Chapter 23 Annetta
ANNETTA
I drive exactly at the speed limit, just like Dad and Rafa do. Even so, when I stop next to a cop at a red light, anxiety bleeds warmth from my fingertips until the light turns green again.
No one’s called or texted me except for an unknown number, which I assume was Marisol, because she sent me Aceto’s address and a cryptic smiley face.
That woman has a few screws loose.
Aceto’s house isn’t so far from my parents’ neighborhood. He lives in a slender three-story building with a half dozen well-lit windows and what looks like a garden on the roof, though it’s hard to tell against the darkening sky.
I park on the street and drum against the steering wheel for a few moments.
My palms are sweaty and my heart is pounding, but I unclip my seatbelt and walk silently up to the house.
The gun digs into my belly as I knock on the front door.
Out of the corner of my eye, two old men walk their mini Schnauzer along the sidewalk.
I wipe my palms against my jeans and exhale little white clouds into the chilly air.
Just when I start to seriously regret not calling Valeria ahead of time, the front door opens.
It’s Valeria.
And she has a black eye.
She’s done a good job of covering it with her makeup, but there’s a bright red patch on the white of her eye that can’t be hidden, even with her hair pushed forward against her face.
“Serafina? What are you doing here?” she whispers. She raises a hand self-consciously to her right eye, but corrects the movement at the last second and traces a strand of hair around her ear.
All of my grim determination flees at the sight of my friend. “What happened to your eye?”
She blanches. “You need to go. My dad isn’t here and—”
“Valeria, who’s at the door?” a young man’s voice calls from behind her.
Her brother steps into view. He gives me a once-over and smiles. “Well, hello, Serafina.”
I’ve never spoken to Valeria’s brother, but I’ve seen him at family events, and he’s hung out with Carlo a few times.
He’s got a cruel glint to his eye that I don’t trust. His black hair is perfectly coiffed with not a single hair out of place, and his button-up and trousers look like they’re freshly ironed.
“Hello, Stefano.”
“Come in. You missed dinner, but Valeria and I were just about to enjoy a smoke.”
Valeria glances toward him with a guarded look.
“I was hoping to work on the dinner plans with Valeria tonight,” I say.
Stefano’s smile falters. He places a hand on my upper back and shuts the front door behind me.
“Aw, come on,” he says. “The Serafina I know would never say no to a smoke.”
The effect is like a fist to the gut. Stefano guides me through the living room to the first set of stairs. We pass by a friend of his, a portly guy I haven’t seen before. He leers at me and Valeria over his phone in his cushy armchair as we pass.
Stefano claps his shoulder. “Sit tight, Lasso. We’ll be right back.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lasso watching us until we move up the staircase.
Acrylic paintings of landscapes, and not a single family portrait, press in on us from both walls in the narrow stairwell.
Valeria bows her head with her shoulders pulled in as Stefano leads us between a massive stone coffee table and a leather couch.
Behind the sofa is a door, opened just a crack, and there’s a glimpse of dark wood furniture inside that could be their dad’s office.
Stefano slides open the glass door to the balcony.
“Where’s your husband, Serafina? I’m surprised he’d let a girl like you walk around all by herself.”
“He’s very progressive.”
At this, Stefano laughs, a sharp sound that makes Valeria flinch imperceptibly at my side.
“Ladies first,” he says with an easy grin.
The balcony is intimate, with string lights and a few potted junipers around the perimeter, each with a little fleece blanket tucked around its base.
Exhaling a great white plume of warm air, Stefano slips into a coat hanging by the back door and swipes a pack of cigarettes off one of the outdoor tables.
Valeria also wraps herself in an oversized coat, and her legs press together for warmth. She studies me from the other side of the balcony.
“I’m sure that husband of yours won’t mind, seeing as how he’s so progressive,” Stefano says with a wink as he passes me a cigarette. When I don’t immediately grab it, he wiggles it in my direction. “Your favorite.”
Despite the cold, my thick coat and the cocktail of nerves in my belly are melting me. My hair sticks to the back of my neck with sweat. I need to find Aceto’s office and plant this before he gets home or before Dom finds out where I am. And where the fuck did Valeria get her black eye from?
I take the cigarette from him. Was this really Serafina’s favorite?
