Chapter Twenty-Eight Ella
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ella
Istare at Mateo.
Why would he ask me, of all people?
A flicker of unease stirs in my chest as I take in his expression. He looks genuinely worried.
Has something happened to Gualtiero?
My stomach tightens.
I lean back in my chair, frowning. “No, I haven’t. Is there a problem?”
I don’t even know why I’m asking. I don’t want to know anything about their business. I shouldn’t care.
“He should have been back by now. I can’t get hold of him. Neither he nor Santino are answering their phones,” Mateo says, his voice clipped.
“Oh.” It’s all I manage.
He starts pacing the terrace, one hand dragging over the back of his neck, again and again. He barely seems to register I’m here anymore, his focus turned inward, already working through possibilities.
And somehow, that unsettles me even more.
Because if Mateo is worried, then something is wrong.
Unwelcome emotions push up inside me.
No, remember, you hate Gualtiero.
Just that I know I don’t.
My fingers curl against the armrest.
Why do I still care after everything he’s done?
I really shouldn’t.
Mateo stops pacing abruptly, mutters something under his breath, then turns and disappears through the same door he came in, not sparing me another glance.
The terrace falls quiet again.
My stomach churns, a slow, tense roll that won’t settle.
What if Tiero is hurt?
The thought hits harder than it should.
What would happen to me if he doesn’t come back? If he were dead?
Would they let me go?
And why does my throat constrict just thinking Tiero might be gone? I blink rapidly, fighting the sting behind my eyes.
No, I can’t let myself go there.
Tiero knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine. He always is.
My foot bounces before I can stop it, my fingers tapping restlessly against the table. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong.
Voices in the garden have me jumping to my feet. I rush to the edge of the terrace and lean over the balustrade, my pulse kicking up.
Has Tiero returned?
But it isn’t him.
My stomach drops.
God, stop caring, Ella.
I grip the stone railing, forcing myself to stay still as I watch an older man speaking to Mariella. No, not speaking. He’s whisper-shouting, his face tight with anger, his posture rigid and domineering.
Mariella shrinks under it, her shoulders drawn in, her gaze lowered.
I don’t like this.
I want to storm down there and tell that man to back off, to stop talking to her like that. But before I can move, she nods quickly, almost frantically, and hurries away. The man turns and walks off in the opposite direction without a second glance.
What the hell was that about?
I step back from the railing and sink into my chair again, but the fear for Tiero lingers.
Dammit.
After what happened last night, I should be done with him. Any feelings I had should have burned out completely.
But here I am, worrying about him.
I reach into the basket and pick up Oreo, pulling him against my chest. His small, warm body presses into me as I absentmindedly rub his tummy.
Where could Tiero be?
Did he go after someone alone?
No, he’s not reckless. Everything he does is calculated and deliberate. Even my abduction.
The thought settles heavily in my mind. The wardrobe. Mariella. The impersonation. My rent being paid. Every detail planned out long before he took me.
Nothing about him is impulsive.
So where is he?
“Everything okay, Miss O’N… I mean, Ella?”
I flinch slightly, not having noticed Mariella returning to the terrace. She looks at me with concern.
“Signor De Marco, he is alright?”
“Yes, I’m sure he is.” I wipe at the tear slipping down my cheek before it can fall any further. “Who was that man talking to you in the garden? Is he your boss?”
Mariella hesitates. “Yes… no…” She exhales softly. “That was Father.”
Her voice drops on the last word, and unease ripples through me.
“Does he always speak to you like that? What did he want?”
“He worry about the boss,” she says. “He want to know if I heared something. Nobody speak to him today.”
Shit.
A cold wave washes through me. More of his own men are looking for Gualtiero… and can’t reach him.
What if Molinaro got to him?
My stomach lurches, dropping so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
No. Stop.
I press my lips together, forcing the thought away before it can take root.
I need a distraction. Now.
“Do you play backgammon?” I ask Mariella, my voice a little too high. “I saw a board in the library.”
Mariella hesitates again, uncertain.
“Well, you told me you’re here to look after me,” I say, trying for lightness. “Keeping me entertained counts as looking after me.”
She nods and disappears inside to fetch the game.
The diversion works for a while. I focus harder than I need to on moving the pieces. It helps dull the dark edges of my thoughts.
