Chapter 13
HAVEN
Oh my God. I’m going to lose my mind!
Feeling claustrophobic, I rush out of the mansion and head to the beach.
Besides talking to Mom and texting with Kristen, I’ve barely interacted with another human the past two weeks.
There’s been no sign of Leo, and I’m avoiding the guards because they’re scary as hell.
When the housekeeper came in today, I tried to use a translation app to communicate with her, but it wasn’t very successful. I only seemed to make her uncomfortable.
The first couple of days after Leo left, I was too relieved to feel lonely, but then homesickness set in. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Every fibre in my being knows I’m on foreign soil and longs to return to the States.
I wish I could visit with Mom. I’d feel so much better.
I hear a rumbling of thunder and glance up at the sky. As a storm starts to roll in, the clouds look beautiful, and wanting to take a photo for Mom, I head back to the veranda.
Stepping into the living room, I pull the sliding doors shut.
This mansion is as cold as its owner, and the loneliness is killing me.
I wrap my arms around myself, and while I try to rub some warmth into my biceps, I walk to the panel against the wall and increase the temperature of the AC a little.
I glance around the foyer as I head up the stairs and don’t even bother shutting my bedroom door as I walk into the space I’ve grown used to.
I pick up my phone from where it’s lying on my bed and walk out onto the balcony. I decide to try to FaceTime with Mom. Pressing the video icon, I watch as it connects. When her face appears on my screen, I force a smile to my lips.
“Hey, Mom.”
There are black circles beneath her eyes, and she looks ten years older than when we arrived in Italy.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“There’s a storm coming, and the sky looks pretty,” I say as I turn the screen so she can see the view I’m looking at.
“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” I hear Mom say.
“Yeah.” I bring the screen back to face me as I lean against the railing. “How are you holding up?”
Mom shakes her head, her chin quivering. I watch as she battles her emotions, and it makes my eyes well with tears.
“I’m okay.” She looks at me again, then lets out a sob.
After ranting and raving the past week and a half, we’ve run out of words and just stare at each other.
I don’t even have it in me to offer her false hope anymore.
If things continue like this, I’m going to die of loneliness, Mom.
She wins the battle against her emotions, and a smile forms around her mouth. “With the storm behind you, you look so beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, Mommy,” I whisper.
As I glance up at the sky, there’s a flash of lightning freaking close to me, and I let out a shriek. My phone goes flying out of my hands, then a loud bang vibrates through the air.
“Noooo!” I scream as I grab hold of the railing, leaning over it to look down at he rocks below. “Shit!” It takes me a few seconds before I see the shattered pieces of my phone, and it has despair knocking the air from my lungs.
Not caring about the storm, I run through my bedroom and race down the stairs. I yank the sliding doors open and hurry across the veranda. Turning left by the steps, I run to where the rocks begin and look for a way to climb them.
My phone is the only way I can contact Mom and Kristen. I have to get to it!
The wind tugs at my hair and clothes as I climb onto the nearest rock. I carefully make my way in the direction of where my phone is lying, but then a big wave crashes beneath me, sending a spray of water high up. The droplets hit me, but I keep going.
Lightning hits the water in the distance, making panic flare hot through me.
The wind picks up drastically, and as I look at the rocks ahead of me, my foot slips, and I lose my balance.
Letting out a loud scream, I try to catch myself with my left hand, and my palm slams against the sharp edge of a rock, which rips through my skin.
The rest of me follows suit and hits the hard surface, causing me to slide down a few feet before I’m able to catch myself.
Breaths explode over my lips, and my heart beats a mile a minute as I try to recover from the shock of almost falling to my death.
My left hand and wrist are on fire, and I let out a groan. Knowing I don’t have a lot of time, I struggle back to my feet.
“Mrs. Toscano!” a man shouts, making my head snap in the direction of the beach.
Shit. A guard.
I glance at the rocks where I think my phone is, and my heart sinks because I know the guard will get to me before I can make it to my phone.
Barely able to keep my balance on the rocks while another wave crashes below, the guard easily grabs hold of me and hauls me over his shoulder.
I don’t bother putting up a fight as he carries me back to the house.
I can’t talk to Mom anymore.
When I’m placed on my feet in the living room, the guard grabs hold of my hand that’s a bloody mess. The sudden movement makes a sharp pain explode in my wrist.
“You got hurt. Cazzo. He’s going to kill me.”
Hearing him speak English has my eyes flying to his face. He looks like he’s in his thirties, and there’s a thick scar on the side of his neck.
God. He looks dangerous as hell.
He grips me by my elbow and leads me to the kitchen, where he wraps a dish towel around my hand.
I watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. Unfortunately, he speaks Italian and I can’t make out what he’s saying, but then I hear Leo’s voice come angrily over the line.
The guard locks eyes with me. “What were you doing out on the rocks?”
I swallow hard on my chaotic emotions and fear as I admit, “I dropped my phone.”
