Chapter 21
MARA
Over the next week, I sense Ettore pulling away from me. We don’t text as often, and only ever about Sylvie. His replies are much shorter.
Ettore: I’m glad she’s doing well.
Ettore: You’re doing excellent work with my daughter.
Ettore: Let me know if she needs anything.
There aren’t any gaps for me to take the texting someplace else. Which is good—that’s what I tell myself. This is what I wanted. I’m shocked by how stung I feel, how betrayed almost. I’ve got no right to feel this way.
When I head downstairs for breakfast this morning, I pause outside the kitchen. Ettore is singing to his daughter, something in Italian, his voice deep, husky, and gorgeous. I linger here in secret, drinking in this version of him. Sylvie is giggling.
Even if he’s been more distant with me, he’s making an effort with his daughter. That’s the main thing, the only thing that matters.
I walk in. Ettore stops singing, his expression turning from warm and open to something else. Is he suspicious of me? About what? Or maybe he’s finally being a mature grownup, like we both agreed. I search him for any signs of desire or affection, and I’m stung when I don’t find any.
I feel like an idiot for applying makeup and straightening my hair again this morning. My summer dress, the kind that normally drives him visibly wild, seems to do nothing to him. It’s like he’s retreated inside himself when it comes to me, to us. To us? What us is there?
I’ve made a difference in the family dynamic.
I can see that with how much more effort Ettore is making with Sylvie.
She was morose after the performance, but her mood is noticeably better now.
Ettore has been reading to her most nights, and he’s made breakfast every day.
That’s all that should – that does – matter to me.
After breakfast, Sylvie approaches me with a proud smile. “Can I get ready for school by myself?”
I grin. “Well, sure, as long as you can be done in ten minutes?”
She can technically get herself ready, of course, but sometimes she gets lost in her imagination, and I have to encourage her to move quicker. Or sometimes put her shoes on for her when she’s lost in her own private world.
“I promise!” she sings, skipping from the room.
Ettore stands the moment she’s gone, the moment it’s just the two of us. It’s like he doesn’t want to be alone with me. When he moves for the plates, I tell him, “I can do that.”
“It’s fine,” he says, refusing to look at me.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I murmur.
I grab the plates and take them over to the sink to rinse before I put them in the dishwasher. He brings over a cup, laying it on the counter. I stare stubbornly down at the running water when I feel him looking at me. The first time in days.
“You know it’s better this way,” he says, voice tight.
I turn to him, an innocent look on my face. “What’s better?”
“Us.”
“I don’t think there is an us,” I tell him, in a sweet, unbothered voice.
Am I playing games? Maybe. But so was he.
He winces, like I’ve caused him pain. He steps forward.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“What does it look like?” he growls.
Every time, it feels so easy. Every time, no matter what we promise – ourselves, each other – it feels inevitable.
His lips crash against mine. The pent-up desire has me melting in his arms. My icy armor slips away, and suddenly I’m digging my fingernails into his back, feeling his firm body against mine.
I think of the near misses we’ve had, the heat, his manhood pushing against my—
“Really? Here?”
We separate gasping. My heart twitches when I see the emotion in his expression, not just lust, something else, something deeper, fiercer.
Livia finally marches over to us. “What if Sylvie had walked in here instead of me?”
“I know,” Ettore murmurs, lowering his gaze.
“Oh, you know,” Livia says, shaking her head. “I know there’s something going on here. And I think it could be a good thing.”
“You do?” Ettore says in shock.
“You don’t?” Livia counters, the idea stinging me.
“It could be the best thing that ever happened to me,” Ettore says huskily, staring at me with that passionate expression again. “It could be… everything. Mara is, you are, Mara, kind, caring, brave, sassy, realistic, intelligent, persistent…”
I swallow, unexpected tears pricking my eyes. “Then why have you been ignoring me?”
“It seemed like the right thing,” he says.
Livia prods me on the arm, then prods Ettore. “Hello? Am I invisible?”
We share a sheepish look. “Sorry,” we say at the same time.
“There’s a way to do this in a mature manner,” she says. “You two can figure that out. What is not mature is kissing in the open like this, where Sylvie or any member of staff could see you.” Livia glares at Ettore. “Does the poor girl know what danger she’s in if she gives herself to you?”
