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“Dear, the other day when you stormed out of the kitchen after talking with Mother, what was that about? What had you so upset?”
Celestina looked out over the balcony, the sun dipping behind a cloud and momentarily offering some unexpected shade. She didn’t want to answer him because her answer wouldn’t be what he expected. She’d remained silent time and time again for fear of tilting the delicate balance of being Francesco’s wife and staying in her place. Celestina contemplated doing more of the same, lying and taking down, respecting her mother-in-law, and just remaining silent about the truth. But this time, Celestina decided that she couldn’t, that she would take the chance of tipping the scale in her own damn direction.
“I asked your mother whether she knew where Valentina was. She claimed she didn’t know. I didn’t believe her then, and I don’t believe her now.”
Francesco was startled by Celestina’s response. It was completely unexpected. He scrambled to figure out how to respond. But she glared at him, and Francesco felt the need to turn his head away from her gaze as he thought about what he was going to say. Yet, Celestina gained courage in her answer. She decided to press even further despite the cost.
“Do you know where my daughter is, Francesco?”
She stared at him even though his face was turned. Celestina felt emboldened by the position she took, even if it would cost her dearly in the end.
“Francesco,” she reached out and touched him firmly. “Did you hear what I asked? Or are you avoiding my question,” Celestina continued, “like your mother?” She hissed.
He turned his attention back to her.
“Let’s change the subject.”
“Change the subject?” Francesco uttered. “That’s exactly what your mother suggested. That’s the reason I stormed out of the kitchen that day you mentioned. Shall I storm off the balcony as well?”
“No, love. You don’t have to storm off,” Francesco replied. He lifted his frame from the seat and stood up. “I’ll leave.”
Celestina was appalled by his answer, but she was also aggravated by it. Celestina couldn’t even find the words to say to compel Francesco to stay. She was too flabbergasted. She watched as her husband strolled to the doorway and left.
Francesco was troubled by his wife's question, but he couldn’t focus on that. He needed to speak with his mother. They had business to attend to. Francesco found his mother sitting in the library. He found a seat next to her and sat down.
“Where are we with ensuring our bank accounts are protected, the ones that are affiliated with the Ricci’s?” Costanza asked, falling right into business.
But she found her son to be focused on something other than the question she raised. Costanza waited a moment to see if Francesco’s thoughts would catch up with her question. When it didn’t, and he failed to reply, Costanza asked him what was bothering him.
“Nothing I care to talk about,” Francesco answered.
“You might not want to talk about it, but it is imperative, son,” Costanza replied. “The more I try to press you on business, the more blank stares I will get in return. You’re not focused on the matters at hand. I want to know why?”
“Because, mother, Celestina asked where her daughter was.”
“She’s still asking?” Costanza asked. She was sure her lack of response to Celestina was enough for her to let it go. Sure, she might have been frustrated, but Costanza was assured that Celestina would let it trouble her for a while and then let it go. Clearly, she had not.
“Yes, and she is pressing me for answers.”
“Let her press,” Costanza said dismissively. “She will eventually let it go out of frustration.”
“But she won’t let it go, mother. She won’t.”
She’ll have to,” Costanza replied. “You’ll make sure of that.”
Chapter Eighteen
He ruminated over what his brother reported, but still, Massimo was not convinced. He figured Ricardo would say anything, anything that could potentially save his life. So, no, Massimo didn’t trust it. Despite Giuseppe’s reassurances, Massimo didn’t trust what Ricardo said to him. He had to find out for himself.
Massimo didn’t bother calling to confirm that Ricardo was still there. He’d rather take his chances. He was all consumed, envisioning what he would do if he determined that Ricardo had indeed lied, which is what he fully suspected. Massimo pulled into the hospital parking lot and pulled his truck right in front of the building. He wasn’t concerned with his truck not being there when he returned. Privilege said he didn’t have to be.
After he parked and got out, Massimo strolled into the front of the hospital and made his way to the reception desk.
“What room is Mr. Adele in?” Massimo asked.
“Mr. Adele?” The receptionist repeated. “First name, please?”
“Ricardo. Should I spell it for you?”
