Why didn’t he say anything?
Is he letting me go, or is there something else at play?
I’m truly lost.
Although I want to look deeper into his decision, with the driver preoccupied with playing tourist guide, now could be my only chance to escape.
After exiting the truck, I join the throng of workers covered with the grime of a long shift. The nightshift workers are clocking out for the day. My escape couldn’t have been better orchestrated.
As I approach the exit, I cast a final glance at the exporter. Although he acts as if he doesn’t notice me, his upturned lips betray him.
He’s trouble. I can feel it. But I’m not sticking around to find out what kind.
My legs feel as heavy as bricks, and they make the walk from the docks to my aunt’s place seem unusually long. They’re not weighed down because I’m unfit. This is the result of how I use my muscles during back-to-back orgasms.
Sweat beads on my nape when I finally reach my aunt’s front door, but the exertion of climbing five levels isn’t the cause. It’s from reliving every second in the lemon grove last night. It was blissfully serene.
The door creaks shut behind me when I let myself in, but thesilence in the living room makes butterflies take flight in my stomach. I dump my bag by the door and call out for Mom and my aunt. A knot twists low in my stomach when I don’t get an answer. I don’t expect a reply from my aunt. I didn’t see her at the docks, but I was too busy blending in to search for her. She’s normally at work at this time of the day. But Mom? I anticipated a reply from her.
Dread runs down my spine when I enter the bedroom and find Mom’s bed vacant. She wouldn’t have gone out. She can’t. Most days, she can barely make it from the bed to the living room unaided.
I check the kitchen, the bathroom, and even the miniature balcony. The apartment’s tiny footprint allows for a quick search, but each empty room intensifies my fear.
My mother is nowhere to be seen.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, place the battery back in, and then check for any missed calls. The screen is blank. I give myself thirty seconds to panic before I force myself to think logically.
If Mom isn’t here, where else would she be?
The unwanted answer slowly sneaks up on me. Maybe something bad happened, and my aunt had to take my mom to the hospital. That’s probably why I didn’t see her at the docks. Again, I wasn’t looking, but my theory is the only one that makes sense.
I bolt for the exit as the panic curled around my throat chokes me.
As the door swings open, a shadow falls across the threshold, and I freeze. Giovanni’s impressive frame, bristling with anger, obstructs the only way out.
20
VALENTINA
The narrowed slit of Giovanni’s eyes can’t hide how stormy they are, and his jaw is set so rigidly I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked. He stands in the doorway, blocking my path, unmoving and unspeaking. He’s angry, there’s no doubting that, but a gentle softness also emanates from him. I might be mistaken, but it resembles relief.
His eyes remain on me as he takes out his phone and calls someone. “I’ve got her,” he states curtly. “Tell Matteo to send thanks to Nikolai. Our crew eventually would have spotted her walking home, but it was nice to have a heads-up of her last known location.”
Without saying goodbye, he disconnects his call, then steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a finality that makes my heart thud. Even though his composure screams for me to submit, I refuse to back down. My mother is God knows where, and unearthing her location trumps everything.
Lifting my chin, I align my eyes with Giovanni’s. I’m about to demand he step aside when he blindsides me by proving he can read me like no one else has.
“Your mother is fine.” His pressed lips don’t match the sympathyin his tone. “Well, as fine as her condition allows.” My spirit lifts considerably when he states, “And she’ll only improve now that I’ve enrolled her in the program Dr. Russo suggested.”
“What?” That’s it. That is all I can get out.
Giovanni’s angry mask briefly falters when he smirks at my bewilderment. “She’s being transported for treatment as we speak.”
His words echo in my head, crowding out everything else. The anxieties that have been gnawing at me for months loosen their clutch, freeing me to breathe in unriddled air, yet I still feel uneased.
“It’s too much.”
Giovanni doesn’t agree with me.
