Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
VAL
Once I finally crawled into bed, of course, I couldn’t sleep.
I’d hoped the vigorous work out with Stefano would help, hoped to be out cold as soon as my head hit the pillow.
But no. I had tossed and turned most of the night.
Every time I’d closed my eyes and thought I might be ready to let go, I heard the creaking of a floorboard or wind blowing against a window, making my mind race. Then I just lay there with my eyes open again, wondering if Enzo really was safe.
At some point, I had finally given up, gone to Enzo's room, got into the bed with him, and wrapped my arms around him.
Having him safely protected in my arms had done the trick.
The next morning came, and we woke to someone banging on the door.
I stretched, feeling like a Mack truck had hit me. My body ached in so many places. Some of it was annoying, and some of it was kind of delicious.
My head pounded from the lack of sleep, and I was nowhere close to ready to deal with all the problems waiting on the other side of that door.
Suppressing the urge to yell at whoever waited at the door, I jumped up and opened it, finding no one… just a large silver tray holding coffee and lots of breakfast foods.
Not what I expected.
I carried it into the room as Enzo sat up, yawned, and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
“What is it, Mama?”
“Breakfast in bed, baby. Are you hungry?”
He nodded.
I set the tray on the bed, and Enzo lifted the domed lids to reveal a feast of pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon. A little French coffee press, cream and sugar, and a tall glass of orange juice were also on the big-ass tray.
Watching Enzo quickly dig into the waffles, I took the press and poured myself a cup. As a café owner, I was a little embarrassed to admit the coffee might have been some of the best I’d ever had. I made a mental note to find out where it came from.
Not that it would matter. We were leaving soon.
A thought about Enzo’s school popped into my head. I hadn’t yet detailed in my plan how to handle his absence. Shrugging, I grabbed my phone and called Saint Christopher to let them know he would be out for a couple of days.
Instead of speaking to a human, a voicemail prompted me to leave a message on the attendance line. I let them know everything was fine and he would be back soon.
I lied.
The family emergency part of my message was true, though, technically speaking. It seemed perfectly logical that Enzo’s back-from-the-dead father getting shot counted as one.
It didn’t matter anyway. Enzo wouldn’t be going back to Saint Christopher once we got away from Stefano and on our way to our new life.
But the last thing I needed was to have the school call the police or do something equally stupid because they hadn’t seen him or heard from me. That would complicate things more.
An AMBER Alert for my son would make escaping nearly impossible.
Soon after ending the call, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number. I thought it might have been a barista from Con Amore, so I answered, slipping into the bathroom to keep Enzo from hearing whatever lie I would have to tell.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ms. Salera… Valerie. It's Donnie.”
I moved the phone away from my face and stared at it for a second, like it had pulled a prank on me.
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
“Valerie,” he repeated.
“Yes, Mr. Luka. How can I help you this morning?”
“I saw the attendance report. Enzo isn't coming in today?”
“That's correct,” I said. “We have a family emergency, so we need a few days.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“What? No, but thanks.”
Why couldn’t this guy just take a hint?
“Are you sure, Valerie? I’m a great listener. Maybe you’d like to grab some coffee with me? Have someone to talk to.”
“Really, Mr. Luka, I appreciate the offer, but I’m busy.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked before I could end the call.
“I'm sure it will be,” I said through my clenched teeth.
“Well, if there's anything I can do to help… I know it's just you and Enzo, and?—”
“You know, Mr. Luka, I’m so sorry, but I have to cut you off. I need to go, but don't worry. Enzo's looking forward to being back in your class soon.”
I hung up and tossed the phone on the marble countertop.
Who the hell did he think he was?
When I went back to the bedroom, Enzo hit me with one of his knowing looks, but no way would I try to explain that call.
“Hey, you saving me any of those yummy-looking waffles, buddy?” I asked.
“Nope, but the eggs are all yours.”
I couldn't help but laugh at his syrupy grin.
“And this is for you too, Mama.”
Enzo waved a white envelope with my name on it, and I snatched it playfully from his hand.
Stefano had left me a note.
God, he had beautiful handwriting.
