“You do?” I ask, surprised.
He laughs, bringing his cup to his lips. “I am my father’s son.”
Just then, we witness a scene out in the hallway. The kitchen is open at one end, which gives us a pretty good view of what’s going on. A man whom I recognize but don’t know well, stormsdown the hall toward the front door. He’s got one hand pressed to his face, and I think I can see blood oozing through his fingers.
He passes Luca on his way, and I’m pleased to see someone else is paying attention. Luca and the man don’t speak, but there’s definitely some negative energy floating between them. Luca looks after him as he pushes past, almost as if to say, “What’s your problem?”
Then, Luca goes down the hallway toward Francisco’s office, and the stranger barges out the door. Frankie grabs me by the hand and hurries out of the kitchen, leaving our still-full espresso cups on the counter.
“Marcello!” Frankie calls as we step outside.
The man with the bloody nose turns around and glares at us.
Frankie walks down the front steps, seemingly unconcerned with the menacing vibe I’m getting off the stranger. “What happened?” Frankie asks.
“Nothing,” Marcello mumbles. He looks at me with dead eyes, which is somehow even more terrifying than anger.
“Uh,” Frankie begins, glancing at me. “Can you take us to a bar?”
Marcello sneers. I wonder what Francisco sees in this man, and I wonder how he got injured. I think he’s part of the inner circle, but at the moment, I can’t understand why.
“We’re celebrating,” I say.
Marcello still doesn’t speak. He glances at the car parked by the door, which I’m assuming is his, like he has somewhere else he’d like to be. I gather it’s a huge imposition to ask him to give us a ride, but we’ve got no choice.
I glance around to see if we were followed out the door, but there are no guards around. The three men whom Francisco hired to take care of me are nowhere in sight. I guess they’re probably inside, taking showers or watching television. They probably don’t think I’m going anywhere, but it won’t be long before they start looking for me. Our window is thin and closing fast.
“Yeah,” Frankie says, sharing my urgency. “She’s my new stepmother, but she’s kind of young.”
I shoot him a narrow look, telling him to shut up. The world doesn’t need to be reminded of the age gap between me and my husband. That’s just rude.
“So anyway, we were kind of hoping to get out and have a drink just the two of us,” Frankie continues, ignoring my silent protest.
Marcello looks away again, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to do it. But finally he nods, opening the back door. Frankie and I dart inside, looking over our shoulders to make sure we’re still in the clear. So far, so good.
Marcello gets behind the wheel, and I notice the keys are already in the ignition and find that strange, but then again, who would be dumb enough to steal a car from Francisco’s house. Marcello opens the glove compartment and finds a handkerchief. Pressing it to his face, he winces. I can see him in the rearview mirror.
“What happened to your face?” Frankie asks without tact.
“None of your business,” Marcello snaps.
I look at Frankie with one eyebrow raised. Is this smart? Should we be getting in the car with this guy? I’d like to think that everyone who works with my husband has been vetted, but so far, I’m not impressed with Marcello. He seems…evil.
But the doors lock and the engine starts. Marcello steps on the gas and drives down to the gate. I slump in my seat so that the guard doesn’t see me. He waves Marcello through, and then we’re out on the street.
I turn around to look at the mansion as it fades away into the distance. I feel a thrill of excitement just knowing that I’m free. Of course, Francisco isn’t holding me against my will. But there’s something about being able to come and go as I please that’s refreshing.
I straighten my shirt, smiling at my stepson. He smiles back encouragingly. I wonder if he has his gun on him, or if we left in too big of a hurry. There’s no way I can ask him that question with Marcello in the front seat. I hope Frankie didn’t leave it in his bedroom. What we’re about to do is dangerous enough, and I wouldn’t mind having a bit of an advantage if we do happen to run into Francisco’s enemy, my enemy.
A heavy silence falls. So far, Marcello has shot down every attempt at conversation. He’s not speeding, but he seems focused on the road. We’re heading into the city, which is perfect. I don’t actually know where the best place would be to set our trap, and I’m hoping that Frankie will take the lead.
I nudge him, pointing toward Marcello.
“Can you take us to Renaissance?” Frankie asks.
I assume that’s a bar, but I’ve never heard of it.
Marcello doesn’t respond. I wonder if he even heard, but he takes the next right, and Frankie seems to approve. I sit back, trying to calm my nerves. I want to do the right thing and find my brother, but I’m starting to regret running out on Francisco. He’s going to be furious.
