by Portia Moore
“I’m not sick now,” Gianna says, looking at her son. “But I am getting older, Vincent.” Her voice is serious now, still light and musical but sincere. “Your father and I both are. We won’t be around forever, no matter how much it might seem that way to you and your sister.”
“She’s not my sister,” Vincent grinds out, his teeth clenching a little. Oddly, it almost relaxes me. There’s the Vincent I know.
“See?” Gianna shakes her head. “That’s exactly what I mean. I’m at the age where anything could happen, and I don’t want to leave this world with our family fighting the way they have been these past years. It’s been so long since we had peace in this family, Vincent. And that’s all I want.”
I glance between the two of them, confused. Vincent’s never mentioned anything to me about any family conflict—but of course, he hadn’t even told me that his parents were alive, never mind any more concrete details about them.
Vincent lets out a long sigh. “So, this is about Sonya.”
“Yes.” Gianna looks at him calmly. “The two of you need to mend your fences. Make things right. I want my children to love each other again, the way the two of you once did. It’s been too long, Vincent. All of that should be put behind you.”
I see Vincent’s jaw tighten, the first sign of real anger I’ve seen since we arrived here. But he keeps it tightly under wraps, his shoulders and bearing stiff but his face still pleasant. “You’re right, Mother,” he says flatly. “It was a long time ago. It all happened a very long time ago, and if Sonya wants to keep holding a grudge, that’s her problem. I’ve forgotten about it.” He shrugs. “Anyway, it hasn’t affected the family business, so I don’t see what the issue is here.”
“I don’t care about the business,” Gianna says sharply.
Ezio snorts at that, the first sound I’ve heard him make since Gianna admitted her deception. “You certainly care about the business’s money for your Chanel clothing and Hermes bags,” he says dryly.
Gianna ignores him, her attention wholly focused on her son. “…but I do care about my family,” she finishes. “And I’ve had enough of you all being at each other’s throats.” She sits back in her chair, crossing one long, tanned leg over the other.
“I haven’t seen either of you in years; it’s completely unacceptable.” I can see real emotion in Gianna’s eyes now as she looks at Vincent. “If I had to lie to get both of you here with me again, then I’m just going to hope that’s not counted as a mortal sin.”
Vincent stares at her, completely taken aback. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so stunned. It makes me like Gianna just a little bit more, knowing that she can get Vincent off-balance. But of course she can—she’s his mother. No one could ever know him better than she does. She knows everything that I was blind to. “Sonya is coming here?”
“Yes, she is,” Gianna says firmly. “She’s bringing her boyfriend along,” she says with a laugh, waving her hand in that dismissive motion she seems to like so much. As she says it though, she looks directly at me, her dark eyes meeting mine, and it sends a chill down my spine.
I’m starting to think Vincent got more from his mother than just her looks. I can handle outright dislike. I’ve braced myself for Vincent’s mother to believe I wasn’t good enough for her little boy. But if she runs hot and cold like Vincent does, sweet and approving one minute and then sharp and dismissive the next, I don’t know if I can handle it. It’s already too much, trying to anticipate Vincent’s moods and how to make him happy. The thought of having to do the same with his mother makes me feel exhausted.
Vincent sits back, his face set in an expression of displeasure. “When will she be here?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Gianna says, her own expression triumphant. “They should be here in time for breakfast.” She reaches for her wine glass. “Now, enough about all of that. I want to hear more about your lovely fiancée, Vincent. How did the two of you meet?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Vincent reaches over and squeezes my hand tightly, glancing at me sideways with a warning look. Of course, he’s not going to want his mom to know the truth—that he picked up a shoplifter, and his fiancée is a petty criminal.
“I ran into her while she was out shopping,” Vincent says with a smile, as if he’s reminiscing about one of the happiest days of his life. “I was just coming back from a trip to my tailor, and I almost ran right into her. You know how busy Chicago streets get—well, I guess you don’t,” he says with a slight laugh. “But trust me, it can be insane. Anyway,” he clears his throat, continuing with his fingers still tightly laced around mine, reminding me not to interject or contradict him, “she dropped some of her bags, and I stopped to help her.”
