Chapter Six #3
I smile at him. “Then this is behind us.”
Dr. Ashworth goes over the pre-op schedule, answers a few more questions, and leaves. Fabio is in a much better mood once Dr. Ashworth has delivered his news. We play cards and he shows me a bunch of TikTok videos he thinks are hilarious.
Some nurses come in to check his vitals and to chat. They seem to dote on him. I’m not sure if that’s because they really like him, or if that’s part of what you pay for here at this fancy hospital.
When I eventually leave, I kiss the top of his head. “I’ll come see you again tomorrow.”
“Okay.” His eyes are bright. “I feel so much better after talking to the doctor.”
“Me too.” I ruffle his hair and he scowls because he hates that. “I love you, bro.”
“Love you too,” he grumbles, trying to swat my hand away.
“Ha, ha, little brother. You’re too slow,” I tease, moving toward the door.
He laughs, flipping me off.
Grinning, I take the elevator down to the lobby with Dante. As promised, he stayed out of sight so that Fabio didn’t see him.
“Would you mind if we stopped somewhere so I could do some shopping?” I ask, as he opens my door for me. “I desperately need clothes.”
“I’m at your disposal,” he says smoothly. “Where would you like to go?”
I grimace. “I don’t know the area. Nowhere fancy. Just somewhere with normal clothes.”
“I think I know where to take you, Mr. Foschini.” He closes my door.
That’s the first time anyone has called me Mr. Foschini and it’s a shock hearing it.
To me, Mr. Foschini is Marcello, not me.
But I guess, since we’re married, technically that’s my title now.
We never discussed if I’d take his name, but I’m sure Marcello would insist I do. It’s all part of the act.
Dante drives me to a shopping district in the older part of downtown.
It’s a wide street canopied by mature trees, their branches knitting together overhead.
The shops are a mix of old and new, family-run boutiques next to sleeker storefronts with striped awnings.
Flower boxes spill geraniums from second-story windows above the shops, and outdoor cafe tables dot the sidewalk.
Dante parks and follows me on foot at a careful distance.
Close enough to protect me. Far enough to let me pretend I’m a normal person shopping for clothes.
I’m distracted by my new surroundings, so it takes me a minute to realize people are staring at me.
Not casual glances either. These are lingering looks.
I first notice when a woman arranging a window display freezes when I pass, then elbows her coworker.
Next I see two older men at a cafe lower their voices and watch me over their cups.
It becomes impossible to ignore when a shop owner straightens behind his counter the moment I walk in, his face rearranging from boredom into alert, uneasy attentiveness.
I’m surprised to realize they know who I am.
Not me, really. Not Elio Conti from Millhaven.
They somehow know that I’m Marcello Foschini’s omega.
His new husband. The wedding was only yesterday, but they already know who I am.
I guess it should have occurred to me that in a place where the Foschini name is stitched into the fabric of the city, the new omega of the boss is apparently a big deal.
The attention makes me uncomfortable. I try to focus on the clothing on the racks, but it’s impossible not to feel self-conscious.
But I need clothes so I grab a few things that catch my eye.
Dress shirts, T-shirts, a few pairs of jeans, socks, and a decent pair of boots.
When I bring my haul to the register, the woman behind the counter smiles nervously.
Marcello gave me a credit card to use for anything I need, but when I try to give it to her, she pushes my card back across the counter.
“For Don Foschini’s new husband, there’s no charge,” she says. “It’s an honor that you came into our store.”
I frown. “That’s very kind of you, but I want to pay for the clothes.”
She looks taken aback. “Oh, no, sir, I simply couldn’t take your money.”
I shift uneasily. “You deserve to be paid for these items. Why would I get them for free? Please let me pay.”
Her cheeks are pink and she looks genuinely distressed, like she has no idea what to do. “There’s no need for you to pay, Mr. Foschini. Please, I… I insist. Casa Bellucci wants to gift you these items. It’s our pleasure.”
Dante materializes at my shoulder. “Let her,” he says quietly.
I meet his steely gaze, feeling annoyed. “But why? The store had to buy the clothes. They should be compensated. They’re here to make a profit, not to give clothes away.”
“You’re making it worse for her,” he says under his breath. “Just let her gift you the clothes. She’ll be humiliated if you don’t.”
“Really?” I blink at him, feeling bewildered.
