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Rather than go back through the house and exit through the front door, I take the door leading from the kitchen out to the pool. That’s where I want to be. Sitting by the water in a new suit, reading a book, sipping iced tea. But this isn’t a vacation. And I don’t have a bathing suit.
It’s beautiful, though. I can’t pretend otherwise. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in another world. There are trees everywhere, colorful flowers, little paths winding around the grounds. I take one of them and stumble over a small stream and the footbridge that spans it. The sound of trickling water is peaceful. I could bring a blanket and a book out here and be satisfied for hours.
Somebody put a lot of time and love into this. Not Luca, that’s for sure. Maybe his parents. I haven’t seen a sign of them anywhere, but it’s obvious they must’ve lived here. I can imagine this huge house and the surrounding grounds needing a team of people to work on upkeep. I don’t see any of them around now—just the guards, of course, whose gaze I’m always aware of. I’m sure they’re watching from inside, behind the windows. How many of them are there? I want to look over my shoulder but don’t want to give anybody the satisfaction, either.
Instead, I follow another gravel footpath, glad for the shade from the trees. It’s barely nine in the morning but the sun’s already beating down. The air conditioner at my apartment is almost new, a window unit I bought after saving up all winter. I hope Deanna is comfortable. I wonder when I’ll be able to call her again. Maybe I should try this afternoon. One of the upstairs rooms is bound to have a phone, right?
I stop short when a knee-high iron fence appears seemingly out of nowhere. My arms pinwheel as I fight to keep from falling over and impaling myself on one of the pointed rails. Once I catch myself—and my breath—I take a look at what’s in front of me.
“Holy crap.” It’s barely more than a whisper, and not only because I’m surprised. The sight of headstones arranged inside the fence’s perimeter leaves me wanting to be respectful of the dead.
I would never have guessed this was here, under the shade of sprawling trees whose crisscrossing branches provide almost a roof over the graves. Following the fence, I round a corner, then come to an opening. I guess this is the entrance.
Now I can’t help glancing up at the darkened windows. It doesn’t feel quite right to enter the graveyard, even if my curiosity makes it impossible to stay out. I don’t mean any disrespect. If anything, there are weeds growing around a few of the stones. For some reason I want to pull them and tidy up. What a strange impulse.
But I follow it anyway, stepping carefully between the smallest stones. Baby Bruno. There’s three of them, all with the same name carved. No dates. The stones are smooth, worn down by time, so I’m guessing they’ve been here for a while. “Poor babies,” I whisper, pulling weeds as carefully as I can. Poor mama, too, whoever she was.
There are other stones a little farther back. Isabella, who lived from 1901 to 1982. Frederico, her husband, who died only three weeks after she did. A broken heart? I wonder who they were to Luca. Grandparents? No, probably great-grandparents. And here they are, buried on family land. I never guessed the Bruno family was here so long. No wonder Luca’s still living here, even if he’s virtually alone.
I wander a little more once the weeds are cleared. Sophia. Lorenzo. Alessandro. Agnesa. So many lives.
There’s no missing the three newest stones near the center of the fenced-off space. They look so fresh and new compared to the others, the names clear and crisp. Emilia. Dominic. Serafina. A little quick math tells me Emilia and Dominic were the parents, while Serafina must’ve been their daughter.
And oh, my God. They all died on the same day. Luca’s family? I go back to the largest headstone. Dominic. The name tugs at the back of my mind. Dominic Bruno. He was… wait, that means…
“Hey! You!”
I spin around at the shouting. Damn it, I shouldn’t have come in here. Luca is raving and screaming, bouncing back and forth between English and Italian as he storms his way to where I’m now cowering in fear. I don’t know any Italian, but something tells me what he’s saying isn’t complimentary.
My eyes dart around and I realize I’m looking for a weapon. As if I could defend myself. Like picking up a weapon against him, especially when he’s in this mood, would be anything less than suicide.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Who told you you could be here? What, did you get lost?” He disappears behind a cluster of tall topiaries, then appears again on the gravel path leading my way.
And I realize I’m not dealing with Luca at all. Just somebody who looks a hell of a lot like him, though unlike Luca he’s wearing khakis and a white polo shirt. A pair of aviators covers his eyes, but there’s no mistaking the flush on his already tanned face. He’s enraged.
“Get out of there. Now!” When I don’t move fast enough, he steps over the fence and tramples across the graves while I try to back away. He grabs my arm and yanks me close, his teeth bared in a snarl. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Who are you? Why are you here?”
Before I can answer a single question or even catch my breath, he’s pulling me away from the graves, down the path, ranting in Italian the whole time. “I can explain,” I attempt, but he’s not listening. All I see is the back of his head, his dark hair shining in the sun, as he leads me up to the house.
By the time we reach Luca’s study, I’m sure I’ll have bruises encircling my bicep. “Let go of me,” I finally grunt before pulling myself free and staggering further into the room, toward Luca’s desk.
He hasn’t moved—in fact, he looks like he’s seen a ghost, sitting there with his mouth hanging partway open. “What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath.
“I found this one out in the graveyard, sneaking around. What, are you allowing your whores free run of the grounds now?”
“I was only walking around. And pulling weeds,” I add, even though I know how pathetic it sounds. Rubbing my arm, I glare at him. “You didn’t need to hurt me.”
He laughs. “Oh, you’re a gardener? Pulling weeds? How cute.”
“Enough.” Luca lets out a deep sigh as he stands. “Delilah, meet my brother, Vincent. Vincent… what the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter Thirteen - Luca
I don’t know what to deal with first.
“What were you doing in the graveyard?” I ask Delilah, since it’s the lowest hanging fruit and I would very much like to know.
“I was taking a walk around the grounds after eating breakfast. You said I could.” She lifts that defiant chin of hers and I wish we were alone, or at least in front of anybody but my younger brother. Even now, she sends desire rolling through me.
