26. Aurora
Chapter 26
Aurora
“ O h, I couldn’t eat another bite.” I push my plate away with one hand and hold up the other to keep Alma at bay. She’s been feeding me nonstop for the last hour. I’m starting to wish I was still locked away in my bedroom because, although the food is delicious, there’s only so much one person can eat.
Alma tsks , dropping another heavenly slice of homemade ciabatta onto my plate. Steam rises from the bread and my mouth waters, imagining it slathered in butter. “You’re nothing but skin and bones, signorina . You need to keep up your strength.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Haven, a housekeeper, pushes back her chair and admonishes Alma. “You shouldn’t force-feed people, Alma. Especially when they’ve told you they’ve had enough.” Walking toward the door, Haven calls, “I’ll show you how to get to the garden, Aurora.”
After exploring the house this morning, I stumbled upon the kitchen. Or rather, my rumbling stomach led me here when I got the first whiff of fresh bread. I’ve spent my afternoon with Alma, Massimo’s chef, Maria, his head housekeeper, and Haven, her daughter. They’ve been so welcoming and made me feel at ease. Unlike the man I ran into in the library . Just the thought of the way he said my name sends a shiver down my spine.
Pushing back my chair, I gather up the dishes, but Maria stops me, smacking away my hands. She carries them to the kitchen sink, talking to Alma in rapid Italian and effectively dismissing me. With a shrug of my shoulder, I swipe up my pad and pencils and follow Haven as she walks from the room.
In the quiet of the corridor, she leans in, her voice low and conspiring. “Don’t worry about them. You’ll get used to their pushy nature in no time, just don’t be afraid to tell them no or you’ll end up in some really compromising situations. Believe me. My mom is the worst when it comes to pushing things on people.”
I clutch my pad to my chest and try to keep the hurt out of my tone when I reply, “I don’t think I’ll be here long enough for that to happen.”
The corner of Haven’s mouth twitches and her brows shoot up before she composes herself and lifts her chin. “If you say so.”
A heaviness settles into the pit of my stomach, but I narrow my eyes and affirm, “I do.”
Soon, Romeo will have no use for me and he’ll either follow through on the threats he made when we first met or return to Sicily and leave me behind without a thought. I’m not sure what will be worse.
Haven pushes through a set of doors that open up into the garden and I gulp in a much needed lungful of air. A peacefulness falls over me as I look out at the lush lawn that stretches for miles in front of us. A light breeze blows the strands of my hair into my face as I walk to the edge of the patio.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Coming to a stop behind me, Haven softens her voice, drawing my attention to her. “Part of my job is to be invisible. But it does mean that people let their guards down because they think they’re alone.” She rests a hand on my shoulder. “Just know that if he didn’t feel anything for you, you wouldn’t be here. The men that occupy this house aren’t the kind to do favors or make decisions just for the sake of it.”
Sighing heavily, I look out over the landscape. “I’m not na?ve enough to believe that.” My voice is small and gets carried away in the breeze. “This”—I wave my arm at the garden before us—“is nothing more than him rewarding me for behaving. I know that if I so much as breathe the wrong way, he has the power to snatch away this little slice of freedom.”
We stand in silence, the weight of my words hanging between us and tarnishing the late afternoon brightness. The sound of a motor starting up cuts through the tension and I lift my face to the sky, closing my eyes and basking in the warmth of the sun that somehow feels foreign on my skin after the last few weeks inside.
Haven clears her throat. “I should get back to work.”
Without looking back at her, I keep my head tipped back and sincerely reply, “Thank you, Haven.”
The door clicks as she shuts it behind her and after five minutes of soaking in the tranquility. My movements are unhurried as I kick off my sneakers and bend to pick them up.
I walk out onto the lawn, my bare feet sinking into the grass. It’s dewy from the rain this morning, but I won’t let it deter me, not with the all-consuming need to make this moment feel real fueling me.
With the sun not due to set for another hour or so, I walk further out into the center of the lawn. I’m waiting for the moment someone jumps out and tells me it’s all been a trick. For someone to shoot me for trying to escape.
My eyes land on a burly guy walking the perimeter to my left and I come to a stop, unable to pull in any air. His machine gun is cradled in his arms like a sleeping baby and my stomach drops, the butterflies erupting and taking flight when his eyes shift to mine. My body is tense, bracing for the moment he turns the weapon on me and fires. Within seconds, he breaks the contact, continuing on his walk like nothing ever happened. I exhale, my heart thumping a galloping rhythm in my chest.
Maybe I need to take Romeo at his word. He said I was free to explore the garden. What reason would he have for having me taken out now? I should be enjoying this moment for as long as I have it.
Shaking away the dark cloud hanging over my head, I stroll across the lawn, toward the back of the garden. The grass is bouncy beneath my feet and offers me a refreshing reminder of mother nature. Ever since I’ve been staying in Romeo’s room, every morning, I’ve looked out of the bathroom window to the walled garden at the back. If I had to guess, from what I’ve seen, it looks like to be a rose garden that might provide me with some new drawing inspiration.
