There's a card sitting next to the crate, in front of Lukas who's obviously screened it. I pick it up and read.
"Happy birthday, brother," I translate, before turning the card toward Lukas. "What else does it say?"
"I hope the vintage travels well," he fills in for me.
"That's nice." It's signed L and L. One of the initials clearly belongs to Lorenzo Volante. "Who's the other L?"
"Lucia, Lorenzo's wife."
"How lovely." I study the bottle carefully. "Has anyone told Gabriele this is here?"
Lukas shakes his head. "Best not to. He's not in the best frame of mind today."
I don't ask what that means. I know things are tense around here as Orlov is still out there somewhere, waiting for his moment to act.
"Won't this cheer him up?"
"I doubt it."
"But it's a birthday present from his…" I try to recall which brother is which. "Older brother?"
"Younger," Lukas corrects me. "Damiano's the oldest, then Gabriele, then Lorenzo."
Katya
Santo cheats like crazy. When he suggested a game of Scrabble as a way of passing the time, I jumped at the chance.After four days of lockdown, the walls of the villa are starting to close in on me. I probably wouldn't mind as much if they weren't such a damned ugly color.
The past few days have been eerily calm, like the entire household is waiting for something horrible to happen. Gabriele and I haven't seen much of each other but when we have it's been achingly civil. Except when he comes to my room, of course. Then being polite is the last thing on our minds.
I scowl as Santo puts down a tile that he apparently produced from thin air.
"You cannot have puta," I tell him, pointing at the board with justified indignation.
"It's a word," he argues.
"Yes, but you didn't let me have blyad."
"Because it's Russian," he reasons.
I put my hands on my hips. "Puta is Spanish."
"It's also Italian."
My glare has no effect on him. He smiles blandly at me, a man entirely comfortable with his chicanery.
“We agreed to use English."
He opens his mouth, set to continue the argument about something that scarcely matters in the grand scheme of things, when someone knocks at the door. He gets up from his seat and goes to answer it. There's a brief conversation in Italian. Not knowing what they're saying pisses me off. I need to learn the language.
Santo turns to me. "There's a delivery."
"From Prada?" I've ordered several pairs of shoes. I'd much rather shop for them in person but I can't sit around in last season's footwear until this lockdown is over.
"From Signore Volante's brother."
Oh, that's much more interesting than kitten heels.
"What is it?"
