Chapter 47
MARLENA
Irun away from my husband’s office, not caring who sees me cry. I pass Frankie coming down the stairs, and he looks on shocked. I don’t have the energy to pretend that everything is alright, so I just keep moving.
Entering my own suite, I slam the door and put my back against the wood. The emptiness of the space is calming, but my emotions are raw. My decision to go to Italy was made I just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much at the finality of leaving my husband behind.
I gaze out at the room and all the beautiful furniture adorning it.
There’s a sofa that looks like an antique, and a massive walnut dresser with two full-length mirrors embedded in it.
The walls are painted a soft cream color, and the carpet is a warm ochre.
I haven’t stayed here long, but it already feels like home.
I had been thinking about moving into Francisco’s room. We could open this space for guests now that we’re married and sleeping together. But I guess that will never happen. We’re destined to go our separate ways, and nothing I can do will change that.
Brandon is sleeping in his room across the hall, I’m sure of it. He’s unaware of what I’m giving up on his behalf, and I want to keep it that way. I think of him almost like my son, even though there are only a few years between us. He was my responsibility long before my father passed away.
I can’t sit still and do nothing, but there’s nothing for me to do.
I decide to start packing. I move through the living room of my suite as if every step is painful.
I walk straight to the bedroom and open the closet door.
There at the bottom, covered by shoes and folded shopping bags, is my old suitcase.
I pull it out. The thing is so ugly and battered that it makes me want to cry. It holds so many memories, most if not all bad. Always on the run, too afraid to have a permanent home, is no way to live. But I’m back to square one, and I might as well face it.
I know I’ll be happy in Italy, or rather, I hope I’ll be happy there.
The villa was beautiful, but that’s not where we’ll be staying.
We’re going to have to throw ourselves at the mercy of our family, and we’ll have to stay wherever there’s room for us.
I’m not a fool. I know it won’t be as awe-inspiring as Francisco’s place.
I just hope that it’s somewhere nice where I can walk out to see the sunrise.
I hope that Brandon can enroll in school there, or do something to continue his education.
I hate that he has to drop everything and start all over.
If only I could make it work with Francisco and we could stay here.
If only my father hadn’t made so many enemies.
It’s no use thinking like that. What’s done is done. I can no more go back and change my father than I can prevent Brandon from being kidnapped in the first place. All I can do is pick up the pieces and move on. But those pieces seem so heavy, and I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
I set the heavy suitcase on the bed and go back to my closet. Inside, I discover the same white cardboard box that was delivered to my apartment ages ago. It seems like forever since I’ve seen it, but I know exactly what it is. It’s the dress that Francisco bought for me to wear to Frankie’s party.
I pull the box out and put it on top of the suitcase, using its bulk to cover up the familiar bag. Inside, the dress and the shoes are folded neatly. I pull it out and hold it against my body. I loved the way I felt in this dress. It reminds me of the dance Francisco and I shared.
I walk out to the living room to gaze at it in the full-length mirror. It’s stunning. Looking around, I see all the objects of affection that Francisco purchased for me. There are four bags from Italy, each one full of beautiful clothes.
I don’t think I can take them all, but knowing Francisco, he’ll find a way. I imagine him hiring a truck to take all my belongings to the airport. Then he’ll call my cousin Carmine and instruct him to find me a beautiful home with a gigantic closet where I can display all my treasures.
I lay the dress gown gently on the sofa and turn to the bags. Inside, the bikini bathing suit I wore to the pool is crumpled up. I never had time to wash it. There are clean packages of underwear and dresses, tops, hats, everything that a girl could want.
I’m about to cry when the door opens and Brandon lets himself in.
I’m surprised to see him walking. I drop what I’m doing and go to help him to the couch.
He waves me away, pretending that everything is alright.
I can see him wince, but I stand back. I don’t want to insinuate that he isn’t capable.
Sooner or later he’s going to have to get around on his own, and this is a good first step.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as he settles onto the couch.
“I’ve been better,” he jokes.
