“A few minutes ago,” came the reply and my heart eased, but not by much. “What is going on?”
“You heard that, son?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice low and rough. “What did she say?”
He repeated the question, and I received another answer. Matteo had forgotten his cleats, accidentally packing his old ones that didn’t fit, so Scarlett and Silvio went back to the house to pick them up. A little time existed between Mariano’s practice and his, but Scarlett had made the children stay at the park, since I’d be there to meet them. That didn’t explain why my children were not answering though. My wife either.
I couldn’t call Romeo either. He and Juliette had taken off for Verona early that morning, to spend some time at their villa there.
“Fuck!” I said, swerving around a car going too slow. Out of all the times the sheriff or his men weren’t around, it would be the time I wished they were.
There was no outward sign that something was wrong, but something felt off. Suddenly this small town felt as constricting as New York traffic.
“Brando.” Everett’s voice became firm. “I’d appreciate you telling me what is going on, son.”
As quickly as I could, I gave him the clipped version of recent events. He knew the stakes. He also knew that we could trust very few people. If something were to happen to us, my in-laws would have sole custody of our children. I reminded him of this, and he became quiet. Then he cleared his throat.
“My daughter, is she in trouble?”
I refused to answer—to speak the uncertainty aloud.
A phone rang from their end, Scarlett’s mother’s phone, and I heard her answer. She muttered a few words in Slovenian.
“Brando. That’s Mia on the phone. She’s calling from the guard’s phone. She wants us to come and get her and the boys.”
“From the park,” I said.
“Yes.”
“My children.”
“No, no,” he said, but I could tell he was losing his patience. “They’re fine. Just upset. Scarlett gave their guards orders. She told them to stay put until you got there. Mia has a difference of opinion. Matteo and Mariano are giving them trouble, wanting them to listen to their sister.”
“Yeah,” I said, pushing the pedal to the floorboard. “They would. Go get them.”
I hung up, cursing to myself. My wife had a feeling this would happen, and instead of confiding in me, she kept it hidden.
“What did you feel, Scarlett,” I whispered to myself, to her. “And why thefuckdidn’t you tell me?”
I turned into our driveway.
17
Brando
Silvio’s SUV was parked close to the new garage. I felt for the gun tucked into the back of my jeans. Still there. Even though it had been pressing against my skin in the car, making a mark, it made no difference.
A numbness had washed over me, and the only proof that I still breathed was the heart thumping in my chest, drowning out even the wind in the trees. It rustled the branches, making them sway, though I only caught the movement, not heard it.
The knife at my ankle was another security measure, but one to use only if he came at me with a similar weapon. He wouldn’t. Nemours proved to be two things: a coward and a sneak. A coward wouldn’t fight with his hands, unless it was all he had at his disposal. A last resort. And being the sneak that he was, he’d hide and use the element of surprise to catch me off guard.
Something felt off in the air—it almost seemed charged.
An electrical storm about to go off with a boom, even though the sun shone, the wind was pleasant, and the smell of spring meandered through it.
The front door was still locked. Which meant that Scarlett and Silvio had used the back door. That made sense. If the front door had been tampered with, alarm bells would have rung louder than the beat of my heart. A definite sign of something amiss.
“Scarlett,” I called, stepping inside.