Gianna nods approvingly. “See, I raised him right.” She looks at me with a smile as she says it, and I force one onto my face in return. Vincent might have been the gallant knight to my rescue that day, but it wasn’t this ridiculous, straight-out-of-a-rom-com scenario that he’s cooked up.
“He came to my rescue.” I look up at Vincent with that same smile, and he gives me a pleased glance. Right on cue with the validation, this is the Poppy he loves so much.
“We went on a date the very next night. I made sure I had El Trattorio completely empty, reserved for just the two of us. It was a perfect night, with the perfect woman.” He beams at me, the picture of a man in love, and I keep my smile firmly affixed to my face.
“Do you speak Italian, Rain?” Gianna asks curiously. I try to shrug away the uncomfortable chill that travels up my spine.
“Not yet,” Vincent says. “But she plans to take lessons once we get back to New York. Rain was getting ready to go to school when we met, although she’s had to put those plans on hold. Family illness,” he explains, and Gianna and Ezio both look at me sympathetically.
My stomach turns over at how easily the story slips out, how quickly Vincent has sanitized everything and turned it into a pretty picture for his parents. Gone is my shoplifting and desperation, my lack of experience and culture, the country mouse-turned-princess. Gone are my doubts and pleas to go to school, my acceptance, and Vincent’s refusal to allow me. Instead, he’s the gallant lover, and I’m the dutiful daughter. Every ugly thing about our relationship has been swept under the rug as easily as if it never happened.
“Let me see your ring, darling,” Gianna says, leaning forward. “Did you pick it out yourself?” she asks, looking over at her son.
“I did, with a little help from my jeweler,” Vincent says with pride. I obediently hold out my left hand, and Gianna purses her lips as she looks at the large diamond flanked with side stones on the delicate pave band. She takes my hand in hers, which is cool and soft and turns the ring from side to side to catch the light.
“Well, it’s a bit gaudy,” she says finally, releasing my hand and sitting back in her chair. “But I suppose that’s what girls these days like.” Her expression is faintly disapproving as she watches me pull my hand back and bite my lower lip nervously. “I’m sure it was very expensive.” She looks at me pointedly.
Vincent takes my hand then, more gently this time. “I’m very happy with my choice, Mother,” he says firmly. I glance at him, shocked that he’s speaking up for me. “You should have seen her when I told her that you were sick,” he continues. “She got on the plane with me without a question to come see you and was nothing but supportive, even though it was all very last minute.”
“Well, what else should a wife-to-be do when her future mother-in-law is ill?” Gianna says with that same, slight frown.
“Except you weren’t ill at all,” Ezio points out then, dryly, and Gianna shoots her husband a glare.
“What about your parents, Rain?” she asks quickly, changing the subject. “How are they? Vincent mentioned a family illness. And your sister is here with you?”
Again, Vincent speaks up before I can say anything. “Rain’s father has cancer,” he says calmly. “It’s advanced, but the prognosis is goo
d, currently. I’ve been doing what I can to see that he has the best oncologists caring for him. Rain’s mother is with him, so we’re keeping Erin with us for the time being, just to make things easier.”
“So your mother knows how to be a supportive wife then,” Gianna says approvingly. “I hope she’s taught you well. And that’s very kind of you, Vincent, to take in your future sister-in-law that way.”
I hate that she’s made Erin sound like some kind of charity case. But I know better than to show it.
“Well then,” Gianna says decisively, straightening up in her chair. “If you’re settled on this engagement, Vincent, then I know you’ll have what you want.” She looks at me as she says it, and another chill runs down my spine. I know now that Vincent gets what he wants, no matter what.
And it seems that he’s inherited that particular trait from his mother.
