10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Mateo
“ F uck,” Tiero groans again, a hint of panic on his face.
He stops in front of me and holds out his glass. I pour him some more whiskey, watching him carefully, and wait for him to elaborate. He takes a long sip and lets his head fall back.
“For some time now, I’ve had this feeling that somebody is trying to steal Ella from me. And this sense of foreboding is getting stronger. There’s someone trying to move in on my territory, Teo. And until I find her, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
His eyes find mine, and for the first time in forever, I see a flicker of fear there, subtle but unmistakable. It unsettles me, because Tiero is never afraid.
He’s il leone, the lion, fearless, relentless, ferocious. A force no one dares to challenge.
I sit up straighter, instinctively wanting to take that weight off his shoulders, to erase whatever’s haunting him.
I don’t doubt him for a second. In our line of work, you learn fast that instincts rarely lie. If they do, your days are numbered. So if Tiero’s gut is sounding the alarm, something dangerous is looming. And I trust him, always.
I get out of the jacuzzi and reach for the towels, throwing one to Tiero.
“I’ll check in with all teams on her case first thing in the morning and put more pressure on them. We will find her, Tiero, I promise.”
I just hope it’s a promise I can keep.
“When you have her back, how will you convince her to stay?” I ask, because finding Ella is only the first step. “Or will you just tie her to your bed?”
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he doesn’t even crack the tiniest smile at my attempt to lighten the mood.
“It’s a tempting idea,” he replies. “I’ll figure it out. First things first.”
“Best to have a plan upfront.”
“I know,” is all he says and heads for the terrace door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He disappears into the house. He’s staying in his usual suite of rooms, the same ones he shared with Ella the last time he was here. Fuck, it will just remind him more of her.
I lace my fingers behind my head and stare once more up into the sky.
“Where are you, Ella? What’s going on with you?” I mumble, and chuckle humorlessly the next minute. As if the answers would lie in the stars. If that were the case, Tiero would have found them long ago.
How will my brother salvage his relationship when he and Ella are so different?
But if there’s one thing I know about my brother, it’s that he’s relentless. When he sets his mind on something, there’s no turning back. And he won’t ever accept a life without her. He’ll find a way, no matter what.
My mind is swimming with everything that happened today and the endless list of things waiting for me tomorrow. Any relaxation I might have felt earlier soaking in the hot tub, has vanished into thin air, leaving me restless again.
I let out a dejected breath and turn to switch off the lights on the terrace when I hear the soft sound of a familiar tune drifting on the air.
Who is playing the guitar at this hour?
It seems to come from far in the garden. Curious, I follow the soft strumming, weaving through the trees, the melody growing clearer with each step until I catch a glimpse of someone sitting under the old oak, bathed in moonlight.
It’s unmistakably a girl, her delicate features highlighted in the moonbeams. They cast shadows that make her seem almost ethereal. Her back is turned to me, keeping her face a mystery, but something about her is familiar.
There are a few maids working under Giulia, but I doubt any of them would venture into the garden this late at night. Which would only leave…
It’s in this moment the mystery girl moves her head to the side. Her eyes are closed and a gentle smile graces her lips as she gets lost in the music.
Mariella Accardi.
What is she doing out here alone? Perhaps she couldn’t sleep.
Who could blame her? The events of the day undoubtedly are still playing on her mind.
I step soundlessly into the shadow of a tree, not wanting to disturb her. Leaning against the trunk, I watch her.
Her fingers move confidently over the strings of the guitar. She hums to herself, occasionally softly singing the lyrics to the Beatles’ “Let It Be.”
Her voice…
Like earlier today, it catches me by surprise.
And her singing? It’s so sweet. Like nectar from the gods. It seeps into me, warm and honeyed, drawing me closer.
Somehow, it has the power to calm the storm inside me.
I stand there, mesmerized.
Captivated.
The bark is rough against my back, but I don’t dare move. If she notices me, she’ll stop, and I don’t want that to happen.
Her fingers dance effortlessly over the guitar strings. Some notes are a little off, slightly out of tune, but that doesn’t seem to bother her. Mariella didn’t travel with a guitar. Where did she even find this one?
There’s only one guitar in this house, and it’s in the guestroom.
My old guitar.
I rack my brain, trying to remember the last time I played it. Maybe when I was in my late teens?
That’s over a decade ago. I’m surprised it still sounds half decent after all that time. Mariella must have spent some time tuning it.
The thought of her sitting down with it, gently adjusting the pegs, makes my chest tighten a little. She’s playing a part of my past, bringing something I’d forgotten back to life.
Enthralled, I stare at her.
The song she was playing fades into the night, the last chord lingering for a moment before she adjusts the pegs again.
She strums the old strings a few times, listening closely, and when she seems satisfied with the sound, her fingers begin softly plucking another classic. This time, it’s the Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses.”
She appears so unassuming, sitting there in the dark, yet she’s effortlessly talented. I should buy her new strings.
Like before, the combination of her voice and the guitar settles something deep inside me. I can’t remember the last time I was this at peace.
The constant noise in my head, all the demands pulling me in a hundred directions, fades away, leaving me with a rare, quiet warmth.
But the song ends too soon. Mariella rises to her feet, brushing off her skirt before scanning the area around her.
My heart races as I push myself closer against the trunk of the tree. If she saw me now, crouched here in the shadows, I’d look like a stalker. And the last thing I want is to scare her.
So I remain still, watching her retreating figure as she walks back toward the house, her steps steady and graceful in the dim light.
I stay hidden under the old oak, for God knows how long, replaying the sound of her voice in my mind.
Everything seems different now. Calmer, softer, like she’s left a piece of herself behind in the air.
Hmm, I could have listened to her all night.