He cups his hand over his mouth, lights his cigarette, and steps forward to light mine.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asks, squinting one eye against the cigarette smoke. “You still ‘friends’ with Russell? Probably not, since I heard he’s still walking around with his balls attached.”
I hold the slender cigarette between my fingers but make no move to raise it.
Stefano glances down and frowns. “Smoke the damn cigarette, Serafina.” He chuckles darkly. “You’re making me feel like I hardly know you.”
My throat goes dry, and I lift the cigarette to my mouth. Carlo let me try one of his once. I can do this.
My lips touch the paper wrapper. I inhale, tasting ash.
And I cough. Violently, in wracking gunshot bursts. It’s more intense than I remember, and the more I try to stifle the coughing, the worse it gets.
Valeria rushes to my side, patting my back. When I finally stand, eyes watering, I meet Stefano’s grinning expression.
“I think I’m done here,” he says and crushes his cigarette into a nearby smoke tray. “You ladies enjoy your time together.”
Valeria waits until he walks out and starts back down the stairs to hiss at me, “What are you doing? You shouldn’t have come here.”
The truth presses at my tongue, desperate to be free.
“Valeria,” I say, dropping my cigarette into the tray.
She glances from the cigarette to me, before her eyes go wide. “Absolutely no way.”
A world of meaning passes between our shared look.
She knows I’m not Serafina.
I move slowly, like you would in front of a wounded animal. “Valeria…”
She takes me by the shoulders, her gaze flicking back and forth between my eyes. “You aren’t her, aren’t you?”
I close my eyes for a moment. I shake my head.
“Why—”
“I can’t explain right now. I promise you, it’s for a good reason, but I need you to trust me. Please. I promise I’ll explain everything when I can.”
She continues looking between my eyes, her brows pinched together in worry, until she seems to accept what’s happening as she stands tall.
“Okay.” A pause. “Just tell me. Is it because of Dom? Is he hurting you?”
My heart warms and breaks for her at the same time. “Dom is wonderful.”
And the girl with the black eye sighs with relief. “That’s good to hear. He scares me.”
I laugh. “I think I scare him.”
Valeria smiles, then glances behind her. “I think my brother knows, too.”
“If he didn’t before, he does now.”
“Why are you here? Was it really to work on the dinner plans?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you why I’m here either. It’s best you don’t know, but I need to know where your dad’s office is.”
I half expect her to object, to rightfully deny my entry into her family’s home. But she only looks behind her again. “You have to be silent or Stefano will come back upstairs.”
I take her hand in mine. “Thank you.”
She grabs my shoulder and pulls me into a quick, fierce, perfect hug. Then she slides the glass door open and points to the room I noted earlier with the wood furniture. I tiptoe across the carpet while she stands guard outside the door.
The inside of Aceto’s office is small and dark, with one lamp lighting up the far corner. Tall, heavy bookcases line one wall, and when I take a step closer to scan the titles, they’re all books about business or ancient Roman history. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes as I creep further inside.
There’s one outlet behind his desk, but it’s too accessible and probably one he uses regularly. There’s got to be an outlet behind one of those bookcases, but they’re so heavy and close to the wall, I don’t think I could fit my arm behind any of them.
A dark brown wine cabinet winks at me from one corner of the room. I creep toward it, crouch down, and peer along the wall. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I spot the glimmer of white plastic behind the cabinet.
I slide my open palm against the wall, feeling blindly for the outlet until my fingertips brush against the open socket. One steady push tells me I won’t be able to move the cabinet, at least not without moving the dozens of alcohol bottles and glass cups on top.
I glance back at the door of the room where Valeria has her gaze fixed on the stairway, her back turned to me.
“Val,” Stefano barks from below, startling me and making my blood run cold. “Bring me the good whiskey!”
“Coming!” she calls back. She approaches me, but pretends she doesn’t see me as she reaches for a bottle of whiskey.
“Hurry,” she whispers and makes her way downstairs with the bottle.
I’m completely exposed without her as I pinch the smart plug between my forefinger and middle finger, guiding it toward the outlet. My phone buzzes again and again against my ass. I just hope it’s not Dom getting home and realizing I’m not there, because whatever he does won’t be good for anyone.
