15. Ariana
15
ARIANA
It’s almost eleven in the morning. I’ve been lying in bed feigning to be asleep ever since Dominic and Matteo left. I’ve quietly been observing the coming and goings in this private clinic. The nurse came in with some meds, woke me up, watched me swallow them, and then pulled up the blind to let in some daylight.
I blinked in confusion as I took in the outside world. A low wooden fence separates this house from the next one. Our neighbor has a small vegetable garden with tomatoes and beans already trellised for easy picking. There’s a whole bed of sunflowers and another one with lettuce and kale.
Beyond this small, narrow yard, the next wooden fence. The back porch has a coffee table and two rocking chairs. Very companionable, but not a soul in sight. I’m in the heart of American suburbia. I should be able to scale the wall without a problem and cross to the other house, then the next one and so on, until I find a bigger, busier road where I could disappear.
“Do you rather want the blind down?” the nurse asks, and I shake my head.
Sleep isn’t my friend right now, and after weeks without sunlight, I’m craving it.
“I’ll bring your lunch soon. It’s only soup, but better than nothing.”
True, that, and I should know. I touch my stomach where the bullet wound throbs as soon as the pain meds start to wear off. One thing is for sure, I won’t last out there, not without help. Once I’ve made my escape, I’ll have to get to the right people without any detours. I don’t know who the right people are here. My job was never meant to extend beyond Italy into Europe. The States isn’t even on our map.
Plus, if this is anything like Italy, I could be running the risk of talking to the wrong police. If I talk to someone who is taking a cut from the Mafia, I’ll be back to Square One—and delivered right back into the beautiful hands of Dominic Scalera. There is no way to know, and it’s a risk I’ll simply have to take. Unless I can bypass all of these risks and get my hands on a cellphone.
The nurse walks out, and I glance around the room. There’s nothing here to use as a weapon, and I still haven’t figured out how to get around the bodyguard sitting outside my door. Whenever he gets up to go the washroom or whatever else he does, the nurse comes and keeps an eye on me in his place by leaning onto the doorjamb and scrolling on her phone.
There aren’t many people here. In fact, today, it would seem to be just me and Carla as patients, the nurse, and the bodyguard.
My gaze snags on the small fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. Perfect. You’ve got to love building codes. I suppress a giggle—to think these mobsters adhere to building codes. Nothing like butting a guy’s head with this and have him out of it for a few minutes.
I’m not fooling myself here. I’m only going to have a few seconds, unless I take him out, grab his gun, and shoot everybody in this house. I’ve never taken anybody out, never mind innocent victims. All I need to do is buy myself time. The nurse is sweet and not a threat at all. Even in my diminished physical state, I can take her out if I need to. As for Carla, she’s pregnant and won’t risk her baby. Plus she probably still has a pounding headache from her head bouncing on the concrete yesterday.
The only tricky part is going to be to detach the fire extinguisher from its mount without anybody noticing.
Yep, I’m screwed. First, I need to get my weapon, and then I need to sneak up on the bodyguard and get in a proper swing without him noticing.
I lean to the side, as far as the bed would allow me to go without toppling off, and look. From here, I can see his elbow and his leg where it’s stretched out. He’s sitting on a chair, similar to the one in my room. Then I spot a framed watercolor print on the corridor wall that screams hospital decor. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now with the blind up in my room and the sun pouring in, the framed glass reflects the bodyguard’s face perfectly.
My heart starts to thump in my chest as my mind does the math. I can see him, but he can’t see me. If he turns his head away as he is doing now, engaging with the nurse in some small talk about coffee, I can sneak up, raise the fire extinguisher, and with one step come down on his head. Then I can spray the stuff in the nurse’s face and get out of here.
I’ll have one chance. One .
With a deep but soft sigh, I slump onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Voices sound from the entrance, the one that leads to the garage, and my ears perk up. Women’s voices.
Gigi Trapani. I’ll recognize her voice anywhere for the rest of my life. How can I not when the way she begged with Franco to let Carla go is imprinted on my mind? It was futile to beg with him for any kind of mercy. Even now, goosebumps rush over my skin at the memory, and I want to sink deeper into the covers until I’m submerged.
Franco is dead, I remind myself for the hundredth time today, still in disbelief.
Then the voices are closer, and a stranger peeks into my room. She’s young and American-pretty, if there’s such a thing. Blond hair and light eyes, perfect skin, and dressed casually in jeans and an off-the-shoulder white T-shirt that hangs loose over her hips.
“Hey,” she says as she steps into the room, flowers in hand, uncertain as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
The massive diamonds on her ring finger catch the light, and I have to do a double take. Oh my God. The mobster’s wife. It could be one of their sisters, though. I have no guarantee they only have the one who’s missing.
“Hi,” I say, wishing she’d reverse out of my space and I didn’t need to do this.
