by LP Lovell
There are a thousand unspoken words between us, a gaping void created by more than just the physical distance that separates us, but I don’t know what.
“Is Daddy there?”
Another pause and she clears her throat. “No. He’s not.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s had to lay low, Lina. It’s not safe right now.” Her words are broken as she chokes back emotion.
I suddenly feel sorry for her. She carries the weight of the family on her shoulders, holding down the fort alone. We would be stronger together. Daddy has always said that. I can’t picture him running. Or maybe he’s running because of me. Eduardo Ricci is a strong man, but he would do anything for his daughters.
“Are you okay?” she asks after long moments.
I have to wonder if that’s a rhetorical question. “You left me halfway across the world with strangers without so much as a goodbye. What do you think, Gabi?”
“Nero isn’t a stranger. He’s practically family.”
“No, he’s not; not to me. I want to come home.”
“The Bianchi family wants you. Is that what you’d like? To be married off to Enrique Bianchi?”
“They can’t just marry me off against my will, Gabi.”
She sighs. “Lina, you don’t fully understand the intricacies of the mafia. Daddy made an agreement, a vow. No one will oppose them upholding that covenant. We will be cast out, dishonored. We’ll lose everything. The only thing we can do to keep you safe is to keep you away. As far as they know, you ran, and I can’t find you.”
“I didn’t ask to be in this situation,” I whisper. “How could Daddy sell me off like that?”
“I don’t think he ever intended to go through with it, not against your will. Look, I made a promise to you a long time ago. I said I would always protect you, and I always will. Please trust me.”
Tears prick my eyes before spilling over, although I manage to keep my sister from hearing my turmoil.
“Please don’t do anything stupid. Promise?”
“I promise,” I whisper because there’s nothing else I can do. I’m essentially a fugitive. Forced to run and hide from a commitment I didn’t make.
“Thank you.” The relief in her voice is clear. “I will fix this, Lina. Just…be patient, and listen to Nero.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you, and remember, I’ll always protect you.”
The line cuts off, and I find myself sitting there, staring at the phone in my hand. I’ll always protect you. The words stir that buried memory to life.
Daddy and his friend left the office. My butt had gone to sleep and I wanted to get out of the cupboard.
Gabi suddenly threw her arms around me so tightly I couldn’t breathe. “It’s okay, Lina. I won’t let anything happen to you,” she vowed.
I didn’t understand. I couldn’t work out why Gabi would say that. That’s what Daddy’s were for. They kept away the monsters and rescued the princesses. Daddy always said that we never had to be scared, that he’d always keep us safe.
I hugged Gabi back and patted her hair because she seemed sad.
“I’ll always protect you,” she said. “I promise.”
She knew. She remembered. My sister may have vowed to protect me, but she never told me about the agreement my father made.
5
Adelina
Climbing to my feet, I go in search of Sasha. I find him in the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a bowl of granola in front of him. His hair is damp from a shower, and he’s now wearing a shirt. I set the phone on the bar, sliding it across the marble until it bumps his hand. Picking it up, he removes the SIM card from the back, snaps it in half, and then reassembles the phone. He goes right back to his granola, spooning a mouthful past his lips as if nothing had happened.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but Sasha offers me nothing more than a blank stare. “For saying for you’re just hired muscle.”
His head tilts, his expression perplexed. “I’m a soldier.”
I don’t know if he’s correcting me, informing me, or agreeing with me. “Okay— Just, thank you. For letting me call Gabi.”
He nods in acknowledgment, and truthfully, from him, that feels like a breakthrough. He resumes staring straight ahead, eating his food.
“Can I use the gym?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I walk away, taking small victories where I can find them.
The thought of using the gym is far more exciting than it should be, but sitting in this apartment with nothing to do but sulk is not helping my emotional state. I’m just recycling the same thoughts over and over until I’m bitter and lonely.
