Chapter Twenty
Elio
Marcello is leaving on yet another business trip. I stand with him in the front hall while Anthony carries his bag out to the car.
“I should only be gone a few days,” he says. “Three at the outside. It’s a sensitive situation, otherwise I’d send Carlo.”
I give what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I understand you need to be there in person.”
He sighs. “I’d much rather stay home with you.”
I smirk. “Who’d have thought those domesticated words would ever come out of Marcello Foschini’s mouth?”
“Don’t mock me.” He fake scowls.
“Even though I enjoy it so much?”
He grabs my chin. “Yes, even then.” He presses his mouth to mine, then he pulls back. “I need to go or I’ll miss my flight.”
“Yep. Get your ass in the car.”
He narrows his eyes. “Oh, so now you’re trying to get rid of me?”
“Nope. If it was up to me, we’d still be in bed.”
“Excellent answer.” He lowers his head and he kisses me again.
The kiss is unhurried and his mouth tastes like the espresso he just finished.
One hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and the baby bump presses between us.
When he pulls away his eyes stay on mine.
“Will you do me a favor while I’m gone?”
“Sure.”
“Stay close to the house, tesoro. Please,” he murmurs.
I frown. “I know. I know. You’ve said that ten times.”
“Then this is eleven.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do it for me. I’ll worry less if you say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Good boy,” he says softly.
He gives my cheek a gentle pat and he goes. I watch the car until it clears the gate and the gate swings shut. The fountain in the courtyard is the only sound left as I watch the car disappear into the distance.
Once I can no longer see his car, I take my coffee to the window seat in the library.
October light comes in thin and gray. The grounds are starting to turn, copper creeping into the maples along the drive.
The gardener is raking near the vault where Adriano is buried.
I can hear the scrape of the rake from here and it unsettles me.
I don’t like thinking about death, but I know it’s all around me in Marcello’s world.
As I sip my coffee, I glance at my phone where it sits on the cushion beside me.
Nothing from Salvatore for two days. With every day of silence my uneasiness grows.
He promised me he’d talk to Naldo Ferrante and tell me how it went.
But I haven’t heard a word since, and it’s beginning to really worry me.
I told Marcello I’d stick close to home, but I decide to go to the club. Exercise might help me work off my anxiety. It’s good for me and the baby, and secretly, I’m hoping maybe I’ll run into Salvatore while I’m there. So, after lunch, I have Dante drive me to the club.
After a few hours of hitting tennis balls with Giulia, I sit on the veranda with her, Pasquale, and Costanza. I half listen to Pasquale complain about his landscaper as a waiter clears glasses from the table beside ours.
“Has anyone seen Salvatore lately?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
“Not me,” Giulia says.
Pasquale shrugs one shoulder. “He missed Tuesday too. Probably his back again.”
“He’s sixty-two,” Costanza says, as if that explains everything. “When you get older everything hurts.”
I nod and say nothing, but the gnawing gets worse. Salvatore said he’d get back to me, but I haven’t heard a peep. I hope he’s okay. Other than something bad happening to him, I can’t think of why he wouldn’t have called me by now. He knew how worried I was.
In the car on the way home, I sit in the back seat with my hands laced over the baby bump.
I stare at the back of Dante’s thick neck and consider calling Salvatore.
But if Salvatore is purposely avoiding me for some reason, a phone call is too easy to ignore.
It might be more effective to drop by in person.
I don’t know where he lives, but I could probably figure that out if I tried.
After dinner, I visit with Fabio in his room. I don’t mention anything about Salvatore or my worries about Marcello. I don’t want anything to stress him out. He’s doing much better each day, but telling him all my fears would only agitate him. That’s the last thing I want.
When I get to my room, I grab my laptop off the nightstand and search Salvatore’s name on the internet.
I feel a little foolish digging into his life like this, but I need answers only he can give me.
An old profile in the Herald mentions his estate on Ridgecrest Road, past the reservoir in the hills north of town.
It doesn’t give a street number, but another search turns up a county property record under his full name.
I copy the address into the map. A pin appears at the end of a narrow, winding road surrounded by green. My hand rests on the trackpad while my heart beats faster. I screenshot the directions, reassuring myself it’s a good idea to talk to him, then I go to bed.
