18. Seventeen
Seventeen
Sienna
I t’s been two hours past their usual bedtime when I finally manage to have both twins tucked into bed, sound asleep. The relief I feel is palpable.
Finally.
The kids were utterly perplexed as to why they weren’t allowed to play outside on such a beautiful spring day. They pouted and peppered me with questions I was unable to answer, unable to wrap their heads around the sudden change in routine.
But neither could I.
No explanations were given. It was as if a shroud of secrecy and urgency had descended upon the household.
When Fabrizio burst in earlier, his eyes wide with panic, I knew something serious had happened. He barely stayed long enough to catch his breath before disappearing again, leaving us all in a state of confusion.
Oliver had been the one to break the news that our plans for the rest of the day were canceled. I did my best to stay upbeat, immersing the kids in every fun activity I could think of to distract them from the strange tension that had settled over the house.
By the time I retreat to my room, exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders. But my mind is too restless to consider sleep. I walk over to the large window that overlooks the beautifully manicured garden surrounding Fabrizio’s sprawling estate. Pressing my forehead against the cool glass, I peer into the encroaching darkness.
The extra guards who had patrolled the grounds all afternoon are no longer visible, but the memory of their presence leaves a disturbing tingle in my chest.
What on earth is going on? What had happened before Fabrizio came back home?
As my eyes dart from one shadowy tree to another, an unsettling feeling creeps over me, as if unseen eyes are watching my every move. My body tenses involuntarily when the door creaks open behind me; I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Fabrizio.
The room remains heavy with silence for a long moment. I stay rooted to my spot, folding my arms tightly across my chest, my nails digging into my skin as I continue to stare into the void outside.
Fabrizio moves closer, situating himself on the small coffee table near the window.
“Sit,” he commands softly.
I glance in his direction, seeing him gesture towards the plush chair facing him. Reluctantly, I turn my body towards him, pressing my arms tighter against my chest as I lean back against the window.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, not moving from my position.
“No, of course not,” he replies, his tone surprisingly gentle but still firm. “I just wanted to let you know that we will be leaving the city for a while.”
“Why?” I ask, my concern growing.
“Because someone is after my children,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion. “And it seems they’re not even safe here. So, we—I…” he pauses, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I will not sit back and watch as my children are being targeted. They are everything I have, and I will not let anything happen to them. This means we are leaving, and I am taking them somewhere safe—somewhere my enemies won’t get to them.”
“Does this mean you’re letting me go?” It’s the first question that bursts from my lips, driven by a mix of fear and hope.
“No,” he answers immediately, his tone firm and resolute.
“But—”
“You’re coming with us,” Fabrizio states with finality.
“Why?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Because we—” he pauses again, clearing his throat as if to gather his thoughts. “The children need you. I can’t predict how long it will take until this… matter is resolved. I want the twins to have as much normalcy as possible.” He looks directly at me. “And you are… their most significant sense of normality at the moment.” As I gaze into his face, I see all the layers of his complex personality stripped away. Before me sits a loving father, terrified for his children’s safety, desperate to protect them at all costs.
“And I can’t rule out the possibility that you might also be targeted.”
“Why me? I am just a teacher—” This doesn’t make sense.
“You have no idea what lengths our enemies would go to get to us,” he states flatly, his voice tinged with an unspoken weariness.
“How can you stand this?” I wonder aloud, unable to hide my curiosity. “Constantly fighting and fearing for your life? How could you—”
How could you bring children into this perilous world of yours? I bite back the last question, uncertain of how he would react to such a personal inquiry.
“It’s a way of life, not a choice,” he replies, his tone bitter and resolute. “Certain measures to keep my family safe are non-negotiable and beyond discussion.”
“You must hate your life.” The words slip past my lips before I can think better of it.
In the blink of an eye, Fabrizio is up and stands mere inches from me. My back presses against the cold window as he cages me in with both hands positioned beside my head. His face is so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, each exhale carrying a hint of his underlying fury.