“Yes.”
Naturally, I have no desire to harm the poor woman, so I’m forced to give in. Feeling guilty, I meet her flustered gaze. “I… I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful. Thank you for the kind gift.”
Relief immediately paints her face. “Oh, no need to thank me, sir.” She puts everything quickly in a bag and hands them to me. “Congratulations on your marriage, and thank you so much for shopping at Casa Bellucci.”
Don’t you mean thank you for robbing Casa Bellucci?
I walk out of the store, feeling like a jerk.
The next store is the same thing. The stares, the whispers, the mortified refusal to accept my credit card.
By the third store I stop fighting it and just say thank you.
The alternative is arguing with terrified shopkeepers all afternoon.
The whole situation makes me so uneasy, I quit shopping after the third store.
These shops need sales and my presence is actually interfering with them doing business.
Dante takes the bags from me and loads them into the back seat.
Apparently, when you’re a Foschini, you’re not allowed to do anything or pay for anything.
I’ve never lived a privileged life before, and I can’t say I like it much.
Not this part anyway. Stealing from hardworking shop owners feels wrong.
Dante pulls out of the shopping district and takes the coastal highway back toward the estate.
It started raining while we were shopping, which I don’t mind.
I listen to the steady thump of the windshield wipers as we leave the city behind, climbing up into the winding, narrow canyon roads.
Rocky walls rise steep on the inland side, layered sandstone and scrub brush clinging to ledges.
On the ocean side, the shoulder drops away to nothing.
No guardrails in places. Just crumbling asphalt and rocks and water below.
Wildflowers grow in patches along the roadside, stubborn little bursts of yellow and orange pushing through gravel.
The earlier storm is beginning to break, and the views are staggering.
Miles of coastline stretching in both directions, the ocean a flat, glittering sheet of blue.
I’m watching the ocean, thinking about Fabio and the upcoming surgery, when I notice Dante’s posture change. It’s subtle. A shift in his shoulders. His hands adjusting on the wheel. His eyes lifting to the rearview mirror with a focus that wasn’t there a second ago.
“Hold on,” he says suddenly, accelerating.
Startled by the warning in his voice, I instinctively turn to look behind us. I see a black Hummer closing fast, taking the wet curves too wide, too aggressively. It’s obvious they’re trying to catch up to us, and my heart begins to pound.
“What’s happening?” My voice comes out wobbly.
Dante doesn’t answer. His jaw is set and his body coiled, eyes flicking between the mirror and the road. The Hummer gains on us in minutes, and is now riding our bumper. I can make out the tinted windshield but nothing behind it.
My stomach drops when the Hummer’s engine roars and the big vehicle comes around our SUV on Dante’s side.
The road is narrow, barely wide enough for our SUV and a smaller car, let alone that massive thing forcing itself into the lane.
The Hummer boxes us in, which means the canyon wall is inches from my window.
I can’t see the driver of the other car because the windows are too dark.
When the Hummer suddenly swerves into us, I cry out as metal scrapes against metal.
I clutch the armrest as our SUV lurches sideways, even closer to the canyon wall.
Dante wrenches the wheel left, trying to drag us away from the rock.
But the Hummer is still there, crowding us and trying to drive us into the rocks.
The Hummer is in an exposed position with the sheer drop off on the other side of them.
I’m sure Dante sees that vulnerability, which makes me worried he might ram them in retaliation, hoping to shove them off the cliff’s edge.
At the speed we’re driving, that feels too dangerous.
Especially when our tires are already slipping on the wet, slick road.
One wrong move could send both of our vehicles over the edge.
Thankfully, Dante makes no attempt to push them off the cliff.
Instead, he accelerates, trying to pull away, but the Hummer hits us again.
Harder this time and Dante almost loses the correction.
The SUV fishtails and skids into the canyon wall on my side, but keeps moving.
My head bumps hard against the window and pain detonates behind my eyes.
My seatbelt locks so tight across my chest and ribs, I can’t breathe for a moment.
The world outside the window is a blur of rock and sparks. Dante fights the wheel, dragging us off the canyon wall by inches, but the Hummer stays with us, crowding us, its tires kicking gravel from the edge of the road as it matches our speed.
“Brace yourself,” Dante yells, eyes pinned on a narrow turnoff, fifty yards ahead on the right.