Ettore looks at her, confused. “Sylvie doesn’t—”
“This poor girl,” Livia snaps, waving a hand at me.
“I’m not a poor girl,” I tell her. “And I know… enough.”
Livia shakes her head. “Sort it out. Both of you.” She marches out of the room with an exasperated sigh.
Ettore swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “She’s right. We need to be grown up about this. Or not do it at all.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask hesitantly.
“You know what I want,” he says huskily, making goosebumps rise all over my skin.
He walks away, leaving me there with my heart pounding hard and my body screaming at me to go after him. “Real mature, Ettore,” I mutter, turning back to the dishes.
I return home to collect a few things. Sylvie is expressing more interest in learning to knit, so I want to find one of my textbooks. As I’m searching my room, I look out the back window to find Gideon kneeling at the fence, a toolbox beside him. Is he fixing it instead of drunkenly complaining?
I go outside. “Hi, Gideon,” I murmur.
He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. He looks sober for the first time I can remember. He’s different, his gaze flitting here and there, but none of his usual bravado. “Hello, Mara.”
“Thanks for this.” I nod to the fence. “You’ll have to let me buy you a coffee or something.”
“Maybe.” He frowns. “I want to say sorry for – well – for me, for how I’ve been. I’ve been very rude to you.”
Maybe this is my chance. “I’m not worried about the rudeness,” I tell him. “I’m more concerned with what you said about my parents.”
He sighs. “It’s time,” he mutters under his breath.
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused.
“How about you come by for a cup of coffee? Now?”
“Sure.” He chuckles when I clamber over the fence. “No time like the present, right?”
He leads me into the back of his house. It’s surprisingly neat. I expected an eyesore of beer bottles and empty takeout container. What I find instead is an orderly kitchen, a little outdated.
He brews the coffee as we both listen to the radio, then brings over two cups.
“I don’t know everything,” he says.
“Okay,” I reply, my heart pounding hard. Ready to learn whatever he has to say. “What do you know?”
“Your parents were good people, in their way. Flighty. Unstable. But good at their core. Your mother borrowed money to help one of her friends escape an abusive marriage. This was more expensive than you might think, because her husband was wealthy. Anyway, it worked. She got out. But then your father lost his job and they couldn’t keep up with the loan repayments. ”
“We’re not talking about a bank here, are we?” I ask, blowing on my coffee, trying to stay calm. Trying to make it seem like this isn’t the most shocking news I’ve ever heard.
“You have to understand, I’m not involved in this. I spoke with them during this time, but I wasn’t a part of it.”
“Nobody will ever know you told me anything,” I assure him.
He scratches at his face as if digging for the broken capillaries. “I feel terrible for how I’ve spoken to you, Mara. I’ve been awful. Alcohol is no excuse.”
“You can make it right here and now by telling me what you know,” I say.
He nods, taking a breath. “There’s a mafia family,” he says.
“I think that’s what they call themselves.
Organized crime. Once, the loan shark came by the neighborhood, ranting and raving at your parents.
He said he was affiliated with this family.
I remember it clearly. I’m with the Calvi Family.
Know your place! That’s what he said. This was shortly before… ”
“Before what?” I demand. “Before their deaths? Before the car crash?” I’m trembling now, not sure if it's in anger or dread. “Are you saying you think it wasn’t an accident? Is that it? My dad lost his job and they couldn’t pay these scumbags back, so they killed him?”
Gideon sits back, shaking his head. “I can’t comment on that. How would I know? All I know is what I saw, what I heard. And now, you know as much as I do.”
I stand, pushing out a thank you that sounds a million miles away.
Walking out of his house, I take out my phone.
Mara: Do you know someone named Calvi? He’s a big bad mafia guy, apparently.
Ettore responds almost instantly.
Ettore: Why are you asking me this?
Ettore: Mara?
Mara: Where are you now?
Ettore: My office.
Mara: Give me the address.
Ettore: Why?
Mara: Give me the fucking address, Ettore.
A moment later, he sends it to me.
Mara: I’m coming right now.