17
Zach
For the first time in my life, I’m in first class on an airplane.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the Bureau was able to come through and get me a passport under “Chase West” to fly to Italy. They got me everything else—a driver’s license, a social security card, a birth certificate for someone who was never even born, for fuck’s sake. Everything I would need to live and work and pass any inspection my employers or anyone associated with them might try to do.
Sonya is sitting next to me under a cashmere blanket, the most comfortably dressed I’ve ever seen her, in designer leggings and a long silk shirt. She’s engrossed in a book, some crime thriller by an author I don’t recognize. Occasionally she pauses to take a sip of champagne out of the glass next to her. None of this is extravagant or even exciting to her.
But here I am, in first class on an international flight, with a gorgeous woman casually sitting next to me. My “girlfriend” who seems genuinely worried about her family, and it reminds me again that she’s a real person, not just a job. The thought sort of turns my stomach.
“So, what’s Italy like? The closest I’ve been is Gino’s pizza.” I laugh, a small, self-deprecating smile on my face.
Sonya looks up at me, setting her book down onto her lap, and when she smiles at me, I can see that it’s genuine. It lights up her whole face, makes her look younger, less intimidating.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the world,” she says softly. “I loved growing up there.” She leans back in her seat, her eyes getting a faraway look in them. “My aunt and uncle have property out in the countryside of Tuscany,” she says, running her finger around the rim of her champagne glass. “There was a huge vineyard, and I used to run through it with my friends and get lost in the rows—we’d spend hours out there until we were sunburned, and my aunt would yell at us for ruining our skin.” She laughs.
I can’t help but smile. “It looks like you made it out okay,” I say with a grin, letting my eyes drift over her face and the exposed flesh at her neckline.
“A good cosmetic dermatologist does wonders,” Sonya says with a laugh. “But I never thought about things like that back then. Everything was so…simple. There was this huge pond, far out on the property, and we’d go swimming there in the summer after we were dusty and sweaty from running through the vineyard. Sometimes my uncle would take me fishing there. We never caught anything,” she says, laughing again, and I see her eyes brighten as she talks about it. “But he would always tell me about the huge fish that he caught, and if I kept at it, one day I would catch one too. I’m sure it was all a story, of course, but I loved hearing it. My uncle is larger than life to me. My aunt wanted to get married, stay in Italy, raise a family close by—she meant well, but she wanted an ordinary life for me. My uncle made me believe that I could be more than that.”
The flight attendant appears at my elbow, leaning forward to ask if we need anything else.
“More champagne,” Sonya says pleasantly, and I decide to take a chance on the conversation since Sonya is in a reminiscing and sharing mood.
“What about the cousin you mentioned?” I ask casually. “Will things be okay in Italy between the two of you? You mentioned there was animosity there. Do you think he’ll put it aside, under the circumstances?”
She rolls her eyes, and I think for a moment that she’s not going to answer. But finally, she shrugs. “I hope so. I would hope, given that his mother is sick, that he wouldn’t use this as a time to dig up old grudges. But who knows. He’s…mercurial.”
“How long has it been since you’ve talked?” I ask gently, trying to sound like a concerned boyfriend and not an agent interrogating her. It’s easier than it should be, and I remind myself that I can’t let myself be sucked in, no matter how vulnerable Sonya is right now. She’s still a part of a major criminal organization—a woman who looked on as I shoved a knife in a guy’s flesh without flinching. I haven’t seen that side of her since, but it’s there behind the thick eyelashes and sparkling eyes.
“Three years,” she says with a sigh after the attendant brings her a fresh glass of champagne and promptly disappears. “We communicate via third parties for business. It’s easier that way. No chance of someone saying something they shouldn’t and screwing things up.”
I start to ask her another question, but she finishes off the glass and sets it aside, leaning over to lay her head on my shoulder. Her hair spills over my shoulder and chest in thick, fragrant dark waves, and I resist the urge to reach out and stroke it reassuringly.
