Marchello brings me inside, holding my hand behind his back, so I have to walk behind him. My safety is paramount. The last thing anyone needs is for me to wind up dead and him standing over the body. That would surely launch a war of nuclear proportions.
We walk through the condo, surveying the damage. Papa’s overstuffed chair has been sliced with a knife or ripped by hand judging from the tears. White fluff covers the area rug. Even my herbs in the front window have been turned upside down. The kitchen has been torn apart and all I can think about is how long it will take to clean this up.
I’m relieved I wasn’t home when this occurred. Maybe I’m in danger like Besnik implied.
I stoop to pick up a picture frame, now broken, with the photo of my parents on their wedding day. Marchello wraps his arm around me, and I my instinctives tell me that this man will protect me forever. He pulls me closer and reaches for his phone.
“Things are ramping up I’d say,” he looks at me as he’s speaking into the phone. Probable to Dante.
“Unfortunately,” I agree. My voice quivers from fatigue and fear.
Overtaken with exhaustion and the new turn of events, I lean into his solid chest and take a breath. I don’t know how much more I can handle. I’m relieved that Marchello’s here and I’m not stuck with that old fuck Lirim, who turned out to be creepy guy at the resort as we met the day before Papa died but there were so many new names they ran together.
I left that last part out because I really didn’t put two and two together until I saw him at Papa’s funeral and I didn’t want to set Marchello off on a rampage as he’s possessive of me. I can tell by how often he checks on me at work and texts me all the time. I’m sure it’s to make sure I’m safe.
But Lirim is a lecherous old fuck, I’d do anything to get out of sharing his bed, even if I had to sew my pussy closed.
Marchello is on the phone with Dante, rattling off a list of my family’s key players, the ones I told him about on the flight home. Another flight where I would have fucking jumped on top of him and fucked him had we not had an audience.
The more pressing matter is our safety and the state of my condo.
I’m sure it’s shock that causes my hands to tremble. They sure were steady when they stoked Marchello’s hard cock last night.
However, my privacy has been invaded. I can’t suppress the fact that I’ve been violated. I mean, the drywall is ripped off the walls. What the hell?
“Who did this?” I ask when he gets off the phone.
“Don’t know, we may never know. But it’s obvious they were looking for something. Can you think of anything your dad had that they might want?”
“Umm,” I go into the kitchen and pull out a can of espresso that I flipped the label on, so it didn’t look like it had been opened. I pop off the yellow plastic lid and pull out the the wad of money and had it to him.
I walk to my purse and pull out the black book, “I found it in my dad’s favorite sweater when I got home from the ski trip. I don’t understand any of it. It seems to be in code. I didn’t spend any of the money.”
Marchello’s face transforms from concern to curiosity as he counts the euros before opening the book. He meticulously scans a page, then uses his slender finger, one of the one that fingered me so well last night, and flips to another page.
“Your dad good with numbers by any chance?”
“Yes, he did my books, or rather, cooked my books, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and you said your uncle handled his last will and testament with the attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever see his will or any paperwork for other businesses he might have owned?”
“No, he’d come home and tell me they signed a contract for some construction job. Then it would rain money and we’d have cash. I always thought it was weird that he couldn’t fix anything around the house and his hands were never dirty or calloused, but I didn’t ask questions. That was frowned upon big time with the threat of a punishment if I didn’t behave.”
Marchello gives me a look that tells me I’m gullible.
I swallow hard, my mouth is dry, my lips are dry, but I’m afraid to say anything or touch anything.
“What? I wanted to be the good daughter. Why do you think I made good grades in school and never got into trouble? I didn’t ask questions. I think Papa wanted it that way. Are we calling the police on this?”
But I know that answer. Everything is ‘handled’.
He nods. “No, we’re not notifying anyone, but we are getting you out of here.”
He learned something from the pages in the book and I hope it wasn’t a mistake to show it to him.