I nod sadly. There doesn’t seem to be much to say. I’ve walked away from the only man I’ve ever loved because Brandon wants me to. I don’t blame him. I blame myself. But I wish with all my heart that there could be another way.
“I told Francisco that we’ll be staying in Italy,” I announce.
“Good,” Brandon says. “It’s for the best.”
“How are you going to get a job in Italy?” I ask, sitting down next to him.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “I don’t even speak Italian.”
“We’ll have to learn,” I say.
“I haven’t even met our family there,” he considers. “Can you tell me about them?”
“You met some of Carmine’s men,” I remind him. “Or maybe you didn’t meet them, but they helped rescue you.”
“I’ll have to thank him for that,” Brandon says.
“Francisco already did,” I inform him.
“Right,” Brandon considers my statement with a frown.
I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I want to make it clear that Francisco is on our side.
Just because Brandon doesn’t know him or trust him doesn’t make him a bad person.
I hope that my brother can trust my judgment and appreciate that I didn’t choose my husband lightly.
“Are you sure that this is what you want?” I ask Brandon carefully.
“No,” he exclaims, “this isn’t what I want. In what world would I want this?”
“I don’t mean the…” I trail off, unable to finish my sentence.
“The kidnapping?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“I don’t want to tell you what I lived through,” Brandon says roughly. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“We’re safe here,” I say in a small voice.
“I thought you said that Italy was a done deal,” Brandon claims.
“It is,” I assure him. “Yes, it is,” I repeat the words to myself, trying to overcome the immense sorrow that they cause.
“Marlena,” Brandon complains.
“I love him, Brandon,” I say, unable to keep it bottled up any longer.
He sighs, putting his head back against the sofa. “Then don’t go to Italy.”
I look at him hopefully, wondering if he really means it. The more I think about leaving Francisco, the more I wonder if I can actually do it. It feels like I would be tearing my own heart out of my chest.
“But what will you do?” I ask plaintively.
“I don’t know,” Brandon says. “I don’t know what I would do in Italy; I don’t know what I’ll do here. Either way, I can’t go back to school.”
“Maybe you can,” I insist. “Maybe after this is all over—”
“What do you mean?” Brandon cuts me off. “After your husband tracks down and kills everyone responsible?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but that’s exactly what I meant.
Though I told Francisco I didn’t want to know anything about his business, there’s no other conclusion that I can come to.
There’s a price on my head, and on Brandon’s.
We have two powerful families at our backs, but no one is going to jail.
That’s not how these people solve things.
There’s only one way to stop Carlo Andretti from harming us, and that’s by letting Francisco handle it.
I’m not na?ve, but I also don’t want to spell it out.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say softly.
“But it is what’s going to happen,” Brandon continues.
“It will happen whether we go to Italy or not,” I say, daring to raise my voice.
“Maybe if we’re not around, then there won’t be a need to start a war,” Brandon suggests.
“The war has already started,” I inform him. “Carlo Andretti kidnapped Don Corello’s wife. He has to pay for that.”
“Careful, sis,” Brandon warns me. “You’re starting to sound like a mafia wife.”
I give him the stink eye until he cracks a smile.
The tension releases and I realize that he’s giving me his blessing and permission to stay.
I throw my arms around his shoulders, not remembering all his injuries.
Brandon winces and sucks air through his teeth, making me back up and apologize instantly.
“Stop, stop,” Brandon says, waving my concern away. “Go find your husband.”
“Thank you, thank you,” I say, gripping his hand.
“It’s not your fault,” Brandon says, looking up as I hurry toward the door.
That stops me. I turn back to see what he means, hoping that his forgiveness will help me forgive myself.
“Dad’s the one who got us into this,” Brandon says. “I’ve known that all along. You did the best you could.”
My shoulders slump. I’ve been waiting to hear those words for a long time.
When Dad died, Brandon was still a teenager.
So he was dealing with hormones as well as emotions.
He shut me out and pushed against me the whole time we were on the run.
Then, when he finally found friends at college, he acted like he was too cool to talk to me.
Knowing that he doesn’t blame me is huge. I tiptoe back to give him a kiss on the head before charging out into the hall to find my love.