Chapter 26
FRANCISCO
Marlena is trying my patience. I understand she’s in an emotional situation and that I haven’t been completely honest with her.
If I had to go back and do things again, I’m not sure I would change anything.
My driving need is to make sure she’s safe.
It comes above any concerns about her brother, and even above concerns about my business.
I left Giovanni in charge back home, and I know he’ll do a good job.
Even though he’s made it clear that he’s happy being my second-in-command, when duty calls, he’ll rise to the occasion.
Still, I’m giving up a lot to shepherd Marlena to safety, and to make the connection with her family that I’m hoping will change the game.
Our limo pulls up outside the villa, and I’m pleased to see it’s well taken care of.
I don’t get to Italy often, but when I do, I enjoy this little piece of paradise that I own.
It sits atop a hill, looking out over a rolling field of green grass.
It’s far enough away from the city to be peaceful, but close enough for an evening of festivities if I’m in the mood.
I expect Marlena to be impressed, but she isn’t. She gets out of the car, still fuming. I’m surprised that so much anger can be packed so tightly into such a small body. I’m afraid that if I touch her, I’ll burn.
“This way,” I say stiffly.
She turns up her chin, following me because she has no other options.
But she refuses to speak to me, and that’s just something I’m going to have to deal with.
I wonder how long she’ll keep up this rage.
There’s no other way for me to explain myself beyond what I’ve already said.
I just hope that eventually she’ll come around and see that I’ve done this for her own good.
There are two maids at the doorway to greet us. I say hello to both of them, and to her credit, Marlena follows suit. I guess she’s not too angry to follow polite customs, but that’s where her cooperation ends.
I decide to give her a tour, maybe soften her up with a demonstration of our luxurious accommodations.
“Here is the pool,” I say, sliding the glass patio door out of the way to demonstrate the crystal blue waters of our own private oasis.
A stone deck runs all the way to the water’s edge, and a tiny waterfall cascades from an artificial rock wall.
In the distance, are the rolling hills of the Italian countryside.
There’s a smattering of deck chairs that were handcrafted by local artists, and a full bar in the corner so you don’t even have to go inside to get yourself a drink.
I hope that someday, I might be able to see her lounging by the pool in a bikini.
We didn’t purchase one of those Stateside because I hadn’t been thinking that clearly.
The whole time we were shopping, I had my eyes peeled for Andretti’s men.
I just wanted to get Marlena out of the country as fast as I could, and keep her in the dark until we crossed the international border.
Now here we are, and I’m wishing she had something sexy to wear. But she turns a cold shoulder and doesn’t say anything about the pool. Maybe the vision of her sunbathing is a pipe dream. Maybe she’ll never talk to me again.
After that wild morning in my office (was it only fourteen hours ago?) I have to admit, I was feeling optimistic about our relationship.
Marlena is obviously attracted to me, and her desire to engage in a celibate marriage has been put on hold.
But now I’m in the doghouse, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to touch her again.
First things first. I need to talk to the Rossa family, and I need to touch base with Giovanni to see if there is any news about Marlena’s brother.
I would invite her to sit with me on the call to America, but it seems like even that would be misinterpreted.
No, it’s best to just deal with it myself, and hopefully find the kid so Marlena can stop worrying.
I show Marlena the kitchen in the hopes she’ll thaw enough to want to eat. But she simply hugs herself and turns up her nose. I barely mention the fireplace in the living room, even though it’s state-of-the-art.
“This is our room,” I say, stumbling over the plural adjective. It’s actually my bedroom, but I was thinking we could stay together. There’s a beautiful bed that hasn’t seen any action in a very long time.
“Where are you going to sleep?” Marlena demands, speaking to me for the first time since leaving the airplane.
I open my mouth to respond. There are plenty of other guest rooms I can use, but I’m hoping that we can patch things up. One look at her tells me I’m wrong on all accounts. She doesn’t want to swim or eat, and she definitely doesn’t want to share a bed with me.
