She studied my father and grandfather before coming closer. “I think you both need to let him rest.”
Grandfather kissed her cheek before he exited.
My father lingered. He studied the lattice of tiny plastic zip ties now holding my wound together. He turned to Allie. “You did this?”
“Yes. It’s a becoming common practice for dogs. There’s talk of using it on horses soon. But for people, it is quite common. You’ll note I couldn’t use it on the smaller section of the wound where the knife cut upward on its way out. But that part is healing well on its own.”
Father turned white.
Allie noticed and pulled a chair behind him. He sat, almost bonelessly.
“Twice. You were almost killed twice.”
He spoke English for Allie’s sake. But I wasn’t going to be as kind and switched so only my father could understand. “Tonight, I wasn’t the target. My wife was.”
His eyes met mine. In their depths was fear and a grief he’d never gotten over. I was a bit too young to understand it all at the time, but the way he shut down after she died hurt me harder than losing my mother did. Now I finally understood how he survived. I felt it in my heart. I’d been the cold, calculating shadow of my father for so long, just a few short days with Allie opened a door I barely remembered.
If my father loved my mother half as much, and if she had brought half as much light to his world, losing her must have broken him. As losing Allie would likely break me.
I was only beginning to know her and was already drowning.
12
Allie
Despite Mario’s promise not to talk about me, or around me, the hushed whispers with his guards and Aiaiu were just that. It’s amazing how much body language plays a part in communication. The glances, the sudden silences when I entered a room told a story that was plain. I’d stepped in it. But no one would explain it to me.
“You can’t stand near the window.” Loppa’s hand barred me from peering out the top floor’s suite window.
“Why?”
He glanced toward Don Manca’s room as if searching for guidance from his boss. However, both Aiaiu and Mario were deep in discussion with his father. Something had changed and those three were thick as thieves lately.
“Tell me, Loppa. Did I imagine that knife aimed at me?”
He paled. “We are taking care of that.”
Ah. As in taking care of permanently. Something I really didn’t need to know. I’d not only made a huge error trusting Mario, but also in coming to Italy. These men made my grandfather look like…well, an accountant.
In frustration, I tried calling my sister, again. She hadn’t answered any of my calls since that odd conversation where she’d hung up on me. I needed her now. She’d tell me exactly what she thought. Or worse, take on an obviously established crime organization’s whole family to spring me from this luxury prison. Of course, the conversation could go in the opposite direction with Ellie telling me to “go for it” and live a little. But this wasn’t living. It was hiding—which didn’t sit well with Mario.
That was plain.
He was cranky, nervous, irritable, and short. Not with me, but with everyone else, even his grandfather.
From the tight way Loppa tensed his proverbial butthole, I’d guess not many spoke to Don Manca that way.
I dug out my headphones and doubled down on learning Italian from the language app on my phone.
“The villa is safest.” Don Manca issued his opinion like an order.
“It is —” Was that word “isolated?”
“Perhaps the island?” His father suggested.
I scrambled to find the auto translator which could display the speech in text on my screen.
“It is too far to travel.” Mario used the same authoritative tone his grandfather had.