Anticipation skates down my spine when I push through an old wooden gate and into the separated garden. Greenery fills six large but equally sized flower beds and the buds of all different roses are visible.
Walking down the gravel path in between the first row of beds, I touch the leaves, careful to steer clear of the thorns. The weight on my shoulders lifts with each step, and I inhale deeply the smell of the earth; fresh and invigorating. Although the roses aren’t in bloom yet, the buds are forming and my imagination fills in the blanks with the scent. There’s a familiarity to the space, but I can’t quite put my finger on why that is.
Gravel crunching signals the end of my time alone. The steps grow hesitant, stopping and starting before someone speaks, “We grow a lot of different varieties of roses here, but they won’t be in full bloom until May and June.”
I turn toward the voice, coming face-to-face with an older man, lines of a life well lived covering his face. His salt and pepper hair is barely concealed beneath his worn plain black baseball cap. He’s grasping gardening shears in one hand and a pair of thick canvas gloves in the other.
He looks nervous, the hand holding the gloves shaking slightly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s been a long time since anyone came here. Not since…” he trails off, his eyes narrowing a fraction.
My gaze drops to the shears and I take a step back, clutching my pad to my chest. “I’m sorry. I was told I could draw in the garden.” He doesn’t say anything so I add, “I should go.”
He drops the shears into the bed next to him, taking a large step away for good measure and holding up both hands before removing his cap. “You can draw here. I’ll go. My curiosity got the better of me.”
We stare, both unmoving. If I want to leave, I need to pass him and I’m not sure what his intentions might be. He seems harmless enough, but then so do a lot of things that could kill you.
“Who are you?” His question comes out quietly and coated in curiosity. I’m not sure he meant to ask it, but it doesn’t stop my brows from pulling together. I thought everyone would know who I am.
With a neutral expression, I straighten my spine and reply, “My name is Aurora Costa.”
His eyes bulge, and his mouth parts slightly. He shuffles toward me, squeezing his hat in his hands with his gloves. “Aurora? Is it really you? I mean, I thought you looked familiar, but it’s been years and well…”
“Who are you?” I demand, thrown by what he’s saying to me. It makes no sense. I have never seen this man before.
Shaking his head, he presses a hand to his forehead. “Of course, you wouldn’t remember me.” He smooths a hand down the front of his shirt, standing taller, his sincere gray eyes locking on mine before he speaks. “My name is Andrea Pesci. I worked with your mother.”
“At Dunlocks?” My question rolls off of my tongue. I only ever remember my mom working at a department store. She’d take me in around the holidays and I’d get to pick whatever toy I wanted. As I got older, that turned into makeup and clothes.
“No.” Andrea looks around, the bill of his cap now completely crushed in his hand. “We worked together here.”
My thighs hit the back of one of the flower beds. What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense. I would have remembered if she ever worked for the mafia. Right? She’d have told me. We didn’t keep secrets from each other. No matter how much certainty I inject into my tone, there’s a hint of questioning in my statement when I declare, “My mom never worked here. She doesn’t know these people.”
Andrea puts his cap back on, before he stuffs his gloves into the back pocket of his worn, dirty jeans. “It was nearly twenty-five years ago, but yes, she did. She left when you were four… after your accident,” he replies softly.
My accident?
I run a hand over my forehead and I look away, trying to process what he’s saying. So many things are falling into place and yet remain unanswered. That sense of familiarity of the garden from earlier returns with a force. “What do you mean my accident ?” I ask, my words barely audible over the rushing in my ears.
Andrea’s eyes fall over my left shoulder and I glance back at the empty open space beyond the flower bed I’m standing in front of.
“There used to be a fountain over there. You were playing hide and seek with the boys and had snuck in here to hide. Your father had asked Mr. Marino to keep it off-limits for i bambini . He was worried you’d get hurt on the thorns, but he never imagined what actually happened. You must have tried to hide inside the fountain, but you were little and the inside was slippery. Massimo came running back to the house, frantic, telling us that Romeo had pulled you out of the water. He said you weren’t moving.” Inhaling sharply, Andrea clears his throat before continuing, his eyes glassy. “You stopped coming around after that. Your madre left that day and we lost touch.”
I don’t know what to do with this information. Everything I thought I knew was a lie. The scar my mom said I got from falling from the jungle gym wasn’t from that at all. She was part of this life. Hell, so was I. And yet I got on my high horse when I told my father to stay away.
This is all too much.
In some ways, it makes sense. My father was in the mafia, he must have worked with Romeo and Massimo’s family, but to think that I knew them? That I grew up with them and did such mundane things like playing hide and seek? That’s inconceivable.
How different would my life have been if I’d never had that accident?
My pad falls from my numb fingers, grazing my leg as it falls to the floor. The ground tilts and my breaths come in quick, shallow pants as I race from the garden, ignoring Andrea’s pleas to stop.