“You have no idea about my life, my world,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “And you don’t even want to know what I am capable of. So there is no point in you trying to understand it or getting to know me.” His icy blue eyes bore into mine. “It’s no use, Ms. Walsh . I am no one you want to know.”
“Because you’ve killed people.” The words escape me in a breathless, barely audible statement. He is both right and wrong; I have a certain understanding of what he is capable of, even if I can’t fully grasp the depths of it.
Fabrizio tilts his head, studying my face with an intensity that makes my heart race faster. “I did until the streets ran deep red with blood. I destroyed lives. Families. To an innocent, upstanding citizen like yourself, I am nothing more than a vile criminal,” he seethes, his own words fueling his rage. “Is that what you want to hear?”
He peers down at me, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. I put my hands on his chest, feeling the heat of his body and the rapid beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“I—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“I told you once before—don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
I stare up at him with wide eyes as I try to comprehend what’s happening. Despite the hateful, angry words he spits out, I can see a broken, sorrowful man consumed by guilt standing before me.
“Why do you try so hard to make me hate you?” The question escapes my lips before I can stop it, and an uneasy feeling settles in my chest. Do I really want to hear his answer? My curiosity battles with dread. “What are you so afraid of? Caring? Living?”
Fabrizio’s eyes darken, and without warning, he grabs the back of my neck, his grip firm yet oddly gentle. His lips crash onto mine in a fervent kiss that leaves me breathless. “Feeling,” he murmurs against my lips so softly that I can’t be sure if he actually said it or if my mind conjured the words. Though the way he kisses me—it’s as though he’s been starving for this moment, for me, and nothing else in the world matters. His kiss is raw, passionate, and all-consuming. I feel like a delicacy, something he’s been deprived of for far too long. The intensity of it overwhelms me, and I melt into him, allowing myself to be swept away by the tide of emotion. When he finally pulls away, we’re both left panting, our breaths mingling in the charged air between us. I watch him as he takes long, purposeful strides towards the door, his hand pausing on the handle as he turns back to face me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I could see a flicker of longing in his gaze, a vulnerability that he rarely lets slip.
“We’re leaving in an hour,” he announces, his voice reverting to its usual cold and commanding tone. “Don’t bother packing; my men will take care of everything.” I nod silently in response, my heart still racing from the kiss. He opens the door and steps outside, but then he pauses, turning back to me once more. “One more thing… I am sorry. For this morning,” he says softly, almost hesitantly. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry; it won’t happen again,” I reply, my voice steady.
I will ensure he never sees me so vulnerable again. I will make sure of it.
As soon as the door swings open, the kids burst into the beach house, their eyes wide with wonder and boundless curiosity. Happy giggles and excited squeals fill the air as they rush to the ceiling-high windows, pressing their noses against the glass to gape at the beach that lies just a few feet away. The pristine sand and rolling waves are a mesmerizing sight for the little ones.
Shortly after midnight, we’d left the house, and the children were groggy as we gently placed them in the car. But the moment their father announced we were heading to a quaint beach house in Miami, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of Atlanta, their drowsiness vanished in an instant. They were wide awake with excitement, their eyes sparkling at the prospect of their first beach adventure. For the next hour, the car was filled with the twins’ non-stop chatter. I figure they’ve never been to a beach or seen the sea before. Their enthusiasm was infectious, filling the car with vibrant energy.
However, once their initial excitement began to subside, both children gradually drifted off to sleep in their car seats, leaving Fabrizio and me in a sudden, almost deafening silence. The rest of the drive neither of us muttered a single word and I must have dozed off at some point as well.
“Daddy!” Maddy exclaims, pressing her small hands against the window. “Can we go to the beach?”
Her brother quickly chimes in, “I want to go swimming in the sea!”
