Chapter 4
Elowen
The wide entry gate opens, and the car rolls up the driveway to the front patio of the small house. My house. I bought it with the money I earned playing piano over the years.
I step out of the car. Remi climbs out of the driver’s seat and retrieves my luggage from the trunk. He’s the head of my security now. Previously it was Travis, he’s in Washington now, married to my manager Ida, who manages another pianist. Travis still works for my dad.
The front door open, and before any human can appear, two large and two small balls of white, grey, and black merge and attack me.
I sink onto my heels to welcome the licks and sniffs.
I chuckle and kiss each face in turn. Since Bruno is too much of a grump without affection, I give him his share first, then Rosie, then scoop up Pester and Rozar from the ground.
I rise with them in my arms and step inside, kissing their small faces.
A woman in her late forties stands in the doorway, wearing a brown jumpsuit and a warm smile.
She’s May. She pulls me into a hug as I cross the threshold.
She’s the caretaker—of me, my babies, this house.
She was part of my father’s most trusted staff, so my mother sent her here with me when I moved in.
She and her family live next door. Most of the houses in this quartiere belong to security staff and NGO workers.
Only a few are here that don’t belong to people on my father’s payroll.
This makes this quartiere a personal safe space for me.
Naples’s development is going well. People were reluctant to move back, especially those who lost families, even with new land and houses waiting for them.
Those who refused, we compensated in other ways.
Those who agreed were mostly the ones with business plans in the developing city.
My initial plan was to meet the victims myself and talk to them, but my therapist refused, it would only worsen my already fucked-up mental health.
So I don’t. But since I need something to occupy my mind, I started working with the city architect and planners.
“How were they?” I ask May, sinking onto the living room carpet. Bruno and Rosie settle around me instantly.
The house has a bedroom and study upstairs, two guest rooms, and a kitchen with dining on the ground floor.
It’s small and comfortable, perfect for the family I always dreamed of.
Once Salvario returns, that dream will become real.
The thought spreads warmth through my chest. My depression has a pattern: from morning to late afternoon, I stay optimistic, at least, I don’t get suicidal thoughts, and I can work.
That’s optimistic enough. Some days, these thoughts come too—thoughts of his return.
But once the sun starts setting, the helplessness and pessimism creep in.
I don’t try to talk myself out of it, fighting it only poisons my better morning hours.
I let myself sink into the pit. Then I leave the house with Rosie and Bruno, and now their babies, for a walk.
It’s the hardest thing to do when all I want is to stay in bed and do nothing, but skipping it makes the next day worse.
So to fight my mind, I force my body to move.
The start is difficult, getting out of bed, stepping outside, but once I push through, it gets easier.
“Very problematic. It was hell taking them out. Can you imagine, it takes three guards to walk two dogs?”
I pat Bruno’s head. I know it was him. Bruno just hates behaving, especially around men. The only men who could get him to behave are Salvario and Antonio.
“Spend time with them. I’ll have lunch ready for you.” May leaves with a smile.
She’s used to my lack of replies, something my family hasn’t gotten used to yet.
And I don’t think they ever will. I understand what it’s like for them to see me this way.
If it were someone else in my place, I would be just like them.
It’s impossible not to worry and feel sad watching someone you love suffer, even when they don’t want you to.
Most of the time they try to hide their emotions so I don’t feel guilty for making them worry, but my curse of reading faces makes their efforts useless.
I clip Bruno and Rosie’s leashes to their collars, scoop up the pups, and step out the door.
It’s not that cold here, but you can’t go outside in the evening without a jacket. Today is especially chilly, with cold winds blowing through. I like weather like this, something other than normal, something that leaves me struggling for comfort.
I take them along the familiar roadside path.
The stone pines and olive trees along the road aren’t fully grown yet, some are still just saplings.
It’ll take another five to ten years for them to mature.
I look around at the few houses that are here.
Some are under construction; others glow with indoor and garden lights.
Voices drift out, children laughing, adults chatting.
An old woman approaches from the other side of the path, smiling wide. I arrange my face into a smile, too.
“Good evening, Elowen,” she greets in Italian-accented English.
“Good evening, Hanna. How are you?” I pause beside her.
She pats the pups cradled in my arms. “I’m good. You were away for a week.”
I nod. “I went to see my family.”
She nods, still smiling, then pats Rozer again. “Can I adopt him? He’s such a sweet puppy. My granddaughter would be over the moon.”
I glance down at him and smile. “I don’t know if his parents would approve. Bring your granddaughter to my house tomorrow. If they see him happy with her, maybe they’ll agree.”
She smiles, glancing down at Bruno and Rosie, then at me. “Very well.” She pats my shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
I smile.
Not long after Hanna leaves, a tall young man stops me, a friendly smile on his face, dressed in a leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.
Too much for a peaceful evening walk.
