“I’m so proud of you.” My smile falters, wishing I were there to watch every game. “I’ll ask Helena if she videoed it.”
“How’s Nonna?”
“She’s getting better.” I hold the phone to my chest, silently praying that she will get better, but with COPD there’s no cure, just treatment to help improve her quality of life.
My bedroom door creaks and a draft filters in from the hallway. Rising from the bed, I pad into Angelos’ room. “I’m gonna go. It’s late. I’ll see you on Sunday after your friend’s party, okay? His mum, Helena, says she’ll drop you off in the afternoon.”
“All right, Mum. Love you.”
“Love you.” I turn on the light in Angelos’ bedroom. Football players stare at me from his bedroom wall. Nothing is out of place.
Everything looks normal. But it doesn’t feel normal. I walk back into my room. The cushions on the bed—only two propped. I always leave all three lined up. Always.
It’s small. Barely anything. Could be nothing. Could be me.
But it doesn't feel right. A shiver crawls down my spine. Nothing has felt right since I saw Dan on the plane. The turbulence from the flight is now in my head.
I walk to the dresser and check the drawer where I keep the spare keys. Still there. Nothing appears touched. I rub my arms and shake off the chill creeping over my skin. “I’m just tired,” I mutter. “It’s been a long day. I’ve seen ghosts. Now I’m making them up.”
Still, I double-check the lock on the window. Secure. Just like I left it.
I cross the room, undress and toe off my tights, and sink onto the bed. The duvet welcomes me, but my mind won’t switch off. It whirs with the image of that tilted photo, the sensor light delay, the shadow at the hedge, the cushions…
I need to relax.
I open the nightstand drawer and pull out the small velvet pouch. My secret weapon. Self-care in silicone form. The familiar weight in my hand already calms me. Not because I need a release, but because I need to feel something other than anxiety. I slip under the covers, let my mind drift somewhere else, somewhere safe. Somewhere mine. But the only thing that comes to mind… is him.
7
DAN
“To the bride and groom.” I raise my champagne flute and toast the happy couple, though happy is probably the wrong choice of words. I’ve never seen a woman look so miserable on her wedding day.
I check my watch, wondering how long I have to stay at this event. It’s been going on all fucking day.
Riccardo steps up to my side and hands me a grappa. “Thought you could use a strong drink.” He raises his glass and clinks it with the one he’s just given me.
The strong grape-based brandy catches in my nose before I take a gulp. The velvety texture burns as it hits the back of my throat, making my eyes widen.
“I made it myself.” Riccardo turns around, lifting a carafe and topping up our glasses.
“You mean your vineyard made it?” I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he actually meant himself or his staff.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Same thing.”
“How’s business going?” He knows I don’t mean the vineyard. It’s just a front for his money laundering. I usually turn a blind eye to it all and just gather the information hepays me for. Which is keeping tabs on his merchants in the UK. Again, I don't mean his wine merchants.
“All’s good, cugino. We can talk shop tomorrow. Tonight is about having a good time.” He takes another long pull from his glass.
“Right.” If this is what he calls a good time, he needs to get out more. I knock my drink back and hold it out for another. The burn lessened with each sip.
“You should take some of this back with you. Come to the vineyard before you go.”
“I’ll stop by and take some home with me tomorrow.”
His brow furrows. “You’re going home so soon? I thought you were here for a few weeks. Isn’t Matteo flying out to meet you?”
“I’ll be back for Matteo. Something came up back at home.” He doesn’t need to know the thing that came up is my obsession with a certain enemy’s sister.
