Chapter 20
Enzo
Gemma slipped her hand in mine and we descended from the private jet.
The night air cooled my lungs, filling me with more than just oxygen.
Home. The instant our jet touched down on the private property, the tension in my shoulders eased.
Guards escorted us to the mansion, and the weight of my gun sat in my pocket.
But here in Lombardy, the distant threat of Sicily held no power.
Staff greeted us and fetched our luggage.
Gemma squinted at the darkened Cammarata villa. “So, this is Lombardy, huh?”
The darkness hid most of the estate’s beauty, but I already envisioned a day out, showing her the city, taking her on a scenic boat tour on my yacht. If my sources were correct, she hadn’t visited many places. Instead of admitting such knowledge, I asked, “where else have you traveled?”
Her shoulder lifted in a timorous shrug. “Just Sicily and Rome. I’ve never had the chance to go elsewhere.”
I’d traveled far and wide in my years of growing the company, but always arranged time to tour the sights.
Fabrizio, the old butler who’d been in this house since my childhood, held the door open and extended his arm. “Welcome home, Enzo.”
“Fabrizio. Good to be back. Everything in order?” I nodded toward the second floor, referring to the bedroom setup.
The Butler’s sure nod and smile answered my question.
Of course, the staff must consider it strange not sharing a bed with my own wife, and I offered no explanation either.
As long as I was nearby, nothing else mattered.
The last few nights I’d awoken to the sound of her panicked screams and had to shake her awake from her nightmares. Franco still plagued her mind.
We meandered through the large foyer with high ceilings, large windows, and a pendant chandelier. This villa dwarfed the one in Sicily.
“It’s beautiful.” She paused, soaking in the mansion I called home. “Do you live here alone?”
I took a swig from the bottled water I’d yet to finish on the jet. “Mmn… the wife and kids should be here any minute.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
We’d been like this a lot lately, the teasing, the easy laughter.
Since confiding in her about my past, a new awareness charged the air between us.
A smile played on my lips as I discarded the now empty bottle on the table and dug my hands into my pockets. “Yes, Lucio has his own villa.”
“And Carina?” She glanced back at me, interrupting her exploration of the large abstract painting in the foyer.
I enjoyed my mother’s absence the most. “She has a place in the city, but she’s always traveling—here, Sicily, America.”
Her eyes sparked, and she pointed in my direction. “America? You’ve been there? You have an accent.”
“We lived there for a time, but California was mostly boarding school. No beaches and sunshine for me and my brother.”
She leaned forward to inspect the porcelain vase on the entry table. “What brought you back?”
“The family business.” I stood beside her, not missing the creeping smile as she ran her hand over the smooth glass. A smile not present back in Sicily. I hoped to see more of it. “My great grandfather founded the company on this very soil.”
“Is Carina involved in the family business? I’ve spotted her in the library, sitting around a stack of paperwork but never asked.”
“No. Carina wants nothing to do with my father’s company. She plays the stock market. Spends most of her days in her office, staring at screens. Says it’s the only clean game in the world.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped my throat because it hit me then.
Her timing was always a little too perfect.
She bought up shares in a small shipping company a week before it received a massive, unexpected contract.
She sold off her stake in a construction firm the day before its CEO was arrested.
This was not genius; it was information.
The kind of information my uncle would get his hands on before anyone else.
Ah, Carina, just how deeply involved are you with the Calafiores?
Gemma gestured around the room, a soft light sparkling in her eyes. “This foyer could swallow my whole apartment back in Brighton.”
Before now, she’d never mentioned her hometown. “Brighton, that’s the name of the beach you lived nearby, si?”
She gave an animated nod, her grin flashing straight teeth.
“Brighton Le-Sands is sort of like the beaches in Sicily, calmer waves, beachfront restaurants. Mum and I would cycle down in the afternoons and just sit and chat over some hot chips… which you probably call fries.” She waved her hand when she realized I understood what she meant.
“Brighton’s… home, you know? Family friendly…
welcoming. Everyone knows everyone and looks out for one another. ”
Her smile faded, gaze distant. I plucked my phone from my pocket and handed her the device. “I’m going to take a shower. Why don’t you call your mother?”