Their voices are filled with eager anticipation. “Ms. Walsh, come look,” Maddy urges, her excitement overflowing. “It’s—wow.” Both Maddy and Flynn’s delighted voices echo throughout the small house, filling it with joyful energy.
“Why don’t you two go upstairs and take a look at your rooms?” Fabrizio suggests with a smile. “I’m sure Ms. Walsh would love to take you to the beach as soon as you’ve unpacked.”
“Of course, I’d love to,” I nod in agreement. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, and the tension between us is palpable. Last night, he had shown me a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability, only to snatch it away almost immediately. Deep down, I doubt he will ever allow me to see that side of him again. I watch as his children eagerly drag him up the stairs, their excitement evident as they explore their new rooms in a house they’ve never been in before. The house itself is much less opulent than I had anticipated. It is a mere fraction of the size of Fabrizio’s grand home back in Atlanta. From where we had traveled in a convoy of three cars; in addition to the one we were in, there were two more vehicles containing Oliver, Vance, and six other men, all armed with enough firepower to outfit a small army. As I glance around the main floor, which includes a kitchen, a dining room, the living room, and another room, I can’t help but wonder where Fabrizio’s soldiers will be staying. The house is quaint and cozy, a stark contrast to the grandeur of his usual surroundings.
I linger in the inviting living room, my eyes naturally drawn to the sideboard adorned with countless family photographs.
As I let my gaze drift from one picture to another, certain images captivate my attention more than others. The first that stands out is a wedding photograph. In it, Fabrizio embraces his wife from behind, his hands gently resting on the small yet noticeable bump beneath her flowing white dress.
Both of their faces radiate pure joy, their smiles as bright as the sun.
Another photograph that catches my eye seems to have been taken shortly after the twins’ birth.
Fabrizio cradles a baby in each arm, looking directly at the camera with an expression overflowing with joy and pride. His happiness is palpable, almost as if it could leap out of the frame.
The remaining frames are filled with images of Maddy and Flynn during their early months. Each picture captures precious moments of their infancy, yet one photograph stands out among the rest.
It depicts two women who look remarkably alike despite their different hair colors—one blonde, the other with darker, more brownish hair. The blonde woman is Alexandra Moretti.
“Twins run in the family.”
I jump, startled by Fabrizio’s voice suddenly breaking the silence behind me. He gently takes the frame from my hand and carefully places it back in its spot. An uncomfortable feeling of intrusion washes over me.
“The children never mentioned they had an aunt,” I say, trying to mask my awkwardness.
“They never got to know her,” Fabrizio replies flatly, his tone leaving no room for further questions.
“Oh,” is all I manage to utter. He clears his throat, the air between us thick with unspoken words.
“The children’s rooms are upstairs, along with the bathroom and the main bedroom. Oliver will stay in the guest room downstairs.” He pauses briefly before adding, “So your belongings are already upstairs, in case you want to change.”
Though he doesn’t explicitly say that we will be sharing a room and a bed, the implication is unmistakable. My heart flutters with excitement while my stomach churns with nervous anticipation and a pang of dread.
“Okay,” I respond, walking past him towards the stairs.
Just as I begin my ascent, he speaks again. “I have a few things to take care of, but I’ve told the twins I will be home for dinner.”
A gasp escapes my mouth as I step into the bedroom, my eyes widening in awe at the breathtaking sight before me.
“Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath, unable to contain my amazement. This room is absolutely stunning.
Towering, ceiling-high windows dominate one wall, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering beach and the endless expanse of the sea beyond. The horizon is framed by swaying palm trees, their leaves rustling gently in the light breeze that drifts in through the open windows. The sunlight filters through, casting a warm, golden glow that dances across the room, creating a serene and inviting atmosphere.
The room is furnished with pieces that are both light in color and design, exuding a sense of warmth and friendliness that makes the space feel incredibly welcoming. Soft, plush chairs and a cozy loveseat are strategically placed to invite relaxation and comfort. But the true centerpiece, the undisputed highlight of the room, is the magnificent king-sized four-poster bed that stands proudly in the middle.
