Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Katya
Grief is something I've faced before but it's never been this visceral. Every part of me aches with the weight of it. It's the tragedy of it that hits the hardest, the promise of an incredible life cut short.
I read Keats at his funeral and tell everyone why. I think I knew, even on that first day as we stood on the Spanish Steps together, that Santo's time would be short. He burned too bright.
His mother thanks me after the burial, telling me her son spoke fondly of me. But the look she shoots Gabriele as we leave the graveside is one of pure vitriol. It hits him hard, even though he doesn't show it. I reach for his hand as we walk back to the car. He takes it and holds on tight.
He's not responsible for what happened to Santo and those two other men. The woman responsible for that is my mother. She's still out there somewhere and I still haven't decided what exactly I want to do about that.
If I ask Gabriele to pull the trigger, he'll do so without hesitation, but I hold off on making that request for now. Time has tempered my anger over her part in what happened, but only a little. She'll still pay, though she may escape with her life.
We don't join Santo's family and friends after the funeral.
Gabriele's brothers are waiting for us back at the house.
That's the excuse we give everyone but the reality of it is neither of us can face it.
Death is a frequent visitor to our world and we don't want to spend any more time around it than we have to.
When we get back to the house, the other Volante brothers and their wives are in the sitting room. Damiano and his wife Violetta are on one sofa and Lorenzo and Lucia on the other. I met the women only briefly before we left for the funeral.
Violetta, I already know I like. Gabriele told me last night how she sat with him at his mother's funeral. He's not clear on why she wasn't with her husband. I suppose that's not our business.
Lucia is a little slower to warm up to. A successful chef, she holds herself with confidence but she hasn't got that ability to make you instantly believe she cares about you. She's friendly, but perhaps a touch self-centered. I can't imagine how she and Lorenzo cope with each other's egos.
"Still haven't decorated, then," Lorenzo says.
In the short time it took to fly home on the night they stormed St. Petersburg to bring me back, I came to realize he's a little like me, choosing smart remarks to try to alleviate tension.
He also watches Gabriele the way I do, trying to gauge his mood. His humor is at its most biting when he thinks his older brother needs distraction. I wonder if Gabriele realizes Lorenzo manages him too. I doubt it.
"Katya's going to take care of that," Gabriele says, crossing the room to sit on the armchair.
I look around for a seat. He pats his knee.
I go and sit on it. He wraps his arm around me and I lean back against him, pleased that he's willing to show affection in front of his brothers.
Lorenzo catches my eye and gives me the smallest nod, as if he's been waiting for exactly this and is glad to see it.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Violetta says.
"Thank you." I look around at all of them. "Today is for remembering Santo. He deserves that. But it's not only about sadness. He wouldn't have wanted that."
Gabriele's arm tightens around me. Silence falls. There's an awkwardness between the brothers that will take some time to get over.
They haven't talked about Gabriele's reasons for not mourning with them when their mother died.
Nor have they discussed what more Damiano and Lorenzo could have done for him in the aftermath of the attack that left him scarred.
They let him drift away when they should have stormed in here and dragged him back into their world.
Tonight isn't the night for that particular discussion. But it will come.
"So," I turn to Lorenzo, figuring he's the most likely to want to talk about himself. "Tell me about your vineyard."
We talk for hours about Lorenzo's wine and Lucia's restaurant. Lucia tells me about her signature truffle pasta dish. I tell her I'd love to try it and that seems to break the slight coldness between us. She offers to make it when Gabriele and I get around to visiting Tuscany.
That's something I intend to do soon. I've moved to one of the most beautiful countries on Earth. I intend to explore it. I can just imagine the horror on Gabriele's face when I tell him as much. It was a struggle to get him to the Villa Borghese. I'm not sure how he'll feel about Florence.
Violetta tells me about her work creating social media content for the Volante's various hospitality businesses.
She offers to do the same for Gabriele but that sounds like something I could do.
