I gave myself a manicure and read a few chapters of a book, but my focus was elsewhere. From the courtyard window, I looked out to where Santo’s car was supposed to be. He took the Ferrari. I wonder why.
I texted him on the private phones we have that aren’t regulated with security measures, then, when I noticed Vittoria pacing nervously around the house, poured the girl a cup of spiced coffee and binge-watched HGTV. We managed to conclude that updating the mansion would be a full season of updates all on its own.
I waited.
And I waited.
And I waited.
“Where’s Natalia?” I asked Mama after lunch.
“She went to Marialena’s room,” Mama said absently, checking on her marinara. She tastes it, frowns, and adds more salt.
I feel tired. Bone tired.
When I hear the crunch of tires on gravel, I stop myself from running to the door to greet them.
But it isn’t Santo and Mario. It’s Romeo, with Orlando and Tavi.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy to see Romeo. Mama and Nonna burst into tears and hug him, dampening his charcoal gray suit. He comes to me and gives me a bear-hug when he finally escapes their grip.
“How’ve you been, sister?” he asks.
Oh, Romeo. My eyes water with tears. I want to tell him everything. I want to plead with him on Santo’s behalf. But even though Romeo loves us, I’ve seen how his loyalty to the family trounces all.
And I won’t do that to him. I can’t.
I also know that I couldn’t do that to Santo without talking to him first.
So I do what I’ve done for decades when it comes to my true feelings.
I lie.
I smile through tears and swipe at them impatiently. “Just so happy to have you home, Romeo.”
He kisses my cheek and holds me to him. I give myself one minute, just one minute to breathe. To exhale and be held by my brother. I may be the older sibling, but he’s been the head of this house so long, it almost feels as if he’s the older one sometimes.
It feels good to be held for that one moment in time.
Then I release him and give him to his wife.
“Your wife has been the very picture of grace and dignity during your absence, I’ll have you know.”
Vittoria laughs. “If you call eating cookie dough straight out of the freezer graceful and dignified, then I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, that’s so forgivable it’s barely sinful,” I say with a smile. “Romeo, do we know who’s behind it?”
“I think so,” he says with a frown. “But not now, Rosa.” He looks around and sees the Montavio cousins for the first time. “My God, now this is a welcome party,” he says.
Sergio claps him on the back, Ricco gives him a bear-hug, and Timeo fist-bumps him. “Tavi called us in, Rome,” he says. “And you’ll have us with you for as long as you need us.”
Romeo thanks him, greets the others, and welcomes Dario, as I hear Santo’s car pull up to the top of the drive. The door slams hard. His feet hit the ground and they’re running.
“Shit,” Tavi says, as the door opens and Santo and Mario come in.
“Romeo,” Santo says, ignoring everyone else in the room. “We have to fucking talk, and now.”
Romeo nods. “You two safe?”
“For now,” Mario says.
“Good,” Romeo says.
Frowning, he looks around the room. “Where’s Marialena?”
Mama’s on her feet. Mario whips out his phone.
“Who saw her last?” Tavi asks. He tries to hide the panic in his voice, but we can all tell he’s concerned.
“She was with me this morning,” Vittoria says, paling. “Isn’t she just upstairs?”
But after some phone calls and a thorough search, she’s nowhere to be found.
I look to Santo. He sees the panic in my eyes and he’s at my side in two steps.
“We’ll find her.”
“Santo,” I whisper, my voice choked. I open my mouth to speak, but I’m too frozen in fear to make the words come. The gentlest touch on my lower back and I open my mouth.
“Natalia was with her.”
Vittoria shakes her head. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. What if she… is she okay?”
My skin prickles and my body goes cold. I reach for my phone, and try to still my trembling hand. With shaking fingers, I text Marialena.
Hey. Where are you?
Nothing.
I call her, but it only goes to voice mail.
“Jesus,” Tavi mutters under his breath. “Mario, call her guard.” He spins and looks to Orlando. “Check security footage, see if you find anything.” He curses under his breath.
Dario is the one who takes the lead. He pulls out his gun and checks the ammunition. “Anyone check surveillance?”
“I will,” Mario says, but before he leaves, he makes a call. He shakes his head. Then makes another. And another.
No.
No.
Not my baby sister. Not my baby, not Natalia, my little one who is everything to me. And Marialena’s the light of our lives, the North Star in a world of dark. I might be sometimes cold and even cruel as a method of self-protection, but I love them. I pace the room. I can’t think about them being hurt.