Page 90 of Bene

Covered with a beige sheet, rectangular in shape, and at least ten feet tall and wide, they had it sitting on a rolling platform dolly to move it while the men held it on both ends to keep it steady.

“Is that the surprise Dad has for Ma?” Bene asked.

“Think so,” Beni responded.

“What is this?” his mother asked, moving closer.

“A surprise—or an updated edition, rather,” his father replied.

Cara beamed.

His father grinned. “You ready?”

“I would love to know where you hid it.”

“I have my ways.”

“Show me, Gian.”

That was all his father needed before he pulled the sheet away from the item, letting the fabric fall to a heap on the floor in front of a beautiful painting. A portrait that looked familiar in the way that the woman sitting on her throne in a forest surrounded by trees was the very same as the one as the one in the corridor that dominated the space compared to the others of their family. Only this one was different—now, all his brothers were older, young men or near to their current ages—but their mother stayed the same.

Still beautiful in her gown.

Still surrounded by life and love.

Forever the Guzzi queen.

“Oh, Gian,” Cara whispered, “it’s beautiful.”

Despite her low tone, the room had grown so quiet that everyone heard her just fine. All over again the applause started from the guests. Bene, his twin, and August joined in. He looked around the room to find Vanna once more, ready to join her.

Problem was …

She was gone.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” she whispered.

He came to a stop in front of the chair she sat in, twisting her phone around repeatedly in her hands. Bene had no clue how Vanna found herself on the third floor of the mansion’s largest wing, never mind why she sat outside his father’s office, but at least he found her.

The guests had started to disperse before he finally was able to pull way from his twin, and the rest of his family. It seemed like once his father showed off the portrait, everybody and their mother suddenly wanted a damn picture with everyone and it, too. And then each of the boys with the painting, and then all the boys that were there together with the painting.

It didn’t end.

Vanna wasn’t far from his mind, though.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he tried to ignore the fact that she wouldn’t look up at him. Not that she needed to because he could still see that sadness in her pretty, downcast features. Something that killed him with its silence, yet its presence still felt oh, so heavy.

But why?

That was the better question.

What made her sad?

If she told him …

Well, he’d kill it.