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“Is he gone again? I thought he was in his study meeting with his lawyer?”
“That’s this afternoon. He went to pay Rafa a visit this morning.”
“He’s visiting Rafa?”
She’s walking ahead of me but stops, turns to me and I see on her face that she is thinking she said too much.
“I don’t think he’d planned it, dear. Come on, let’s get you some breakfast.”
“I thought he was here,” I mutter, watching her walk ahead of me.
Does he lie so easily? Why didn’t he tell me he was going to see Rafa? Because I know what it’s about.
Me.
11
Stefan
Rafa seems surprised when he opens the door and finds me on his doorstep.
“Stef,” he starts. His gaze shifts over my shoulder momentarily. Has he always done that and I’m just realizing it? “What are you doing here?”
He’s barefoot and bare chested and when I step inside, he buttons the last of the buttons on the jeans he must have just pulled on.
“Dropping in,” I say, studying him, eyeing the tattoo over his heart. A symbol of his pledge. His fealty to my family.
He glances toward the bedroom door, seeming anxious.
“Bad time?” I ask.
“No. Of course not. Just have a girl in there,” he says. “Come in. Let me go tell her to have a shower and I’ll make coffee.” He closes the door and I walk through the open plan living area to the kitchen counter while he momentarily disappears into the bedroom. He’s back not two minutes later.
“Who is she?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “No one special.” He switches on a burner, fills the bottom of the small espresso pot with water and measures out espresso. He sets the pot over the flame and turns to look at me. “What’s up?”
“Does your dad get pissed when he sees that?” I gesture to his tattoo.
He touches the space over his heart, looks down at it. “I don’t show him. Easier that way.”
“But he knows it’s there. Does it piss him off?”
He shrugs a shoulder and busies himself getting two espresso cups. “Doesn’t matter, Stefan. I stand behind it.”
“Do you?”
He turns back to me, cocks his head to the side. “Something going on?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you took Gabriela to Taormina?”
He gives a short chuckle, like he was waiting for this. “I just felt sorry for her, that’s all.”
“And that you didn’t take soldiers?”
His jaw tightens.
The coffee pot steams and he switches off the burner then pours espresso into two cups. He hands me one and we sit at the counter.
“Any special reason you didn’t take soldiers?”
“It’s not a big deal, Stef. I didn’t think I’d need them.”
“Or you didn’t want your father to see Sabbioni soldiers in territory he thinks belongs to him?”
“It’s not like that. You know that.”
“Isn’t it?”
He sighs, drinks a sip of espresso, then touches his lip because the liquid is steaming hot.
“Sicily is yours. He knows that. He’s not stupid enough to try something like that. He’s your uncle, Stefan. He respects that. Respects you.”
“My aunt is dead. No reason for loyalty. And when she was alive it was a very fragile bond.”
“He just helped you find Gabriela, for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t help his enemy. He’d want to weaken you if he was your enemy.”
“Or maybe he set it all up to gain my trust.”’
“You’re not that stupid and trust doesn’t come that easy. He knows that.”
I sip my espresso. “How often do you see him?”
He shakes his head like he’s trying to remember, but I know him. Rafa doesn’t forget a thing. He’s just trying to figure out the best way to answer me.
I think about what I told Gabriela. About how that line between ally and enemy is constantly shifting.
But Rafa has been like a brother. It doesn’t apply to him.
Antonio was my brother, too. He was also my father’s son. He turned, didn’t he? No one is beyond reproach.
I need to remember that.
“He’s my family, Stefan.”
“So am I. And I’ve been more family to you than he ever was.”
“What do you want me to do? Cut off ties?”
“Thing is, I thought you already had.”
“That was a long time ago. After your father died—”
“Was murdered.”
“Was murdered, I wanted to have mine back. You can understand that, surely?”
“I can understand that, but what I don’t understand is why I’m finding out through my fiancée. Why you asked her to lie to me about it.”
“I didn’t ask her to lie.”
“Omission is a lie.”
He opens his mouth, closes it and runs a hand through his hair. “I knew you’d be pissed. She could have gotten hurt.”
“She did. Two cars sideswiped you and you lied about that too.”
“For the same reason. I lied for the same fucking reason.”
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know. I’d never seen them before. But one of them was at the house. In Pentedattilo.”
I don’t expect him to tell me that, but then again, he has more to gain than lose by offering me that small piece of information.