He grins, rubbing his neck. “I’m sorry. I think you want some time alone.”
I put on a smile. “It’s fine.”
He’s new here. I’ve never seen him before. Maybe a family moved in while I was in Washington.
“I’m Logan Blackwood.” He extends his hand, then sees both my arms are full and pulls it back with a chuckle. “My brother and I just moved here.”
I nod. “Welcome to Naples.”
“Thanks. It’s a lovely place.” He steps aside and gestures for me to continue.
I resume walking. Bruno moves to Logan’s side, nudging him away from me.
He laughs. “Your dog’s pretty possessive of you.”
“He takes after his master.”
I take a breath through my mouth, pushing back the suffocating tightness in my throat at the mention of him.
“Aren’t you his master?” Logan asks.
I shake my head. “My man is.”
“Ohh. Where is he?”
I fix my gaze ahead. “Away for work.”
Logan stays silent for a few minutes, letting me feel the tightness in my chest and the clenching in my stomach.
My eyes scan the area ahead, it’s become a habit. The flickering, dying candle of hope makes me wish he’ll appear out of nowhere, in front of me, any moment.
But if he wanted to come back, he would have done it a long time ago. One.
That’s if he’s still alive. Two.
It doesn’t take this long to find a living person, he isn’t alive. But they haven’t found his body. But the world is huge. How could they possibly find him if he’s at the bottom of some ocean or buried under feet of earth? Three.
My steps falter as my body refuses to move. By the third thought, I always stop feeling anything around me, the spiral accelerates, only stopping when I go numb.
A hand lands on my shoulder. I snap my head toward him.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks me with a concerned look on his face.
I nod and force my feet forward.
“I was asking if you’d be open to giving away one of these pups. I’d love to adopt one,” he enthuses.
“Come to my house tomorrow,” I force out. I don’t have the will to explain more. I hope he understands.
“Sure. At what time?”
“Ten in the morning.”
“Works perfectly for me.” He hums a low tune, not pressing me further. I’m grateful. After a minute, he chuckles. “I think you’ll love my brother’s company. He hates talking.”
I don’t respond.
“Can I bring him along?”
I nod.
Hunter
“Did you have to flirt with her to get information?” I grit out as soon as he walks in.
“I didn’t flirt,” he drawls, kicking off his shoes with the same grin he wore while talking to her. The same grin I want to smash off his face.
He walks into the living room. I follow. He flops onto the couch, sighing. “She has a man, so direct this jealousy where it’s needed.”
I frown, lowering myself onto the single couch across from him.
“Who?” I demand, voice low and cold.
“How would I know? I can’t possibly ask her the details of her family so that you can plan to kill him, especially when we’re not sure you’re even into her.”
“I’m sure. You’re not.”
He stretches out on the couch. “We’ll find out tomorrow. I found the perfect way into her house.”
“You’re not going in,” I grumble.
He laughs. “Bro, calm down. I’m not stealing your girl. Depressed lass isn’t my thing. And if you stay obsessed after seeing her up close, I’ll start seeing her as my mother.” He shakes his head, still laughing. “Okay, as a sister.”
I ignore his rambling and bring him back to the subject. “How are we getting into her house?”
“I heard her talking to an old woman. The old woman asked her if she could adopt her pup for her granddaughter; she said she’d have to come to her house to play with the pup.
So I used the same excuse and asked if I could adopt one, she told me to come by.
Then she went into some depressed state, and I took advantage and asked if you could tag along.
She said yes. So we’re going to her house tomorrow at ten. ”
I rise and leave. Logan’s grunts follow me. “This man has zero communication etiquette.”
I walk to my room and grab the binoculars off the table.
I slide the curtain just an inch and peer into the house across from me.
Her house. With the trees still small in both our gardens, I can see straight in.
My room faces the side of her house, the side with her room.
It’s a lucky coincidence. But if it weren’t, I would have bought this house from whoever owned it—whatever the cost.
Most of the time, she leaves her curtains open, which lets me see straight into her room. At this moment, she’s on the balcony, looking around the way she used to at her parents’ mansion.
She wears a purple T-shirt and shorts, bare without a jacket against the cold.
I zoom in on her face. I can see her face so much clearer than through the camera.
Her eyes are tired, fixed on nothing. After a few minutes, she’ll scan again, like a robot programmed to monitor her surroundings at fixed intervals.
Is she searching for him? Is this grief, this longing, this pain—all for him? My chest clenches, squeezing the air from my lungs, leaving a suffocating burn.
My grip on the binoculars tightens, then I consciously loosen it. I can’t break them. How would I see her without them?
Whoever he is, I’ll get rid of him. Even if it takes years, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her forget him.
I’m not fully aware of what I could do for this woman to make her mine, but I have a rough sense it would be anything and everything humanly possible.