We play for a couple of hours until Alonso steps onto the terrace.
“Signor Mateo asked me to tell you that Signor De Marco is well and currently at his office in Catania. He’ll be home later.”
Relief hits me so hard that my shoulders sag.
I let out a long breath. “Thank you for letting me know, Alonso.”
The tight knot in my chest loosens. I’m trying not to analyze my emotions.
Just because I’m relieved doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. It doesn’t mean anything has changed. I just… don’t want anything bad to happen to him.
That’s all.
With a lighter heart, Mariella and I resume our game.
I’m back in my room, reading on the terrace to catch the evening breeze and watch the sun set, when Gualtiero returns.
For a moment, I forget I’m supposed to be angry with him.
I’m on my feet before I can stop myself.
I meet him halfway, my gaze flicking over him, searching for any sign of injury.
“Are you okay?” I ask. My hands slide down his arms without permission, checking.
He pulls me into his arms, and I let him.
Just for a second, I allow myself to sink into the familiar warmth of him, the clean, masculine scent of his aftershave wrapping around me.
“I’m fine, cuore mio,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to cradle my face. “It’s comforting to know you care about me.”
And just like that, the moment cracks.
I pull back, stepping out of his embrace and putting space between us. I turn to head back out onto the terrace, picking up my book as I sit down.
“Mateo was looking for you. Where were you?” I ask, my tone sharper now.
“Handling some stuff.” He brushes it off easily, his expression giving nothing away.
Of course, he won’t tell me anything. That’s fine by me.
Gualtiero joins me outside, his attention drifting to the view.
“On Saturday, we’re going to a birthday dinner. It’s an excellent opportunity for you to meet the wives and girlfriends of my most trusted men. You’ll be able to make new friends there.”
I draw in a slow breath, biting back the response that rises to my lips.
I have no interest in making friends with the significant others of his crime syndicate. My friends are at home in Dublin. My real life is there. And no matter how long it takes, I will get back to it.
“Is it fancy dress?” I ask, letting the sarcasm slip through. “Can I go as Al Capone’s girlfriend?”
Gualtiero rolls his eyes. “I’m far more handsome than Al Capone,” he says dryly. “We’ll be leaving at seven.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Where are we going?”
He glances at me, faint surprise flickering across his face. I guess he didn’t expect me to agree so easily.
Good. I wouldn’t want to become predictable.
“The party will be at one of our restaurants in Catania. It won’t take long to get there.”
“Right.” I glance at him, then do a double take, momentarily caught off guard by how good he looks in the soft glow of the setting sun. The light catches in his hair, softening the hard edges of him, making him—
I shake my head, forcing the thought away. I will not be taken in by his good looks again.
“Can I leave this compound tomorrow?” I ask, fully expecting he’ll object.
I need the friction. Something to push against. Something to remind myself I don’t like him anymore.
“Where do you want to go?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. There are still plenty of places I haven’t seen. If I’m stuck in Sicily, I might as well explore it. I’d like to go to Noto. Or inland, maybe Enna.”
“I don’t want you leaving the compound.” Of course, he doesn’t.
“And I don’t want to feel like a prisoner,” I counter. “I get that I’m here for the foreseeable future, and I won’t even object to the entourage that will no doubt follow me everywhere. I want to see more of this island.” And maybe create an opportunity to escape.
He considers that for a moment, then shakes his head. I try not to show how him dashing my hopes affects me.
“How about we play tourists on Saturday? We’ll take the boat out. I promised to show you Mount Stromboli, and we can visit the other Aeolian Islands.”
That actually sounds… good.
I press my lips together, forcing my expression to stay neutral, even as a flicker of anticipation sparks inside me. I did like his boat.
He steps closer but refrains from touching me. “I’m sure you can amuse yourself here for one more day. You’ve got the dogs now.”
I glance inside where the three of them are peacefully sleeping on my bed, making me smile. I drop it before turning back to Gualtiero.
“So a don doesn’t work on weekends?”
He takes my hand this time, lifting it to his lips and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my skin.
“I work every day,” he says quietly. “But for you, I’ll always make time.”
There it is again.
That damn pull between us.
Biting my lip, I slip my hand from his.
His charm is not working on me.
No, not at all.