Val,
Most of the men will be with me today, but I left my two best enforcers behind to protect you. The household staff know you’re not to be disturbed.
You may go anywhere in the house you’d like other than my office. Kitchen is on the ground floor. First floor has a theater and game room.
Do not go outside beyond the protection of this house. The enemy has high-precision weaponry, and I don't want them to get a shot at you or my son. Not even for one second, Val.
And you should keep Enzo out of the cellar.
Stefano
Well, okay then.
I stuffed the note into my pocket, making sure Enzo didn't see the letter. The last thing I needed was for him to ask questions about the cellar.
Cellars in mafia houses were all the same. Cold, dark, often soundproofed, and strictly on the Do Not Enter list.
Matters of a very specific type were taken care of down there. Issues far too sensitive to be handled aboveground and in plain sight. Issues that mob bosses often handled themselves because they required a certain, well, personal touch.
Just thinking about it made my skin crawl.
“If I'm not going to school, then what are we doing today, Mama?” Enzo asked.
“You know, buddy, I'm not so sure. But how about this? We start by reading a few more chapters in your book.”
As good a plan as any.
His eyes lit up, and he nodded, reaching for the book on the nightstand. Then he crossed his legs and balanced the open book on his lap.
“I'll read the first chapter while you eat, then you read the next one while I finish the waffles.”
I smiled and ruffled his hair, taking a seat beside him.
“Yeah, okay, sounds like a plan.”
He stopped flipping through the pages to look at me.
“Just don't touch my waffles.”
I couldn't help but laugh at his unexpected seriousness.
“Absolutely not. I promise.”
After a curt nod, he went back to flipping through the book to find the page where we’d left off. The second he started reading, he became engrossed, as if nothing else in the world existed.
So hungry, I hardly listened, focusing more on eating what I had to admit was a pretty good breakfast.
We read until we both became a little stir-crazy. I hated not knowing what was happening out there in the world beyond this house. Hated that I didn’t know Stefano’s plan. Even more, I hated leaving everything up to others.
Enzo got fidgety near the end of our last chapter. He was a nine-year-old boy with natural energy plus a sugar high from the half-bottle of syrup he’d poured over his waffles.
We both needed to get out of the suite, and I needed to find the info to support my contingency plans when the time came.
So much still had to be done.
If Stefano’s note contained the truth, Enzo and I had the run of the house with no one to interrupt us. And no one to catch me investigating the layout and gaining as much understanding about Stefano’s current staff as possible.
“Hey, apparently there’s a theater somewhere on the first floor,” I said. “What do you think about watching a movie?”
“That sounds fun,” Enzo said, but I wasn’t convinced.
The boy had sat enough already. He tried so hard to behave, but I had to give him something physical to do now.
“Awesome. Before we do that, let’s say thanks to the men helping us. I think a few batches of cookies might be the perfect way to do that. We can find the kitchen on our own, right?”
Enzo nodded, his curls bouncing.
“Perfect. Go wash the syrup off your face, kiddo. Then we'll go downstairs and see what we can find.”
He ran off to the bathroom, and I followed, remembering I’d left my dirty dress there on the floor after my bath.
The dress wasn't where I left it, though, so I went to the closet in my room, hoping to find something else to wear. Instead, I found my dress hanging there, freshly laundered, with no trace of the stains or the tiny shards of glass left.
Totally a little creepy, but still appreciated.
The ground floor of Stefano’s house seemed mostly deserted.
The two men he left behind walked around talking on their phones, pretending to be uninterested in Enzo and me while still following us. I appreciated their wide berth.
Bella and another maid turned the corner, heading to a back hallway just as Enzo and I found the kitchen. I wasn't sure if we’d chased them out or if it might have been a coincidence.
No worries. They would either come back or they wouldn't.
Enzo went straight for the fruit bowl on the counter and snatched up an orange in each hand.
“Let’s make some orange cookies, Mama!”
Then he ran to the refrigerator to gather some other ingredients he knew by heart.
I should have known he’d picked up on my stress, which meant I would inevitably want to bake some of the classic recipes my grandmother had taught me.
