“So you think we could reestablish our marriage bond through you and this woman?” Carmine asks.
“That’s the idea,” I confirm.
“Interesting,” Carmine replies. “Vincent Rocca wasn’t really a part of the family, but I suppose blood is still blood.”
“Indeed,” I say, raising my glass.
“Is your fiancée aware of who her father is? Does she know anything about the family business?” Carmine feels me out, wanting to know more before giving me his blessing.
“Yes and yes,” I respond. “She’s a good woman. She’s kept her nose clean, and she doesn’t want to be reined in any more than she has to.”
“I approve,” Carmine says. “Of the girl. What’s her name?”
“Marlena,” I say.
“I’d like to meet Marlena,” Carmine requests.
“Of course,” I agree.
“And I’ll need to talk to the rest of the family,” Carmine explains.
“Of course,” I repeat, understanding that this kind of request will take time to work its way through appropriate channels.
“But I’m cautiously optimistic,” Carmine replies. “You can tell her that her family is eager to meet her, and that we’ll roll out the red carpet.”
“Excellent,” I say, finally feeling like something is going my way.
I’m extraordinarily tired now that my stomach is full and I’ve had a glass full of wine. Putting the question of Marlena’s Italian family to bed, I now feel like I can clock out for a few hours. I say my goodbyes to Carmine and thank him for the grub. Climbing back into the limo, I can barely keep my eyes open on the trip home.
Luckily, Marlena is still asleep, and there has been no movement on the home front. I stumble through the villa and manage to make it to the guestroom before exhaustion overtakes me. The bed isn’t as comfortable as my own, but that doesn’t matter. The plan has been set in motion, and with any luck, I’ll have the full force of the Rocca family with me going forward.
CHAPTER 27
MARLENA
Iwake up surrounded by luxury. The pillow beneath my head is as soft as a feather. The blanket covering me is light and warm all at the same time. This definitely isn’t my apartment, and I’m not even sure it’s the suite of rooms Francisco has given me.
It hits me all of a sudden: I’m in Italy. The plane ride wasn’t a dream. Brandon is still missing, and I’m on the opposite side of the planet, held prisoner by my own fiancé. But as I open my eyes, it’s hard to stay mad.
This place is gorgeous. Even the suite of rooms in Francisco’s mansion can’t compare. From my vantage point on the bed, I can see an expanse of dark, antique furniture. There are two suitcases sitting by the door, and a floppy hat sitting on the dresser. It looks like someone brought me more goodies during the night, and I’m not sure whether to be impressed or angry.
Obviously, it doesn’t do any good to lock my door. Yet, if the only thing the intruders are going to do is bring me presents, why should I be upset? I climb out of bed to stretch. There’s a big picture window behind me with a glorious view of the pool.
I was impressed last night when Francisco took me on a tour, but I didn’t say anything. Those lounge chairs look super comfortable, and the landscaping is spectacular. I’m almost upset I didn’t pack a bathing suit. A morning dip would put me in an excellent mood. But then I remember I’m supposed to be angry.
Brandon is still missing, and it’s all Francisco’s fault.Well, not all his fault,I tell myself. Maybe it’s a little bit the fault of my father’s enemies. I just wish that I could have gotten to Brandon before the bad guys did. It might have taken some encouragement, but surely I would have been able to convince him to run away with me.
Yet, looking at the situation in the bright light of morning, I can see that’s just another hopeful dream. The truth is that Brandon would never have listened to me. He wouldn’t have wanted to give up his college dorm life, no matter what the cost. There was little I could do to stop this tragedy from unfolding, and even less that Francisco could have done.
“I’m still mad,” I say out loud, as if to convince myself that I have permission to be upset.
I go to the bathroom to investigate the damage from the plane ride. My hair is still tangled, but a good night’s sleep has restored my skin tone. I find a toiletries bag sitting on the bathroom counter, full of all kinds of things I didn’t buy. There are makeup wipes and cold cream, foundation, and at least a dozen different shades of lipstick. Someone is looking out for me.
I spend a quick ten minutes getting my face ready, and then I turn to the presents that have been left on my doorstep. There’s no note, but I know where they came from. Francisco obviously bought them or had someone else buy them.
The shopping bags are lined up against the wall. I look at them with scorn, knowing they were just a ruse to get me to the airport. Still, some of the dresses are outstanding, and I guess I’ll wear them since I don’t have anything else.
I grab one of the suitcases and haul it to the bed. It’s a fancy bag with a designer label. Of course, nothing substandard is allowed to enter Francisco’s homes. I unzip it, and to my delight, I find that it’s full of more clothes. Most importantly, there are three bikini bathing suits in delicate crepe paper, nestled right in the middle of the bag.