I change into a pair of leggings and a tank top before slipping on my sneakers and grabbing my iPod. I instantly long for the outside. I’d love to run around Central Park like I’ve seen in the movies. Even in this enormous penthouse, I’m getting cabin fever. The walls create an oppressive box, a space that threatens to close in around me. Once in the gym, I pop my iPod on the sound dock and blast heavy rock through the speakers. The beat instantly drowns out those never-ending thoughts. I should warm up, but instead, I get on the treadmill and crank up the speed until I’m at a sprint. It feels good, the pounding of my feet on the belt, the thrumming of my heart over strained breaths. I jog every morning in Cambridge; the campus is beautiful, and I love running through the grounds.
I up the speed and push myself harder. My mind empties as my body is pushed to the limit. Sweat coats my skin, sticking hair to the back of my neck. My lungs burn, and my legs go numb. I run until I’m sure I’ll fall at any minute, and then, I slam my hand over the stop button, jumping onto the side rails. My loud breaths and pounding heart drown out the sound of the music. Salty sweat stings my eyes, and my hands tremble. When I can breathe, I step off the treadmill and pick up one of the hand towels from the shelf. I mop sweat from my face and neck as I make my way to the kitchen in search of water.
When I round the corner, the first thing I see is a gun pointed at my face. I raise my hands, my gaze drifting past the weapon to the small blonde woman brandishing it. Her eyes narrow before she lowers the pistol, sliding it into a holster on her thigh.
“You’re the Sicilian girl.” At best, it’s an acknowledgment, and she turns her back to me.
It takes me a moment to calm my startled heart. “Yes.”
She starts the coffee machine before walking to the fridge. The way she moves… It’s just like Sasha. Her footfalls are so light, they’re inaudible. When she turns, her eyes flick over me. It’s not a judgmental look, more…assessing. Her hair is so pale it’s almost white, and her eyes are the strangest shade of violet blue. Her petite, curvy frame is clad in tight black clothing. Everything about her is hard yet feminine. “Nero said you’d be here. Where’s Sasha?”
“I don’t know. We don’t exactly…hang out.”
Her red painted lips twitch into a smirk.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I haven’t really spoken to anyone since I’ve been here. Who are you?”
“Una. Nero’s better half.” She raises a brow. Of course, she is.
I can just imagine them together. Dangerous and beautiful.
“Adelina.”
I’m not sure what the protocol is here. I’m not certain whether to shake her hand or what. She makes no move toward me, and her body language suggests that she absolutely does not want to be my friend. Everything about her leaves me unsettled the same way Sasha does, but she might be worse, less human somehow, and yet…Dante must be hers. He has the same strange colored eyes, slightly bluer than her violet, but unique all the same.
“Your Dante’s mother.”
And there it is. Her hard demeanour softens a fraction, and a soft smile touches her lips. “Yes.” She picks up her coffee, sipping it as she walks toward the living room doorway. “Welcome, Adelina Ricci.” She makes a point of saying my name, like she wants me to know that she’s aware of exactly who I am, one step ahead. She
walks away without a backward glance; every step silent, lethal, graceful.
Well, that was…interesting.
As I pass through the living room, I catch sight of Una and Sasha down a hallway off the living room. I haven’t ventured to that side of the penthouse. Sasha’s head is bent low to Una’s level as they speak in hushed whispers. It appears intimate, and his head snaps up as I pass, those glacial-blue eyes locking with mine for a second. An uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut, and I pull my gaze away.
Nero has a reputation amongst the Sicilians. He’s considered the mad Italian who married a satanic Russian demon. I always thought the hatred of the Russians was ridiculous, but in all fairness, the mad Italian is the nice one between the two.
Scurrying up the stairs, I tell myself it’s a good thing. After all, if I need protection, scary people are what I want.
I stay in my room until the evening. My stomach growls, cramping hard enough to force me out of hiding. It seems my short burst of exercise has spurred my appetite once more. The downside is that I now have to go downstairs. It’s not that they’ve been awful to me; they haven’t, but I’m an outsider in their world, an imposter. I grew up around bad men. Killers. Criminals. But those men were family to me. Our lives were just as much about love and laughter as they were about the business. That joy is absent here, or I’ve yet to witness it.