I think he relays my answer to Leo and listens for a few seconds before he ends the call. When he makes another call, I glance down at my aching hand, the blood already seeping through the fabric.
Shit. It hurts.
“A doctor is coming,” the guard suddenly says in English, then he takes hold of my hand again, and tightens the towel even more.
I let out a painful whimper, then snap, “Careful!”
I’m surprised when he says, “I’m sorry. We need to stop the bleeding while we wait for the doctor.”
He makes a tight knot at the back of my hand, then dials another number. While he’s on the phone, I walk to one of the stools and sit down.
God, why did I drop my phone?
My eyes snap to the device in the guard’s hand.
I know Mom’s number off my heart.
When he ends the call, I ask, “Can I use your phone?”
“Sure.”
My eyebrows fly up because I expected him to say no. When he holds it out to me, I quickly take it before he can change his mind.
I type in Mom’s number and press dial. It rings a few times before she answers, “Hello?”
“It’s me, Mom. I dropped my phone, and it smashed to smithereens on the rocks.”
“Haven! God, I was so worried. Is this Leo’s number?”
“No, he’s not back yet. I’m using one of the guards’ phones.”
“We’re getting you a new phone,” the guard informs me, making my jaw drop. “I’ve sent a man to buy one.”
“I’m getting a new phone. I’ll call you as soon as I have it,” I relay the news to Mom.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart.”
I end the call and hand the device back to the guard. He puts it in his pocket before he looks at my hand again.
When I hiss with pain, he murmurs, “Sorry.”
With the shock of the fall fading, I begin to feel uncomfortable with the guard. I recognize him from the two times I’ve seen him come into the house, but I never stuck around to talk to him.
His eyes touch on my face, then he says, “My name is Edoardo. I’m in charge of security here at the mansion.”
In other words, it’s his job to make sure I stay put and don’t escape.
Last week, I would’ve made a run for my bedroom, but I’m so freaking starved for human interaction, I remain seated on the stool, and say, “I’m Haven.”
He smiles, but it looks menacing as hell. “You don’t have to hide when I come into the house.”
A very uncomfortable silence falls between us, and the minutes feel torturously long.
Edoardo’s phone rings, and he quickly answers. I hear Leo’s voice again, and suddenly the urge to talk to him strikes.
Nope. He’s responsible for the hell you find yourself in.
Anger rears up in my chest, but every time I hear the timbre of his voice, the urge grows.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Edoardo if I can speak to Leo, but thankfully, he ends the call, and the urge passes.
Other voices come from the direction of the front door, and I glance over my shoulder.
“The doctor is here,” Edoardo informs me.
A man carrying a black bag comes rushing in. He talks to Edoardo while he sets the bag down on the island. Opening it, he removes antiseptic wipes, an injection, and a small vial.
“Hello, Mrs. Toscano,” the doctor greets me. “I’m going to tend to your hand.”
I almost tell him I’m not Mrs. Toscano, but end up replying, “Okay. Thanks.”
“This will hurt,” he informs me as he starts to clean my palm. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“No,” I mutter before sharp bolts of pain shoot through my hand and wrist, making me clench my jaw.
Turning my head away, I stare at one of the cupboards.
“I’m giving you an injection for pain because you need stitches.”
I nod and brace for the sharp prick.
God!
The injection makes the pain worse before it starts to fade.
I keep staring at the cupboard while the doctor works on my hand, and after a few minutes, he says, “It looks like you sprained your wrist.”
“Are you sure?” Edoardo asks.
I look at my hand and see the cut is two inches long. The sight of the stitches makes my stomach feel queasy, and I glance away again.
Holy crap. No wonder it hurts so much.
“Don’t use your left hand for anything, and keep it as still as possible,” the doctor instructs as he wraps a bandage around my palm. “I’ll give you painkillers. Take two every six hours or as needed for pain.”
I’m guessing the doctor is on Leo’s payroll, but it doesn’t stop me from being polite. “Thank you for taking care of my hand.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Toscano.” He looks at Edoardo and switches over to Italian.
The men walk out of the kitchen, and it has me slipping off the stool. I cradle my left hand against my chest as I pick up the box of painkillers.
Wait. I can’t go to my room yet.
I walk to the doorway between the kitchen and foyer and watch as Edoardo lets the doctor out of the mansion.
When the guard turns around, I ask, “Do you know how long it will take to get the new phone?”
He checks the time on his watch. “Probably another thirty minutes.” He gestures to the staircase. “If you want to go rest, you can. I’ll bring the phone to you when it arrives.”
Not wanting him near my bedroom, I shake my head and walk to the living room. I sit down on the nearest couch and glance at the rain pelting the windows.
As the sound of the storm fills the air, the crushing loneliness that’s been torturing me for the past two weeks settles heavy in my heart.
God. I just want to see Mom.
When a tear escapes, I turn my head toward the window so the guard won’t see I’m crying.