“That’s why you’re gonna go pick her up right now,” I explain. “And I don’t want you to tell her that you know. Just tell her that we’re going to protect her and leave it at that.”
“Right,” Giovanni agrees, moving away to complete his task. He pauses at the edge of the driveway and turns back. “You know, if you married her, then Andretti would risk an all-out war if he made a move.”
“Yeah,” I scoff, immediately dismissing the idea of matrimony as absurd.
Though we shared that kiss, and I was fairly sure our attraction was mutual, it could never work out. There’s too much of an age gap, and it wouldn’t be fair to her to ask her to be my bride. She’s young and vibrant, and I’m a man who’s seen too much in his lifetime. I can’t be the kind of companion she deserves, so the idea is ridiculous.
But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it might possibly work. From a purely practical standpoint, Giovanni is right. Carlo Andretti would never dream of making a move against my wife. My son’s tutor, living in my house, could still be a potential target. But my wife? He wouldn’t dare.
I watch Giovanni circle the house, and a moment later, I hear a car engine. I gaze around my expansive yard, feeling more satisfied than I have in a while. I don’t have to wander the grounds aimlessly anymore. Marlena is coming to stay, and that’s more than enough reason to celebrate.
I decide to pass the word to my staff personally. I want her every whim to be taken care of. I don’t want her to desire anything when she’s here. The room should be made up perfectly, with the pillows fluffed and the woodwork dusted.
There’s going to be new blood in our home, and I want the place to shine.
CHAPTER 17
MARLENA
I’ve just unpacked my suitcase when there’s another knock at the door. Thinking that Francisco has returned, I hurry to answer. I can’t mask my disappointment when it’s only Giovanni. Francisco’s younger brother is friendly enough, but he’s not the man I want to see.
“Hi,” I say informally.
“Hi,” he responds, pushing into the apartment without permission. “Pack your things.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, startled by the brusque request.
“You heard me,” he says, “Pack your things. You’re coming home with me.”
“Did Francisco put you up to this?” I demand.
“Yes,” he answers, as if I’m a child.
“Well, I agreed not to leave, but I’m not coming to live with Francisco,” I say.
“He’ll explain everything when we get there,” Giovanni promises. “Come on.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to decide how much I really want to fight this. I like my apartment, and I’m not willing to give up my entire life. But what Giovanni says sounds reasonable. I don’t have to move in with him. I can just go and hear what he has to say.
I cross my arms over my chest, indicating that I’m ready to go.
“You don’t want to bring any clothes with you?” Giovanni asks. “It’s gonna be a while.”
“I’m not moving in with Francisco,” I say stubbornly.
“Boss says you’re not safe here,” Giovanni remarks, neither friendly nor aggressively, just stating a fact. “Says I should bring you home. You might want to bring a toothbrush.”
I sigh, bowing to the superior wisdom. Francisco wouldn’t be doing this unless he thought I could be in danger, not after hearing my story. “Hang on,” I relent, pointing to the sofa. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Giovanni sighs, taking a seat. He watches as I duck into the bedroom to gather my things, always on the lookout for trouble.
I glare at my suitcase again. It’s still on the bed, wide open with half of my belongings still inside. I guess I’m moving for the time being, but this time I put a little more thought into what I’m going to bring. I take out one pair of jeans and fold a spring dress into the bag. I find my toothbrush and toothpaste, my hairbrush, and my manicure kit. I don’t know how long I’m going to stay, but I’m determined not to be a burden.
I’ll hear what Francisco has to say and then make my decision. All I need is enough clothes to get me through a night or two, and then I can return to what passes for normal in my life.
I wonder if I should text Rebecca, just to let someone know where I’m off to. But I don’t want to drag her into my mess. As comforting as it would be to share my whereabouts, I’d hate for my father’s enemies or Francisco’s enemies to come down on my best friend.
About fifteen minutes later, I return to the living room, suitcase in hand. I’ve left my phone on the table, along with all the other electronics. I can easily retrieve them if this isn’t a permanent thing. And as long as no one knows where I’m going to be, there’s no reason to keep the phone on me.