Her eyes rounded, and she took a step back. “But… Carina?”
“My lips are sealed if yours are.” Of course, she’d be afraid of this getting back to my mother. Carina could scream all she wanted. Gemma had every right to call.
She squeezed my arm; her smile resurfacing. “Thank you, Enzo.”
“Come on, let me show you around before you call her, then.” We strolled through the wide foyer and into the dining hall.
“We’ll have breakfast in here.” I led her to the wet bar, shelves filled with wine and cocktail glasses, and then into the kitchen.
“Hungry? I can have the cook whip something up.”
She waved a hand, dismissing my offer. “No need. I’m full from the meal on the plane.”
We passed the elevator and entered the large living area with a fireplace. Her hand trailed over the polished rail as we climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. “Not many guards here, unlike in Sicily.”
“It’s safer here.” Hence the reason I preferred this place over Sicily, no enemies to worry about.
“Will it ever end? This war?” She paused on the landing, her eyes trained on me, hopeful. Carina ruined the one chance to reconcile with the De Lucas when she eloped. “No.”
Her lower lip pouted, revealing unspoken thoughts.
I wanted to tell her my life could be different; I didn’t have to endure being surrounded by guards, guns, and the occasional run-in with those out for my blood.
But then I’d be lying. Carina’s words finally rang true; there was no escaping the mafia blood running through my veins.
Inside the long bedroom corridor, we stopped next to the super king bed. She let out a low whistle. “Nice room.”
I beckoned her to the arched doorway beside the bed. Frowning, she poked her head into the extended room, then back to the main. “Two beds?”
“I had my own private gym beyond this wall, but the staff converted it into another bedroom, so I’d be close to you.”
“All this… because of my dreams?” The wind howled outside, branches scratching against the window. “For what it’s worth, I do feel better when you’re close by. So, thank you.”
Same. The floor was hell on my back, but there was something about her sleeping nearby that eased my discomfort. “I’ll shower in the guest suite and give you a chance to chat with your mother.”
Her brows bounced in surprise. Last time, I hadn’t given her any privacy when she spoke with her mother. I smiled, a silent promise things were different now, better.
An hour later, I knocked on my bedroom door.
“Yeah?” She sat on the edge of the bed, already in her pajamas. The air in the room was thick with the faint scent of the lavender lotion she used.
Her gaze drifted to my bare chest and then lower to my black boxer shorts. “Everything okay with your mother?”
A blush stained her cheeks, and she peered down and trailed a finger in the pattern on the duvet. “She’s relieved to hear my voice.” She collected my phone from the side table and handed me the device. “Thanks again for letting me call her.”
We stared into each other’s eyes. The distant hoot of an owl echoed through the room.
I imagined it perched high in one of the old oak trees surrounding the estate.
“Sleep well. Big night tomorrow.” I pointed to the room where my temporary bedroom awaited and nodded.
She knew where to find me if needed. Sinking into bed, I slipped the fragranced sheets over my skin, then finished up a work email on my phone and hit send before setting it on the nightstand.
“Don’t look at me.” Her voice, small and vulnerable, carried in the darkened room.
I sprang up against the headboard. A nightmare, already? No, no one could fall asleep that fast. “I’m not looking at you. I can’t see you from here.”
“Not you.” The clock on the wall ticked into the silence, each beat sharp and distinct. “The portrait.”
Portrait? My great-great-grandfather? It had been in this room for as long as I could remember, probably before I was born. “It’s just an old painting. Try to sleep.” I lay back down, but the rustle of her restless tossing kept me awake.
“Enzo?” she whisper-shouted as if afraid of the dark.
I rubbed my eyes. So much for going to sleep. “What is it?”
Silence at first, then, “I can’t sleep. He’s staring.”
I switched on the bedside lamp and stomped over to her side.
Moonlight streamed across the wall, illuminating the portrait.
I’d seen the picture many times. An ordinary portrait, nothing too creepy.
Yes, my great grandfather owned a bushy set of brows and a strong moustache.
His wide eyes might make someone apprehensive if they stared too long, but he was dressed in his gray-green army uniform, complete with a set of badges on his left shoulder as he gripped an antique chair which held his uniform cap.
Not exactly the boogie man. “Does he really bother you?”