“It just seems so pretty,” I said and smirked. “I saw it from your window, and it looked really nice. I’d love to see it close up.”
He pointed towards the door that led to a small patio outside. “Follow me. This is the fastest way.”
I followed him, feeling as though I was floating. I could feel the breeze as soon as he opened the door, and the sun was bright. I screwed up my eyes and held my hand above them to shield them and stepped down the stairs as Marcello closed the door behind me. The patio stones were hot against my skin. I ran out past the stones and onto the grass. The feeling of the grass below my feet caused shivers up my spine.
“You weren’t kidding.”
I spun around to face him, coming to a stop and squeezing the grass between my toes. “I wasn’t. It’s amazing. Thank you for taking me outside, even just for a bit.”
“Come on. I’ll show you around the pond.”
I ran around on the grass, following him as he walked through with sandals on. There was dew along the grass, wetting my feet as I ran. The sun was warm against my skin, setting me at ease. I didn’t care if I got a sunburn. It was all worth it.
The sound of water filled the air the closer we got to the pond. I saw that there was a small waterfall and stream, which I hadn’t noticed before. The water was clear, and there were a number of different plants inside, from lily-pads to moss. Gray stones lined the outside of the pond, which was about twenty feet wide. I couldn’t tell how deep it was, but I was surprised to see fish inside, a school of koi who swam towards the surface as we neared.
“I didn’t know there were fish in there!”
He rounded the pond, walking towards a gray stone bench, which had an apple tree next to it. The apples were just starting to grow. Blossom covered the ground around the bench, layered on top of the stones along the ground. I stood at the edge of the pond, watching the fish. They were mesmerizing, and I found myself entranced with their languid movements. They were approaching the surface of the water, as though expecting to be fed.
“My father keeps them healthy and alive. We have a few people who maintain it, but no one really comes out here anymore,” he said, his voice low. “My mom was the only person who enjoyed the pond.”
I lifted my eyes to his. “Where is she now?”
“She passed away,” he said, bringing his elbows to his knees and leaned forward. “She died when I was younger.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. After a while, you don’t really think much about them. What I do remember is how much she loved this pond.”
It shocked me that a man like Angelo Cavetti would have a remnant of his wife, and have it maintained. He didn’t seem like a sentimental kind of man, but he’d also never remarried. What kind of love could a man like Angelo Cavetti feel? Marcello frowned as he thought of her and I understood that it must have been hard for him to tell me.
I stepped onto the stones, feeling their edges against the bottom of my foot. I took a seat next to him on the hot stone bench and inched closer to him. I wasn’t sure what to say. Death was such a difficult subject—even the killing of my parents hadn’t come up. We avoided the topic as we did with so many others. Whatever we were building with each other was being built on a foundation that was shaky at best.
“I wanted to bring you here so that you could enjoy it with me. I haven’t been out to this area of the backyard in years,” he admitted, lifting his blue eyes and sitting up. “I haven’t brought anyone here before, either.”
So it was as I thought. There was something deeper happening between the two of us. Slowly we were moving closer to one another, learning about each other and being more intimate—whether it was emotionally or physically.
But I was still their prisoner.
“I’m glad you brought me here.”
“You know, I’m not sure what to think of everything that’s been happening lately. It feels like it’s happening so fast,” he said, and I could hear a hint of guilt in his voice, which reassured me that he was beginning to care about the situation. “But I’m glad that I met you. Despite everything else.”
I remained silent. I wanted to tell him the same thing, but there was still a question about my brothers. My parents were dead. My sisters and I were taken captive. I knew that it wasn’t entirely his fault—he was raised to be the man he was. He could only strive to change for the better. But he couldn’t change his family.
And that’s what scared me.
16
Marcello
Ididn’t tell anyone about the conversation I’d had that day with Chiara. I saw Lucia watching us from the window, but I didn’t pay it any mind. I knew she wouldn’t go to Romeo with the information. She was Chiara’s sister, after all. The Bonifacio’s were loyal to a fault, which was something I admired about them.
My father was pacing the kitchen when I got back. He’d barely missed my walk with Chiara and, had I not escorted her downstairs as quickly as I could, he would have caught us. I was glad we were able to make it inside on time, as there was no telling how he’d react. I would hate to have seen her be punished for my suggestion. I likely would have suffered, too. I cringed at the thought, trying not to consider it too deeply. We were in the clear. That was all that mattered.
“Romeo! Get in here and tell your brother what you heard.”
I watched as my father paced from one end of the kitchen to the other. The veins in his neck were protruding, and I stood in place, unsure of how to proceed. I just had to wait for Romeo to arrive. There was no telling what had happened. I was hoping it wasn’t a shipping issue with the shipments we’d ordered. Those always set him off in a bad mood for weeks. I wasn’t interested in dealing with a middle-aged toddler. That’s what it always reminded me of. He became a dumbed-down version of the man we all looked up to and feared.