“I’m Tasha. Tasha Scalera, Matteo’s wife,” she says softly as she walks up to me. “I came to check in on you.”
She smiles at me, and it’s so warm and genuinely caring, I have to warn myself. I don’t do friendly, least of all with Mafia wives.
When I say nothing, she glances around the room, spots Dominic’s flowers in their vase, and chuckles. “Oops, we didn’t think that far. We just got these on the way here and didn’t think there…would…be…a vase problem.”
Tasha speaks slower and slower when I don’t respond. She’s being kind, and who knows how she got manipulated into the position she’s now holding.
I reach out to take the flowers from her. “Thank you. I’m sure the nurse can find another vase. They’re beautiful.”
I’m slightly sour that I won’t get to appreciate these gorgeous and expensive blooms. It’s not as if anybody ever buys me flowers in my real life. With a fake smile, I remind myself who I am—who I was a mere five weeks ago until Franco got hold of me. That I have a team who is probably going mad looking for me, just as I’m worried sick about them.
“I’m so glad you speak English. I know zero Italian…well, that’s not entirely true because Matteo’s been teaching me some naughty words,” she says with her warm smile never leaving. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but you are safe now, out of that maniac’s hands.”
I bet she doesn’t know how things ended for Franco Fiore or how maniacal he really was. “I’m going to be fine. Thank you. Where is Gigi?”
“She’s just with Carla. She’s so worried about her and the baby.” For a second, Tasha looks chagrined as if she spoke out of line, but then she shrugs. “I bet you know all of this already.”
“It all came out yesterday while—” I break off for dramatic effect. I drop my gaze then look back up at her where she’s hovering next to the bed. “Who is Il Consiglio ?” I ask, knowing this woman might give me more information with the right prodding. “I feel in debt with them for saving me.”
“ Il Consiglio ?” she repeats, her eyes widening. “I—I… Sorry. I’m not sure myself, actually. I met Matteo only recently, and well…it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.”
That could mean anything.
Footsteps fall, and we both look to the door where Gigi Trapani is walking in. She doesn’t stop. She comes all the way to me and then leans into the bed to wrap me in a hug. I don’t resist. I mean, how do you?
When she pulls away, tears are streaming down her face. Heavens, she looks like she’s been through the wringer, and watching the emotions pour from her tightens my throat.
“We are sisters now,” she murmurs. “You know that, right? Bound by this thing that happened. Franco is dead. He’ll never hurt you again.”
Or hurt her, by the sound of it. I bite my lip, triggered by her tears. God. When did I become this weak? Tears slip down my cheeks in a warm but quiet rush. Gigi now has my hand in hers, and I wipe at my face, embarrassed she was able to break me so easily. As she squeezes my hand and I stupidly squeeze back, I remind myself of the rules: Don’t get involved. Don’t start to care. Don’t get attached. Observe, adapt, only act when the time is right.
I’m not here to make friends. These women are married to the type I want to put behind bars. For life.
In this quiet moment, the nurse chooses to walk in with my lunch.
“Oh,” Gigi says as she gets up from where she perched with her hip and half a bum on the bed. “Is it ever a good time to visit?” she asks deprecatingly. “I have so many questions?—”
“Ariana still needs a couple of days, Gigi,” Tasha says softly.
“I don’t have days…We’re going to Italy, and then?—”
I wish I could beg her to take me with and not leave me here, at the mercy of people who’d have no use for me once the DNA tests comes through. I hate this part, this moment when you meet somebody you know you’d be best friends with if you weren’t an undercover agent in deep shit and she a Mafia kingpin’s daughter. In any other life circumstances, these two women could have been my best friends.
Instead, I’m going to go back to Italy—by some means or another—and ruin their lives from afar…unless I choose to turn a blind eye to everything I’ve seen.
“Come back tomorrow,” I say softly in Italian. “We have time?”
“Of course,” Gigi says and shoots Tasha a small smile. “They’re taking Carla for an ultrasound to check in on the baby at a hospital not far from here. We literally came at the worst time to visit because she asked if we could both go with her.”
“Now?” Tasha asks.
“Yes. The appointment is in an hour, and there’ll be forms to fill in and so on.”
“Okay.” Tasha reaches for my arm and gives me a warm squeeze. “I’m sorry we have to go, but we’ll definitely see you tomorrow. In the meantime, if you need anything…we’ll bring some clothes and so on. Make a list?”
“I’m fine for now, thank you.” Inwardly, I curse because if only I had something to wear now, my escape plan would be halfway there.
They leave the room, and in the commotion of everybody getting Carla ready for her appointment, I slip out of bed, reach for the fire extinguisher, and quietly unhook it from its wall mount. I pull out the pin so it’s ready for action and place it on the floor, out of sight.
When the nurse pushes Carla out of the house in a wheelchair, it dawns on me I’m alone with the bodyguard and my moment has come.