Now here we are, and I’m wishing she had something sexy to wear. But she turns a cold shoulder and doesn’t say anything about the pool. Maybe the vision of her sunbathing is a pipe dream. Maybe she’ll never talk to me again.
After that wild morning in my office (was it only fourteen hours ago?) I have to admit, I was feeling optimistic about our relationship. Marlena is obviously attracted to me, and her desire to engage in a celibate marriage has been put on hold. But now I’m in the doghouse, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to touch her again.
First things first. I need to talk to the Rossa family, and I need to touch base with Giovanni to see if there is any news about Marlena’s brother. I would invite her to sit with me on the call to America, but it seems like even that would be misinterpreted. No, it’s best to just deal with it myself, and hopefully find the kid so Marlena can stop worrying.
I show Marlena the kitchen in the hopes she’ll thaw enough to want to eat. But she simply hugs herself and turns up her nose. I barely mention the fireplace in the living room, even though it’s state-of-the-art.
“This is our room,” I say, stumbling over the plural adjective. It’s actually my bedroom, but I was thinking we could stay together. There’s a beautiful bed that hasn’t seen any action in a very long time.
“Where are you going to sleep?” Marlena demands, speaking to me for the first time since leaving the airplane.
I open my mouth to respond. There are plenty of other guest rooms I can use, but I’m hoping that we can patch things up. One look at her tells me I’m wrong on all accounts. She doesn’t want to swim or eat, and she definitely doesn’t want to share a bed with me.
As if to punctuate her objection, she steps inside the room and slams the door. I hear the lock engage, which is another insult added to injury. I have a master key, so there’s really no use trying to keep me out. But I’m not going to push my luck. If she wants privacy, I’ll give her privacy. I judge accurately that patience is my greatest weapon. She just needs some time to cool off, and then we can have a rational discussion about what Giovanni is doing to locate her brother.
I turn around, signaling to my man to drop my luggage in one of the guest rooms. I suppose this is where I’m sleeping for the night. Even though I’ve been up for more than a day, I’m not ready to call it an evening. There’s still so much to do, and I want to hit the ground running.
I call Giovanni, and he fills me in on what little he has surmised.
“We spoke with campus police, and they’ve got nothing to share other than that some students saw him being pursued by two men,” Giovanni says. “The cops are out there looking for him too, and I just narrowly escaped having to give a statement.”
“Good,” I say with relief. “Don’t.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Giovanni says with a little humor.
Looking for Brandon at the same time the police are looking for Brandon makes things tougher. I would prefer to handle the whole thing confidentially, but who knows. Maybe the police willactually find him and bring him in so Marlena can stop fretting. Both she and her brother are at the fringes of my organization, and I don’t think that they know anything about my activities. Having Brandon in police custody wouldn’t be that bad, but it still doesn’t let me off the hook. I need to do everything I can to locate him, which means keeping the pressure on Giovanni.
“Keep looking,” I say.
“Of course,” he replies.
“Would you bring me home some sauce?” he asks. “The kind that Mama used to make.”
“I’ll find some,” I promise. Of course, our own mother isn’t around to make the good stuff anymore, but I’m sure I can buy a few bottles of homemade tomato sauce before we head back to the States.
My next call goes out to Carmine Rocca, Marlena’s distant cousin and the head of the Rocca crime family in Italy. He and I go way back. I was born in the United States, but I’ve traveled back and forth my whole life. Carmine is a decent guy. A little harsh sometimes, but overall, a genuine character.
“Hey, Carmine,” I begin.
“Who is this?” he demands.
“Francisco,” I reply. Neither of us hang on to the same phone number for very long, so it can be surprising when we finally reconnect. I got his number this time around from my driver. He keeps me up to speed on what I need to know each time I arrive on Italian soil.
“Frankie!” Carmine yells happily.
“Frankie’s my son,” I remind him. “It’s Francisco.”
“Ah yeah, big man,” Carmine teases. “Francisco, it is. How’s life? How’s little Frankie?”
“Little Frankie’s all grown up,” I say. But he knows that. This is all just polite chit-chat before we get down to business. “Listen, can we meet?”
“Of course,” he exclaims. “My door is always open, you know that.”
“I’m starved,” I complain.
“Come down to Bella’s,” Carmine says. “I’ll feed you, and then we can talk.”
My mouth salivates thinking about real Italian cuisine. The stuff I can get across the pond isn’t even close. I leave four of my men with strict instructions not to let Marlena leave the villa. I’m sure she’s asleep by now, but I just want to make sure. Her threat about going to the American embassy seems far-fetched, but I won’t put it past her to try something dramatic.