I decide to talk to him about it later. The one person who doesn't talk much is Damiano.
He's even less forthcoming about the details of his life than my husband.
I guess as the head of the family he needs to keep things close to his chest.
"Do you prefer living in Florence?" I ask Damiano, trying to draw him out.
He shrugs. "It has its good points."
He doesn't share what those are. Violetta rolls her eyes as if she, too, finds it impossible to get a straight answer out of him. I find I like her more with every minute that passes.
While Damiano's walls are impenetrable, Lorenzo and Lucia are only too happy to talk about their baby boy.
Not yet a year old, he's apparently already showing signs of inheriting his father's charm.
Lorenzo demonstrates this by doing an impression of his son's expression when he wants something he's been told he can't have. Even Damiano almost smiles. Almost.
After a while Gabriele grows tense beneath me. I feel it before I see it, the subtle shift in him. The way he holds his breath and slowly releases it. I get up and hold out my hand.
"Come help me sort out food," I say. "I'm sure everyone's hungry."
There's a murmur of agreement. Gabriele takes my hand and we excuse ourselves and I lead him down the corridor. When we reach the study I open the door.
"I thought we were going to the kitchen," he says.
"We will."
I lead him into the room, close the door and kiss him.
"I thought you wanted food," he says.
"You needed a break."
He kisses me again, his lips falling possessively on mine. He backs me against the door and lifts my skirt.
"We'll have to be quick," I warn.
Gabriele responds by tearing my panties off and dropping them to the floor.
"Maybe not that qui….” He cuts off my complaint with another kiss. His tongue pushes into my mouth and explores every inch of it. My husband can kiss. There's nothing tame about it, even when we're taking things slowly. He ravishes my mouth with a hunger that answers the need in me.
Gabriele undoes his pants. I reach down to wrap my hand around his shaft, smiling when I find him already hard.
He drags the head of his cock through my wet folds and murmurs approvingly.
He lifts me by the waist and brings me back down on him.
He fucks me with an urgency that's partly to do with awareness that we have guests waiting and partly because this is a day to affirm our vitality.
He holds onto me like I might disappear and I let him.
This closeness, this connection, is something we both need right now.
He thrusts into my pussy hard and before we know it, we both come. I drop my head to his shoulder as I slowly get my breathing back to normal. Something sticky trickles down my thigh and I realize I'm going to have to change before we return to our guests.
We stand there for a moment, his arms around me, my head on his shoulder. Then I step back.
"You should tell them."
His expression shifts. "Tell them what?"
"You know what."
"That I'm a weak leader who could fall apart at any moment and take everything down with him."
"No." I sit on the edge of the desk and look at him steadily.
"That you're a great leader who suffers from anxiety.
" It's the first time I've put a name to it but Gabriele doesn't try to deflect or deny it.
He just looks at me with a strange sort of awe, as if I've expressed something he never could.
"Will they see it that way?"
"Yes, you were attacked. Anyone would be unsettled after that."
He shakes his head. "It wasn't the attack, Katya.
I've always been this way. I don't know why it comes on sometimes and not others.
It's unpredictable. One day I'll go to a new restaurant and feel fine.
The next I have to look up the layout online, scroll through photos, check the menu, and when I get there I still can't walk through the door. I don't even know what I'm scared of."
He's never articulated that to me before. I doubt he's even told Lukas the extent of his difficulties. I think carefully before I speak.
"Gabriele." I lean forward. "Those men out there love you.
They came from Florence in the middle of the night when you called.
" I pause. "They've known you all their lives.
It's likely they already know more than you think.
Give them the chance to help rather than watching from a distance and not understanding why they can't get close. "
He's quiet for a moment. I watch him as he considers all I've said, turning it around in his mind. It's something I've come to understand about him. He doesn't resist the right answer. He just needs to arrive at it himself.
"You're right," he says.
"I know." I kiss his cheek.
Silly man. Of course I'm right. I always am.