He remembered being six. Hidden in the back of a bakery delivery truck, stale bread pressed to his nose to keep from sneezing. At the same time, his father’s men whispered about a woman in the shadows of the alley who’d waved at the boys when they’d emerged out of the back entrance of an establishment and had witnessed them climbing inside the truck.
He’d buried that memory years ago. But watching Frankie alone, being watched by strangers, it surfaced like a ghost clawing its way out of the dark.
She wasn’t just waiting. She was exposed. And she didn’t even know it.
Day Three: She wore the wig she’d arrived in at Gi Gi’s Crossing. Distressed jeans. A shirt that screamedLove is a Scam.
She was baiting him. She knew exactly what memories that wig carried. For a moment, he laughed. Then he saw a tourist’s camera swing in her direction, just for a heartbeat, and Marcus’s entire body went cold. Yesterday’s childhood recollection roared back to the surface. He was six, peeking through the shutters of the bread truck while Father’s men trailed the friendly woman.
Giovanni, the oldest of them, had explained to his brothers what was happening. She’d seen too much.
It had been Marcus who’d waved at her first as they’d exited Papa’s place of business. Prompting her to wave back. He’d been so young. Lesson learned and never forgotten.
He shuddered.
Day Four: Blanche. Aviators. Lip gloss that could blind a cab driver. A palate cleanser from yesterday’s thoughts. He could almost smell Frankie’s perfume. Hear her dry one-liners as they’d danced at the festival. Their laughter mingled like hearts flirting. That moment in time when possibilities existed.
As if in omen, a cloud moved across the sun. His stomach turned. Love and monsters didn’t mix.
Day Five broke him: No disguises. No armor. Just leggings. A hoodie. Sunglasses perched on top of her head. Vulnerable. Real.
She waited an hour. Didn’t touch her phone. Didn’t eat. Didn’t smile.
When she finally left, her shoulders sagged, something in his chest fractured so hard he staggered back.
The Frankie he’d met that first day in Gi Gi’s Crossing wouldn’t have shown up once, let alone five days in a row. But she had. For him. And she’d done it never imagining the truth. He was across the street, watching, terrified of what might happen to her if he stepped into view. She probably thought his proclamation of love came with conditions, and she no longer met them.
He pressed his palms into his eyes until stars burst behind his lids, but the image of her didn’t fade.
Day Six: No Frankie.
The pounding on his door shattered the silence.
“Open up or we break it down, Kink Grandpa.”
Marcus cursed. He hadn’t even told them the name of the hotel.
He dragged himself upright, stalked to the door, and yanked it open.
All four of his brothers stood there like a weirdly handsome intervention. Each one holding liquor like it was a peace offering or a threat.
“Ms. Birdie says hello,” Giovanni said, shouldering past him. “And you’re welcome for the room number.” He raised a bottle of bourbon. “We brought gifts.”
Antonio held up a bottle of limoncello. “For nostalgia.”
Lorenzo offered a bottle of red. “Courage.”
Luca, grinning, lifted a six-pack of something cheap and cold. “For bad decisions. And if required, a very aggressive Mario Kart rematch.”
Marcus stared at them, then stepped aside.
An hour later, the hotel room was wreckage. Pizza crusts. Abandoned glasses. Empty bottles.
The air smelled like booze, brotherhood, and things they still could not say.
They’d just cracked open the last of the cheap beers when Giovanni asked, his voice soft, “What do you remember about the villa?”
Marcus snorted, sharp and humorless. “I remember Luca falling into the koi pond the day of the explosion.”