Its tall, elegant columns reach up towards the ceiling, creating a sense of grandeur and luxury. Vivid images flood my mind as I imagine the myriad of possibilities those sturdy columns could offer. My thoughts begin to wander, drifting into a realm of tantalizing fantasies. Before I allow my mind to delve too deeply into these enticing daydreams, I shake my head slightly and focus on the task at hand. I grab the bag that has been placed on the bed and begin to unpack, though my eyes continue to steal glances at the mesmerizing view and the opulent bed that promises endless possibilities.
“Check out those waves!” Maddy exclaims, her voice buzzing with excitement as she points towards the ocean.
“They are huge!” Flynn responds, his eyes wide with awe as he watches the towering waves crash against the shore.
It’s pure joy to watch Maddy and Flynn as they zip around the beach with boundless energy. Their laughter rings out, mingling with the sound of the surf. After carefully building a massive sandcastle, they are now playing a thrilling game of wave chase, running back and forth, their feet kicking up sprays of sand and water.
Seeing them so carefree, I can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of me envies their carefree spirits and unburdened hearts. The past few days have been tough, yet it’s a relief to see that those events haven’t dampened their innocent joy. ”Ms. Walsh, I’m hungry,” Maddy announces as she flops down onto the blanket beside me, her face flushed with exertion and delight.
Flynn, not far behind her, races towards us, each step sending little clouds of sand into the air. “I want ice cream,” he declares with determination as he skids to a halt next to the blanket.
“No sweets before dinner,” I remind him gently, though I know he’s well aware of this rule. His pout is short-lived, knowing the boundaries are firm.
Fabrizio mentioned he’d be home for dinner, but he left no specific instructions, and given our recent chaotic arrival, I doubt there’s much in the pantry to work with.
“So, how about we order some pizza?” I suggest, hoping to keep the evening simple yet enjoyable.
“Yay!” both children squeal in unison, their faces lighting up with glee at the prospect of a pizza dinner.
Their happiness is contagious, and as I watch their animated expressions, I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. Despite the uncertainties and challenges, moments like these remind me of the simple joys that make life so precious.
Though he had promised to be here, Fabrizio doesn’t show up for dinner. The absence of their father might have been a significant blow, but the kids are far too excited to notice. The thrill of being by the beach, playing in the sand, and stuffing their faces with delicious pizza has them in high spirits. Or maybe they don’t complain because they’re used to their father breaking his promises.
By the time the twins are tucked into bed, Fabrizio is still nowhere to be seen.
Stepping outside onto the porch, I am greeted by the sight of Oliver and Vance standing a few feet away, engrossed in a quiet conversation while sharing a cigarette. The moment they notice me, they pause. Oliver barely looks at me, but Vance’s lips curl into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. It is as if one of my watchdogs is finally starting to warm up to me. Not that I actually care. I step closer to them, deciding to break the silence. “The children are in bed and fast asleep,” I inform them. “If you need me, I’ll be just a few feet away.” I point to the beach before turning away, not waiting for their approval or response. As I walk away, I can feel their eyes on my back.
I make my way down the beach, savoring the gentle caress of the sand between my toes. The blanket I had used earlier in the afternoon is still there, undisturbed. I let myself sink down onto it, feeling the weight of the day slowly lift off my shoulders.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, allowing the soothing sounds of the sea to envelop me. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore, mingled with the salty tang of the humid air, creates a symphony that is balm for the soul. The refreshing breeze blows gently against my face, carrying with it the scent of the ocean.
The familiar smells, the calming sounds, and the simple joy of being here put me in a relaxed mood.
For the first time since Fabrizio Moretti had walked into my classroom, I felt somewhat at ease.
Inhaling deeply, I let the pleasant sensations wash over me, penetrating every cell of my body.