The plug slips from my fingers once, and I swear a blue streak in my head as I search for it among the dust bunnies, capture it, and bring it back up to the outlet.
Bzzz.
Bzzz.
My heart’s pounding so hard, I might die of fright before I manage to do anything.
I catch the edge of the outlet with the prongs of the plug and push down with enough force to press it into place. The glasses on the cabinet tinkle, but nothing falls over.
I scrape my arm against the cabinet as I jerk my hand out from that gap and stand. No one’s come upstairs yet, thank God. I walk out into the waiting room, wipe my sweaty hands against my jeans, and pull out my phone.
A missed call from Marisol and a few texts.
C is on his way
10 minutes
Leave now
C? My fingertips are numb. Aceto?
I approach the stairwell, but when I hear footsteps stomping up, I back away. They sound heavy, nothing like Valeria’s silent tread, and there are two sets. I spin around and dart to the second stairwell to the last floor of the house, creeping up the steps as silently as I can.
“Serafina,” Stefano calls out. “Come downstairs. We’re taking shots.”
I pause at the top of the steps, my hand clasped over my mouth so he can’t hear my wild breathing.
“Serafina?”
I don’t move a single muscle.
“Fucking bitch,” he mutters. “Bring her down.”
“On it,” Lasso says.
On the last floor, I race past the leather furniture to a glass door leading to a large balcony outside. I slip outside and tuck myself next to a storage shed, listening for Lasso.
If he catches me up here, I’ll pretend I came out to smoke another cigarette.
Maybe I can find a fire escape before he does.
I scan the edge of the roof for a ladder.
The memory of scaling down my parents’ house on a ladder to go to that bar on my eighteenth birthday bursts into my mind.
Serafina held the top of the ladder so I wouldn’t fall, even as she begged me not to go.
For several long seconds, I can barely hear anything above the wild beating of my heart. I turn my head to peek for Lasso.
He’s right next to me.
I jerk back, stifling a scream as he throws a hand out and slaps my head like a fly against the plastic sliding of the storage shed.
I stumble backward as he laughs. A gush of heat drips from my nose, and I taste blood.
“You trying to run?” He shoves me.
My back crashes against the table behind me, and I scream out as the table tips. I go with it, the night sky careening over my head.
I land hard on my back, all the air punching out of my lungs, and I groan.
“You think we wouldn’t know who you are?” Lasso asks from behind the table. “Aceto’s telling everyone the truth.”
My head is pounding, but I force myself to my knees, reaching for my belly.
“I can’t believe you’d be so fucking stupid as to come here,” he says with a disbelieving laugh. “But I’m not surprised when Valeria’s a fucking dumb—”
He chokes on his last word as I whip my gun around to point at his face.
After all of my practice with Dom, the shape and weight of the gun in my hand are as familiar as a lover’s body.
Lasso’s face reddens. His jaw clenches, and his hands flex. He chokes out a laugh. “Stefano didn’t say you’d have a gun.”
I rise to my feet using just my leg strength and flexibility, another gift from Dom’s workouts. “Who gave Valeria her black eye?”
He gives me a look of genuine confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I spit blood onto the cement. “Was it Stefano or their dad?”
My phone buzzes with a call. Lasso tilts his head. “You gonna get that?”
Aceto will be here any minute. I’m running out of time.
“If you move, I’ll shoot you.”
Shit, he’s right in front of the door.
I wave the gun. “Walk to the edge of the balcony.”
He gives me an obtuse look. “Well, which is it? Stay still or move?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Move!” I shout.
He scoffs and takes a few steps back. With my gun trained on his face, I open the glass door and shut it, locking it from the inside. He scowls at me through the glass.
I hold the gun close to my chest and race downstairs.
When I get to the first floor, I crash into Valeria and swallow a scream.
She looks horrified. “Your face!”
“I gotta go,” I say, wrenching on her arm. “Come with me. I can’t leave you here.”
She twists out of my grip. “Go! I’m fine. Just go.”
She runs upstairs before I can grab her. I hesitate for a split second until I hear Stefano cursing upstairs, then I dash out the front door and throw myself down the porch steps toward my car.
The keys slip in my hand over and over until I finally shove them in, start the car, and drive off, tires squealing.