While my son searched the fridge and kitchen drawers, I found all the dry ingredients we needed in the pantry, everything available, neatly labeled, and well-stocked on the higher shelves.
All-purpose flour, sugar, a red mixer.
And my nonna ’s secret ingredients.
Then I laid it all out on the massive kitchen island while Enzo searched for the cookie sheets and mixing bowls.
Between the two of us and the perfectly organized kitchen, we had everything we needed ready in under five minutes.
Stefano’s kitchen almost made me reconsider running away. Every chef dreamed about spaces like this, and it was so hard not to appreciate it.
After so many times making these cookies with me at the café, Enzo got started without the need to even peek at a recipe, measuring out the dry ingredients on his own before dumping them into the mixing bowl.
I almost suggested we stick with half or even a quarter of our usual batch size but fuck it. Worst-case scenario, they didn’t all get eaten. There were greater tragedies.
It wasn’t like we had anything else to do either.
I preheated the double ovens and mixed up the dough. Once I had it rolled into little balls and laid out on the cookie sheets, Enzo and I sat for a minute while they chilled.
“Should we make some chocolate ones too, Mama?”
“Let's bake these first and see how we feel.”
But with my anxiety returning and unraveling my nerves with every second, I was already certain we would make more than enough cookies to feed everyone who worked for Stefano.
We had our entire system in this new kitchen worked out and streamlined by the time I pulled the third and fourth dozen out of the ovens and put them on the cooling rack.
As Enzo finished getting the next batch ready to bake, I noticed how my nerves had calmed and my heartbeat settled.
Doing something my grandmother had taught me always gave me the strength to persevere, just like she always had.
“Hello there,” a soft voice said behind me.
I spun around.
A beautiful woman dressed in a classic sheath dress came into the kitchen. Her dark caramel hair spilled in loose waves over her shoulders.
I held my breath to avoid panicking.
Stefano was marrying a woman named Benedetta, I knew that. But I didn’t know it was Benedict Capaldo’s daughter.
It had been fifteen years since I last saw Benedetta Capaldo, and I prayed she didn't recognize me.
My heart thundered in my ears as I pasted on a smile.
“Hi. I’m Valerie. This is my son, Enzo.”
She stared like she was trying to place my face, shrugged one shoulder, then gave me a warm smile and introduced herself.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I came by to see Stefano for a minute, but this amazing smell distracted me, and I just had to see what was happening.”
“It’s our orange spice cookies,” Enzo said with a big smile. “Do you want one?”
He extended the platter to her, and Benedetta stared at his face while picking up a cookie.
What did she see?
Stefano’s unmistakable eyes?
His smile?
“Thank you,” she said before taking a bite.
I noted the way she covered her mouth while she chewed, as if being seen with food was a punishable crime. Or maybe she really was just that polite.
“These really are amazing, Enzo,” Benedetta added.
Then they talked about the cookies for a minute, and I couldn't help but wonder if this woman was behind the attack.
Stefano had said he didn't think so. Now I could see what he meant. Benedetta didn't seem like the type.
So engaging and friendly, her smile genuine and warm.
Enzo seemed to like her instantly, not something that happened very often. He talked to customers at the café, and he was always polite, but it took a different sort of person to get him to open up to this level of friendliness and acceptance.
My son was a great judge of character. Always had been.
It made sense. When I’d known Benedetta as a girl, we weren't friends. More like acquaintances with mutual friends, and even then, she was always very sweet.
The type of girl who followed her father’s rules. The type of girl my father had tried so hard to shape me into.
The perfect mafia princess.
Beautiful, demure, and a little weak.
But that was the thing about those princesses. They were always strongest when being underestimated.
Their mothers taught them very early how to put on a sweet smile and use impeccable manners to make people believe the facade while secretly stabbing them in the back simultaneously.
I would know.
Was that what this mafia princess was doing now? Smiling at my son while plotting to kill him?
My hands reflexively balled into fists.
I hid them behind my back.
This bitch would never get the chance to touch a single hair on my son’s innocent head.
She would have to kill me first.