“I want to take a nap,” she says. “I don’t know how well I’ll be able to sleep once we get there.”
I oblige, letting her stay there as her eyes drift closed, and I don’t ask any more questions. But my mind is racing, my thoughts going a mile a minute. I’m trying to fit it all together, all the little bits and pieces of information that Sonya has unwittingly dropped. I know that her uncle must be a part of all this, and I think of how she described him as larger than life, how she looked up to him. He must be the reason she’s involved in all this. I wonder about Vincent too—if he’s jealous of her, or if he hates that his father has invested so much into a niece. Will the whole family be there? I think. How many of them are included in this? I could have the entire goddamn organization in one house, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with that. This trip is a diversion from the plan, something that I don’t even think the agency could have seen coming. We’re improvising now, and that’s always far, far more dangerous.
“Chase, get a drink,” Sonya says sleepily, cutting through my thoughts. “I know you’re nervous about flying, but I can practically hear you thinking.”
I let out a breath, trying to relax and thankful that she’s chalking my nervous energy up to flight anxiety. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I tell her, and when the flight attendant walks by, I order a cognac—a much better shelf than I could ever have afforded on my own. I have to admit, the perks of this aren’t bad.
The cognac warms me all the way through, and it’s not long before I feel myself getting sleepy, too. I think of what Sonya said about not sleeping well in Italy, and I have a feeling it’ll be much the same for me. Might as well get some rest while I can. I close my eyes and wait for sleep.
The next thing I know, I’m on a yacht, standing on the deck in nothing but my swim trunks with the bluest, most gorgeous water I’ve ever seen stretching out all around me. The sun is beating down on my bare shoulders, but it feels good—warm and soothing. Italy really is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, I think, my thoughts echoing Sonya’s words from earlier. I feel as if I can’t ever take it all in, as if I’ll never be anywhere as beautiful as this ever again.
I can see the beach in the distance, a long strip of shimmering white sand, and then I catch a glimpse of a figure standing, looking out over the water.
She looks familiar, I think, but I can’t quite place who it could be.
The yacht moves closer, drifting so smoothly through the water that I barely even feel it. Then, I can finally see who it i
s.
Rain!
What the hell is she doing here?!
I run to the railing, straining my eyes to see her, wanting to see how she looks after all this time, how she’s changed.
But the Rain I see is the girl I loved in high school—tall and thin, her long blonde hair spilling down her back. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a tank top with my jacket tied around her waist, her face angular, sharp cheekbones jutting out, and her blue eyes huge and pleading.
She needs me! I think frantically and call out to her, not caring if Sonya hears me. Not caring if anyone does.
“Rain!” I shout. “Rain!! I’m here, Rain. I’ll come get you! You’re safe!”
She smiles at me, the wide, brilliant smile I know so well. It’s the smile I saw on her face that last day, when I told her I was getting my GED, that I had a job…that I loved her. That I was going to be the man she needed, for her—for us. I won’t ever forget that smile because at that moment, she was mine.
We had a future. And it made her happy.
“Rain!” I call out again. She walks to the edge of the beach, the water lapping at her toes as she leans forward. Her lips make the shape of my name. Not Chase, but Zach.
A loud, explosive sound startles me, making me nearly jump out of my skin, and when I look up, I see that the sky has changed. The blue is a dark grey now, thunderclouds gathering in a thick layer that obscures the sunlight, casting a shadowy pall over everything. The thunder rumbles again, loud and ominous, and just as a fork of lightning splits the sky, sheets of rain begin to fall.
I’ve never seen a storm like this. On the beach, the trees are bending in the winds, the smooth, glassy blue water giving way to choppy black waves that slap against the yacht angrily, rocking it from side to side.
I grab the rail, my feet unsteady on the deck, and when I look up at the beach again, I can’t see Rain anymore. I look wildly up and down the treeline, but I can’t see where she’s gone. It’s as if she’s vanished, obscured by the waving trees and sheets of heavy, blinding rain.
