“Your…” she hesitated. “Maybe your parents hadn’t mentioned this, Ishika but you were proposed at birth?—”
“Is this a joke? Who put you up to this. One of the girls, I’m guessing,” I ranted.
“No,” the single word sounded a little more forceful, pausing my mirth. “We’re landing in Italy later this evening and he was hoping to visit you sometime this week to discuss this face to face.”
My temper got the better of me. “You call me out of the blue, mention some nonsense about a proposal and now you want to visit me?” I snapped. “Come anywhere near me and I’ll let the police have their way with you.” So much for a drama free rest.
“Please, Ishika.” The unwavering sincerity in her voice stopped me from cutting the call. “Trust me, this is not how I wanted to meet you after all these years. If you don’t know this, your uncle is a politician by day and a mafia don by night.”
“What the–” I pressed my lips together in a tightlipped scowl, barely reining in my civility. When did I suddenly become apuppet for the mafia. First Remo and now this so-called uncle. “Look, I’m not?—”
“He’ll blame me if you don’t agree.” A soft sob gave me pause. “Just meet him, it’s all I ask. You might not know this, but your mother was a mafia princess…” again she trailed off and I bit my lip to keep from cursing out loud. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that so please don’t mention it to him. I’m only doing what he asked, or I’ll suffer the brunt of his anger.”
Mama was the gentlest person I knew, the idea she was a criminal, made no sense. Only good memories of her remained, so that allegation stuck out like a sore thumb. Curiosity got the better of me once more. “When is he planning to visit?” I chewed the inside of my cheek, debating whether I was doing the right thing.
“Maybe Friday morning?” she hedged.
I was reluctant to sacrifice one of my two days off and then realized if I didn’t, I’d have to suffer them the weekend, and I had no intention of doing that. “Fine.”
“Thank you. There’s also something else on offer, something you might really want to hear.”
Interest piqued a little, I wondered what he could possibly offer me after all these years. Usually, I was a brave woman, after Remo though, I was beginning to doubt my capabilities and knew I shouldn’t be so obliging just because the woman sounded scared.
“Sure,” I relented, planning to get in touch with my sister, gauge her response and do some research about this so-called uncle.
After I cut the call, I shot up from my seat and headed for my study, booted up my laptop, and scanned the internet for Veer Sharma. Everything pointed to his well-respected political status in India with a major focus on charity and ridding his country of crime families.
“How ironic,” I muttered, clicking on another site. More verbiage about his good deeds I didn’t bother reading. If his wife blatantly mentioned he was a criminal, then there must be some truth to her words. “Why else would she tell me that?”
Eventually, after several more searches revealed nothing new, I shut down my laptop. Tomorrow I’d try another angle.
By the time Friday arrived, I’d forgotten my initial reservation, and I was a lot calmer when I opened the door later that morning. From a security perspective, I expected a dozen cars to pull up in my driveway, so I was a bit surprised by the lone vehicle parked out front.
Unsure why I presumed I’d meet a formally dressed couple; his khaki chinos and cream shirt and her white pants and pink blouse surprised me. Maybe it was the whole mafia thing that got to me.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Ishika,” my so-called uncle ran a gaze the length of my white pants and black off-shoulder tank top draped body, his look nowhere near as lascivious as I was anticipating.
In fact, he almost seemed fatherly in his admiration. I offered a smile, unsure how to greet him.
“Can I hug you?” he asked, answering my deliberation.
“Sure.” I allowed him to slide his arms around me and admittedly it felt almost familiar or perhaps the lack of a father figure brought a sentimentality I usually avoided.
“If only your parents were alive to see you,” he said, holding me. “He would’ve been proud of you and your achievements.”
By that I gathered he knew I was a doctor in training. Looked like he’d done his homework. Slowly, I extricated myself from his grasp and allowed the smiling woman next to him to hug me.
“Your uncle is right, such a pretty face,” she said, leaning back to look at me, her expression so maternal, it cast a strange sense of warmth over me.
“Thank you. Come in.” I lead them into the living room. “Sit, I’ll bring us some tea.” Still nervous, I left them there and retreated into the kitchen, hoping to breathe some calm into my body.
Unfortunately, the woman followed me. “Let me help.”
My fake smile was perfection guaranteed. “It’s okay, I can do it, but you can sit if you want.” I gestured to the table behind her.
She chose a stool at the island in the center of the kitchen. After a few seconds of quiet, she began talking, apologizing for the anxiety on the call.
I turned away from the fridge to look at her. “So your phone call was serious?”