I creep through the penthouse, expecting to find the place empty. When I reach the living room, I hear the soft, lilting tone of a woman singing. I assume it’s Margo, but I don’t recognize the language. Rounding the corner, I pause when I see Una. She sits at the breakfast bar with Dante in a highchair, singing as she mixes a little plastic bowl of food for him. He claps his hands with a wide grin on his chubby face. I’m intruding on a private moment, so I take a quiet step back.
“Come in,” Una says without looking at me. I pause, torn. She glances over her shoulder, and those strange eyes lock with mine. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Shuffling forward, I awkwardly pull out a stool and take a seat at the breakfast bar. I remember which drawer Sasha pulled a take-out menu from the other day, and tug it open, removing the first menu my fingers touch.
“Margo will make you anything you want.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to trouble her.”
“It’s safer,” Una corrects. “Fewer people coming to the building.”
“Oh.” Of course, I hadn’t thought of that, but she’s right. “I can make my own food.” I get up and move to the fridge. It’s stocked a little better today with eggs, some spinach and peppers, milk, chicken. “Do you want an omelete?” I ask her.
She spares me a hard glance. “No. Thank you.” She refocuses on Dante, and her features morph. A soft smile touches her lips, and she taps the end of his nose, making him giggle.
“He’s beautiful,” I say.
“He is my greatest joy.”
My father always said the exact same thing about Gabi and me. But he sold his “greatest joy” like a cow at market. The reminder brings a lump to my throat, and I turn away, pulling ingredients from the fridge.
I set about beating eggs and cutting peppers while Una feeds Dante. The Doberman sits at the side of the highchair, catching the bits of food that fall.
“Hey, you,” I say, petting his head, but he barely acknowledges me. I guess food takes priority. “Oh, you only wanted me for my pizza, I see.”
“You should be flattered. George is obsessed with Dante. Never leaves his side.” Una scoops another spoonful of goop into Dante’s open mouth. He spits half of it back out, and she uses his bib to wipe his chin.
The elevator pings, and Una stiffens, her hand dropping to the gun at her thigh. Her shoulders relax the second another Doberman strolls out of the metal box, confusing me. It’s followed by Nero, Gio, and a red-headed man. Jesus, everyone is always so on edge around here; it’s makes me nervous.
The dog rounds the bar, wagging his stumpy tail before licking my fingers. This one is bigger and leaner than the other. “There you are,” I say, smiling as I now recognize my one and only friend. I drop to a crouch, and he licks my cheek as I scratch his chin. When I stand again, all four adults are staring at me. “What?”
The ginger guy laughs. “Ah, Nero, he blew you off for a girl.”
Gio smirks. “Zeus doesn’t like anyone but Nero.”
I shrug one shoulder. “I gave him pizza?”
“Well, if you feed me pizza and pet me, I’ll be your friend,” the redhead says, chuckling to himself. He strolls over to Dante, stroking a hand over his downy hair.
Una swats him. “Tommy.”
“Ow!” He rubs the back of his head, flashing me an apologetic smile before walking over. “I’m Tommy.” His quick smile and mischievous eyes seem so at odds with the stark black suit he wears, and the company he keeps.
“Adelina.”
“Adelina.” He rolls my name around, as though pondering it. “Pretty.”
“Jesus Christ, make it stop,” Nero grumbles, walking over to Una and Dante. He strokes over the top of Dante’s head before wrapping one hand around the back of Una’s neck. “Morte,” he breathes over her lips.
I drop my gaze to the ground, my cheeks heating. He kisses her like he wants to eat her alive, and I can almost feel the electricity crackling through the air, charging the space between them. It’s only in my bid to look anywhere else that I spot Sasha. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, amongst the shadows. He’s removed, but his eyes are on me, that icy intensity reaching out and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What are you making?” Tommy asks, and I’m grateful for his distraction.