As if to punctuate her objection, she steps inside the room and slams the door.
I hear the lock engage, which is another insult added to injury.
I have a master key, so there’s really no use trying to keep me out.
But I’m not going to push my luck. If she wants privacy, I’ll give her privacy.
I judge accurately that patience is my greatest weapon.
She just needs some time to cool off, and then we can have a rational discussion about what Giovanni is doing to locate her brother.
I turn around, signaling to my man to drop my luggage in one of the guest rooms. I suppose this is where I’m sleeping for the night. Even though I’ve been up for more than a day, I’m not ready to call it an evening. There’s still so much to do, and I want to hit the ground running.
I call Giovanni, and he fills me in on what little he has surmised.
“We spoke with campus police, and they’ve got nothing to share other than that some students saw him being pursued by two men,” Giovanni says. “The cops are out there looking for him too, and I just narrowly escaped having to give a statement.”
“Good,” I say with relief. “Don’t.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Giovanni says with a little humor.
Looking for Brandon at the same time the police are looking for Brandon makes things tougher.
I would prefer to handle the whole thing confidentially, but who knows.
Maybe the police will actually find him and bring him in so Marlena can stop fretting.
Both she and her brother are at the fringes of my organization, and I don’t think that they know anything about my activities.
Having Brandon in police custody wouldn’t be that bad, but it still doesn’t let me off the hook.
I need to do everything I can to locate him, which means keeping the pressure on Giovanni.
“Keep looking,” I say.
“Of course,” he replies.
“Would you bring me home some sauce?” he asks. “The kind that Mama used to make.”
“I’ll find some,” I promise. Of course, our own mother isn’t around to make the good stuff anymore, but I’m sure I can buy a few bottles of homemade tomato sauce before we head back to the States.
My next call goes out to Carmine Rocca, Marlena’s distant cousin and the head of the Rocca crime family in Italy.
He and I go way back. I was born in the United States, but I’ve traveled back and forth my whole life.
Carmine is a decent guy. A little harsh sometimes, but overall, a genuine character.
“Hey, Carmine,” I begin.
“Who is this?” he demands.
“Francisco,” I reply. Neither of us hang on to the same phone number for very long, so it can be surprising when we finally reconnect. I got his number this time around from my driver. He keeps me up to speed on what I need to know each time I arrive on Italian soil.
“Frankie!” Carmine yells happily.
“Frankie’s my son,” I remind him. “It’s Francisco.”
“Ah yeah, big man,” Carmine teases. “Francisco, it is. How’s life? How’s little Frankie?”
“Little Frankie’s all grown up,” I say. But he knows that. This is all just polite chit-chat before we get down to business. “Listen, can we meet?”
“Of course,” he exclaims. “My door is always open, you know that.”
“I’m starved,” I complain.
“Come down to Bella’s,” Carmine says. “I’ll feed you, and then we can talk.”
My mouth salivates thinking about real Italian cuisine.
The stuff I can get across the pond isn’t even close.
I leave four of my men with strict instructions not to let Marlena leave the villa.
I’m sure she’s asleep by now, but I just want to make sure.
Her threat about going to the American embassy seems far-fetched, but I won’t put it past her to try something dramatic.
“Just call me if she gives you any trouble.”
“You got it,” Marlena’s personal bodyguard replies easily.
I give his hand a good shake. I feel like I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I approve of this man. I know he’ll treat Marlena with respect while making sure she’s safe. With that sorted out, I climb into the back of the limo and tell the driver to take me to Bella’s.
This restaurant is Carmine’s home away from home. His sister-in-law is the head chef, and she’s amazing. By the time I’m shown to a booth and handed a menu, my stomach is grumbling. Carmine finds me there a moment later and pulls the menu from my hand.
“Bring him the carbonara with pork,” Carmine says. “Emilia just added it to the menu last month, and it’s amazing.”