Morning comes gray and windy. I eat breakfast with Fabio and he’s in great spirits.
He’s been using the workout room at the house almost every day, doing his best to get in shape.
It’s helping his mood and he’s starting to get his muscles back.
I’m happy to see him filling out, and relieved to know he’ll be around when the baby is born.
When Fabio heads to the workout room after breakfast, I try to decide if going to Salvatore’s home uninvited is too stalkerish.
I feel he owes me some kind of explanation for why he’s ghosted me.
He told me he’d keep me posted, and then nothing.
While I worry he’ll be mad at me for just dropping by his house, surely he’ll understand why I’m anxious to hear what happened when he had dinner with Naldo.
I decide I’ll risk Salvatore’s displeasure and order an Uber. The driver calls a little while later to tell me the guard at the gate won’t let him onto the property. Of course he won’t. Marcello’s security doesn’t wave strangers through because they work for an app and have a five-star rating.
I make my way downstairs. As luck would have it, Dante is behind the house washing the SUV. I leave the house and start down the long drive toward the front gate. One of the guards steps out of the gatehouse when he sees me approaching.
“Afternoon, Mr. Conti.”
“Hi. My ride is waiting for me outside the gate.” I speak with confidence hoping that will make the guy back down.
It doesn’t.
His expression tightens. “No need for an Uber, sir. I can have Dante bring the car around.”
“That won’t be necessary.” I try to walk around him, but he steps in my way.
“Sir, I’m supposed to notify Mr. Foschini if you leave the property without security.”
The words stop me for half a second, then I remember Marcello is hundreds of miles away. Even if he isn’t happy about what I’m doing, he can’t stop me. “That’s fine. I don’t want you to get in trouble. You can notify him.”
He doesn’t move out of my way. “It’s not a good idea for you to ride in an Uber, sir. Mr. Foschini assigned Dante to you for a reason.”
“I’m an adult. I don’t need a babysitter.” My smile is forced. “I understand you’ll tell Marcello about this and that’s fine. I’ll also make sure he knows you tried to stop me.”
“I still strongly advise against you leaving the grounds without Dante, sir.”
“And I’m telling you I don’t want to be driven by Dante today.” I peer past his shoulder at the Uber. “Please move. If you keep stalling me the driver will leave.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. He’s bigger than me. He could stop me if he really wanted to. But Marcello pays him to keep threats out, not to keep me in. He’s probably not sure if Marcello would approve of him putting his hands on me.
“Can you at least tell me where you’re heading?” he asks.
“I’d rather not say.” Marcello would lose his shit if he found out I was visiting Salvatore.
He lets out a shaky breath. “Sir, this is a really bad idea. You’ve been given security for a reason.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m not going into town and I won’t be gone long.”
He grits his teeth, then, shaking his head, turns and keys in the code. The heavy gate releases with a metallic grinding sound and I move past him. “If anything bad happens, Mr. Foschini will have my head,” he grumbles.
“Nothing bad will happen. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He looks unconvinced.
My Uber is waiting on the shoulder beyond the stone wall. I walk toward it before I can change my mind, aware that somewhere behind me, the guard is already making a call.
I give the Uber driver the address for Salvatore’s home.
I settle into the back seat of the car and reassure myself I have every reason to visit Salvatore.
He owes me some sort of explanation about how his dinner with Naldo went.
If things went poorly, I should know that.
And if things went well, then I really don’t understand why he hasn’t reached out to me.
Salvatore’s house sits at the end of a long drive surrounded by rolling green hills.
The Uber drops me off near the unmanned gate, and my stomach churns as he drives away.
I turn to face the home, taking in pale stone gone gold with age, and shutters the color of deep water.
Ivy climbs the front of the home like veins, and a fountain in the forecourt bubbles cheerfully.
As I make my way to the front door, my nerves spike.
The front door opens before I can knock and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps outside.
He’s probably in his forties, with close-cropped dark hair and a face that doesn’t give much away.
His gaze moves over me once, quick and assessing.
I catch a glimpse of a gun holstered at his waist beneath his jacket.
“Can I help you?” He studies me.
“I’m here to see Salvatore.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.” I shift under his piercing gaze. “Can you tell him Elio Foschini is here to see him?”
“Wait here.” He steps back inside and closes the door.