I snatch my gaze away from Sasha and offer Tommy a friendly smile. He seems different than the rest of them. Less serious. A smattering of freckles dot his nose and cheeks, making him look young and geeky.
“An omelete. Want one?”
“Well done,” Una chimes in. “Now you’ll be feeding them all.”
“I don’t mind.”
So, for the next half an hour, I make omelettes. First Tommy, then Nero, and finally Gio. They chat and laugh as they eat, and I watch. I was wrong about them. They are absolutely a family just perhaps not a very trusting one. They all smile indulgently at Dante, and I can tell, he’ll grow up with a band of terrifying uncles at his beck and call, not to mention, having a mother like Una.
I slide an omelette onto a plate and place it at the end of the bar nearest to Sasha. He doesn’t move, simply stares at me. I should look away, but I can’t, and I don’t. I find myself wanting to dissect him, to work out why he’s so…other. It takes me a second to realize the conversation has stopped, and I can sense several sets of eyes focused on me. My cheeks flame under the scrutiny, so I turn away, making one last omelete for myself. By the time it’s done, Sasha has taken the seat at the end of the bar. His plate is empty, his knife and fork laid together. I fight a smile. It’s the equivalent of finding a stray dog and getting him to trust me enough to take food from my hand. It’s silly, but it’s an accomplishment. Of course, there’s every chance that my life has just become that boring.
When I’m done, I go to pick up the plates, but Una grabs my wrist, stopping me. “You aren’t the maid, Adelina.” Her pointed glare lands on Nero first, then Gio, Tommy, and finally Sasha.
“Fuck me,” Tommy whines, but they all get up and take their plates to the dishwasher, lining up to load it in turn. I dip my chin to my chest, trying not to laugh at the scene.
“Thanks, Adelina,” Tommy says, squeezing my shoulder as he passes.
“Yeah, thanks,” Gio adds.
Nero simply nods. And Sasha, well…he leaves. I get the impression he’s not exactly a please and thank you kind of guy. I don’t care, though. He ate the omelete, and I feel like I’ve won some unspoken standoff between us.
Everyone seems to slip away. Una goes to bathe Dante. Nero and Gio said they needed to discuss b
usiness in the office. And Tommy stays.
“Don’t you need to do business stuff with them?” I ask.
“Eh,” he shrugs. “Not really my thing. I’m kind of like the stray dog they took in.”
That seems harsh. “What do you mean?”
“Half Irish, half Italian.” He lifts a brow. “Both mafia.”
“Ah, that’s rough.”
He nods. To be half Italian and half Irish, torn between two mafias, and both would hate him. “Nero and I have been friends since we were little.” He smiles. “The bastard and the half-breed.”
“Nero’s a bastard?”
“No! No. But, back then we thought he was. Well, he kind of is, but it’s fine.”
I laugh at his fumbling words. “I won’t ask.”
“So, why are you here?” he asks me.
“I’m a job.” I sigh, leaning heavily on braced elbows. The cold, hard granite grinds over my bones. “Sasha is protecting me.”
“Protecting you…Sasha? Sasha’s playing bodyguard?” Tommy lets out a sharp bark of laughter when I nod. “From what?”
“You ask too many questions.” We both jump at the whiplash of Sasha’s voice. He separates from the shadows and moves farther into the kitchen.
I feel bad when Tommy shrinks back. “It’s fine. I don’t—” I start.
That arctic gaze lands on me, and I stop. “I did not ask if you mind. I assure you, I care very little for your thoughts or feelings.”
I feel like a chastised child, and it has my temper spiking. I turn away from Sasha to focus on Tommy. “Would you like to watch a film?”
“Uh, sure.”
I hop off the barstool, and Tommy follows. He pauses in the living room, but I grab his arm, pulling him up the stairs. I can feel Sasha’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. He can’t possibly think that Tommy is a danger. Tommy hesitates before stepping over the threshold into my room. Going to my bag, I scoop up my tablet and sit cross-legged on the bed with my back braced against the headboard. He hesitates in the doorway, and I can’t help but giggle.