I nod, willing to give up control over my meal in exchange for the inside scoop. Honestly, I don’t care what I eat, as long as it is cooked with love.
“So, how’s Frankie doing?” Carmine asks again, sitting opposite me while we wait for my food.
“He’s in law school,” I report.
“Oh.” Carmine makes the sign of the cross. It’s a running joke in our business that lawyers are like the devil.
I laugh. “He found this tutor, who’s really a great woman.”
“Ah?” Carmine says, intrigued. “Do I hear wedding bells in the future?”
“For me,” I explain. “Not for him.”
“You’re marrying the tutor?” Carmine gasps, amused by the unexpected turn of events.
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I admit.
A waiter shows up with a big plate of carbonara. I pause long enough to fill my stomach with the good stuff. It’s expertly cooked, just buttery and light enough to encourage me to continue long after I’m full. I finish the whole plate and reach for a wine glass to wash it down.
“More?” Carmine asks, raising his hand to signal for the waiter.
“No,” I say, motioning to my stomach. “I’ve got a young bride. I need to watch my figure.”
“If only I had that problem,” Carmine laughs.
“It actually is somewhat of a problem,” I admit, getting down to the specifics that I want to discuss. “She’s Vincent Rocca’s daughter.”
“Vincent?” Carmine asks, as if he doesn’t know.
“His name isn’t in the family archives, but I’m sure you’re aware. He’s the son of Manuel Rocca.”
“Ah,” Carmine says, leaning back in his seat.
I’ve said the name that no one in his family has been allowed to say for generations.
I know Manuel was chased out of the country for his misdeeds, but I’m sure they’ve been keeping tabs on his family.
In our business, information is power, and you can’t afford to completely ignore anyone, no matter what your grievances.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I insist.
Carmine thinks for a beat, tearing the corner off a paper napkin. “Alright, I do. Vincent Rocca. Freelance hitman.”
“That’s him,” I confirm.
“And you’re marrying his daughter?” Carmine connects the dots.
“That’s right,” I say. “I know we were going to unite our families through marriage way back when.”
“Viviana, God rest her soul,” Carmine agrees, making the sign of the cross again.
“God rest her soul,” I repeat.
“So you think we could reestablish our marriage bond through you and this woman?” Carmine asks.
“That’s the idea,” I confirm.
“Interesting,” Carmine replies. “Vincent Rocca wasn’t really a part of the family, but I suppose blood is still blood.”
“Indeed,” I say, raising my glass.
“Is your fiancée aware of who her father is? Does she know anything about the family business?” Carmine feels me out, wanting to know more before giving me his blessing.
“Yes and yes,” I respond. “She’s a good woman. She’s kept her nose clean, and she doesn’t want to be reined in any more than she has to.”
“I approve,” Carmine says. “Of the girl. What’s her name?”
“Marlena,” I say.
“I’d like to meet Marlena,” Carmine requests.
“Of course,” I agree.
“And I’ll need to talk to the rest of the family,” Carmine explains.
“Of course,” I repeat, understanding that this kind of request will take time to work its way through appropriate channels.
“But I’m cautiously optimistic,” Carmine replies. “You can tell her that her family is eager to meet her, and that we’ll roll out the red carpet.”
“Excellent,” I say, finally feeling like something is going my way.
I’m extraordinarily tired now that my stomach is full and I’ve had a glass full of wine.
Putting the question of Marlena’s Italian family to bed, I now feel like I can clock out for a few hours.
I say my goodbyes to Carmine and thank him for the grub.
Climbing back into the limo, I can barely keep my eyes open on the trip home.
Luckily, Marlena is still asleep, and there has been no movement on the home front.
I stumble through the villa and manage to make it to the guestroom before exhaustion overtakes me.
The bed isn’t as comfortable as my own, but that doesn’t matter.
The plan has been set in motion, and with any luck, I’ll have the full force of the Rocca family with me going forward.