though I assumed she didn't have the closest relationship with her parents.
Still.
I pick up a pair of gray sweatpants and slip them on. Heading to the kitchen, I pour myself a red wine from a winery I invested in some years back. Colleen left food in the fridge, and I guess I can go ahead and eat it. Doesn't feel right, though.
Shouldn't Amara be here?
Admittedly, she doesn't know I've arrived yet. I asked Anthony not to say anything and to drop her off and leave. But a strange sensation lurks in my gut.
I'm about to taste the wine when I hear the front door.
She comes in, and I watch her walk from a distance as she stomps on the marble tiles, her shoulders slumped like she's had a tough day. When she reaches the top of the curved stairs, I erase the gap between us.
"Hello, rat."
She shrieks, eyes widened, panting. "I didn't expect you back tonight."
"Sometimes I underestimate my power of persuasion. Back early."
Disappointment crosses her expression. "Oh."
My gut clenches. Now I'm annoyed. "Hold your enthusiasm. I can't take it."
"I'm… I had a long day. I went to my parents, and my mom's ability to talk nonstop about every detail of her life is something I never underestimate."
"Why did you stay so long, then?" I know her brother's bedridden, and her father seems okay when you talk to him for short periods. Still, as a daughter, I'm sure she notices the changes in his personality.
"She wanted me to go through some clothes. I left a good amount of my wardrobe there."
"Is Anthony bringing them in?"
"I ended up donating a lot of things."
"Ah."
"Yeah. Did you eat?"
"No."
"I ate at my mom's, but Colleen said she'd leave lobster salad if I were hungry."
I open the fridge and take out the container. "Sit down," I demand, and she sits beside me.
I grab a plate and transfer the salad from the container, then grab the dressing and sit in front of her.
She looks at me, her intelligent eyes meeting mine. I give myself some wiggle room, and my attention turns to her pretty face and the dimples on her cheeks. She's wearing a boring outfit, a buttoned blouse with slacks. But even those pieces of clothing can't handle the lush curves underneath the fabric.
"How was your day?" she asks.
"Good. Grabbed the family jet. Things went my way." I put a generous amount of salad into my mouth.
She leans in, talking in a low voice like we're being recorded. "Do they ever… not go your way?"
I help myself to more salad, wishing it were a juicy steak. Suddenly, I'm starving. "Rarely. But there's a solution for everything."
She lifts an eyebrow. "Spoken like a motivational coach."
I suppress a smile. "Good one, rat."
"I'm glad I can amuse you."
"Oh, you have no idea." The things I want to do with her… Heat fills my chest.
She splays her hands on the table's surface, motioning to stand. "Can I go now?"
"No."
She slouches back in her seat. "Okay. Hmmmm… I'm assuming I can't inquire further about your work. So, what do you want to chat about?" She drums her fingers on the surface.
"Is Anthony treating you well?"
"Yes."
"Good. So he's not being inappropriate?"
"No. He's been very professional."
I stand, grab another glass of wine, and pour some for her. I give it to her and resume my meal.
"Thanks," she says, glancing at the red liquid. She holds the glass but doesn't drink.
"I didn't poison you."
She smiles. "You're a true romantic."
I wink at her. "Never doubt it."
She takes a tentative sip before continuing to drink until half the wine is gone. "This is fantastic."
"I invested in this winery a few years ago."
"One of your legit businesses."
"I knew the owner, who was having a hard time."
She claps her hands. "So you took advantage of someone in a time of need? That makes more sense."
I ignore her dig. "No. I met him before he became the owner. A friend of a friend. Lost both parents in a car crash. Got depressed and down on his luck."
She leans in, frowning, unable to believe what I'm saying.
"I offered my help. He's now very successful. To his credit, as you tasted."
She watches me in silence for a moment before saying, "If I have a talent, will you invest in it, too?"
Now I'm curious. "What's your talent?"
"I like massaging."
The idea of her hands on my naked body is a promising one. A stir takes over my body, and I sit straighter. "That's a talent I'd love to see evidence of."
"No, you don't understand… I've wanted to open a place before. Not a conventional one… a mobile one. Not for profit, but a way to help women victims of domestic violence. I wanted to collaborate with safe houses and things like that," she says, her tone even and calm, but the flames of excitement in her eyes reveal more than she says.
I take in her words and try to push away the images of her hands caressing my naked body. "You think battered women need a massage?"
"I think when they're in their healing phase, they can benefit from gentle touch and relaxation. If they want. It is to alleviate kinks, help them regain their sense of worth, and relax them as they prepare for interviews and trial dates. Of course, I'd hire women to do the massage and would carefully vet the employees."
I put my plate aside. "I have to ask… What's with the violence theme?"
"Nothing," she says quickly, looking away.
I tap my fingers on my lap. She's lying. I decide to probe a little to see if she’ll give me more. I can tell her mom has this weird, passive-aggressive relationship with her, but I'm not sure about her father. Sure, he's harmless now, but what was he like when she was younger? "Did your dad ever hit you?"
"What? No."
I scratch my chin. "Your brother?"
She stares at me. "No."
"Then who?"
I see the pulse beat at the base of her throat. "No one."
"Amara."
She clears her throat. "Yes?"
"You may not believe it… but you're safe with me."
"I'd like to believe you."
"Then do." A part of me wants to pressure her for more information, but she's not ready to share. Maybe she wasn't physically hurt but knows someone who was. A friend or family member. And as a way to make things right, she wants to do this business. "I'll look into your idea. When you have time, write a business plan or a rough outline of your ideas. We can talk, and I'll bring my investment consultant on board to let us know how to proceed."
"Really? I previously suggested this to my parents, but they thought it was a stupid idea."
"Your parents are stupid."
She gives me a small smile. "That's true."
My phone buzzes on the counter. It's probably my dad, wanting to know more about my trip. "I need to take this."
She stands and takes her glass with her. "Of course. I'll see you around."
Yes, you will, I say inwardly as I watch her sashay from the kitchen.