“Thank you,” she sighed, then she looked at me as though in thought. “Sienna, I think it’s time you learned some things about the family business.”
“Oh.” I had wondered when someone would take the time to talk to me about the mafia way of life. “I would love to.”
She motioned for me to follow. She led me to one of the sunrooms on the far side of the house. It was a lovely room that looked over the pool and gardens.
My phone vibrated, and I glanced at it, hoping it was Wyatt telling me he would be free for a call soon. I missed him terribly and wanted to know how the story was coming along.
Elenora: I have to leave town for a few days. When I get back, I hope we can meet up again?
My nose twitched at the text. I hated how she was only a short drive away, but I didn’t get to see her very often.
Sienna: I’d like that, too. Have a good trip.
“You can help me go through these files.” Andrea didn’t pry. She opened the box and started to lay out files. “They are all in order by date.” She smiled up at me. “We need to find any mention of extra containers that may have arrived in Italy, or of any extra ones that may have arrived back from Libya. There should be three signatures by these three men in New York,” she pointed to one of the invoices, “and three from our dockyard, and another three from Libya, where the oil is actually coming from. If anything looks off at all, put it aside.”
“Are we looking for the girls?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “We are the third sets of eyes on this paperwork. Though she’s from Serbia, we run our oil from Libya. I’m just not sure what’s happening here.” She rubbed her head, looking stressed.
“Then let’s make sure we don’t miss anything.” I smiled and warmed to the task. It was nice to feel useful. She mentioned a few more things about how the family business was run, when we fell into a good rhythm, and I let my mind wander a little with some questions.
“Can I ask something basic?”
“You can ask me anything.” She tapped her finger on the wet sponge and swiped through the pages.
“Do you spot syndicates by their family rings?”
“Yes. Only a select few in the families have them. You have to be a direct bloodline from the Don and be the first-born child to get one. There are normally dates engraved inside the band to show it’s authentic, along with a little stamp from the first founding godfather.” Something caught her eye on the paper, but I guessed it was nothing, as she moved on. “Then from there, the Don of each family has a signature piece to identify who they are.”
“Is that the tie pin Piero wears, the one that’s almost hidden under the collar of his shirt?”
“Yes, good eye.” She smiled, impressed. “He used to wear it further down, but after the attempted hit in Sicily, he tends to not be so flashy with it. I don’t blame him. That was a close call.”
I wanted to pry more, but I could tell she was still bothered by what happened, so I let it go.
I spent the rest of the day helping Andrea go through the papers. We combed tirelessly through the last three years of all the imports and exports of their oil business. When we broke for lunch, she explained to me about how they laundered money through their wineries. After seeing how it was run, I was amazed and impressed at just how simple it was.
“Simplicity is best.” She sipped her grapefruit drink. “The authorities expect to have to dig deep for evidence, so leaving the truth just shaded by a little covering is often overlooked.”
“Is it wrong that I find this fascinating?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “This is how the world works, Sienna. We are a well-run syndicate, and we help keep our country going. We are reserved and know how to rule from the top without letting power or greed get the better of us.” She checked the time on her watch. “We should get back to it. Noemi is coming over for drinks later.”
We came up with nothing. There was zero evidence of any kind of human trafficking coming in or out of the Capri ports.
A few times, I caught Jacob Raine’s name on some paperwork, so I pulled that aside. I decided I was going to think of a way to deal with him myself. I snapped a photo of his address.
As I sat across from Aunt Noemi and Andrea, I found myself remembering that night in the hotel room when Jacob carved his initial into my arm like a rancher branding his cattle. I remembered the smell of whiskey on his breath as he grabbed my breast. I shook it off as I heard someone enter the room.
My body temperature soared, and my skin flushed as the movement of his arm rubbing his cheek gave me a sight that nearly took my breath away. Elio’s stance was that of a man who had the weight of what he had to do lay heavy on his shoulders. His white dress shirt was stained in blood. It traveled up his torso and splattered across his cheek.
I wanted to stand, run to check him over, see if all of him was okay, but instead I waited and watched. My heart slowed to a steady rhythm. I read his mood and studied his movements. I was seeing Elio in a whole different light. It was dark, like his yin to his yang.
I gave him a simple nod that I understood he was home and okay. He did the same and nodded toward the window, toward his house. Then he disappeared. I crossed my legs and turned to Andrea, who was watching me as Noemi prattled on about something. A small smile escaped her lips before she went back to the conversation. I saw Noemi give Andrea a look without a break in her sentence.
It wasn’t lost on me that a big moment had just passed through the three of us. I guessed I was learning the mafia world.
Andrea gave me the first out she could, and I rushed down the hill to Elio’s house. Using my key, I headed inside and followed the lighting that led me to the stairs and up to the bedroom. I gently pushed the door open to find Elio leaning against the wall looking out the window. His blood-soaked dress shirt dangled from his fingers.