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He’d glanced at me, and had seemed surprised. Following a flurry of conversation in Italian with much gesturing from the other guy, he’d finally seemed pacified and had left. Luca had driven us here.
I glance at the small, single-story cottage. It has white-washed walls and a fence around it. It’s no more than a cabin, really. In the distance, I can see the hills, but there is nothing else around the building on either side.
I follow him inside and he scans the space, then points me to one of the bedrooms at the end of the corridor. "That’s yours. Why don’t you shower and see if you can find some extra clothes in there, left by some of the other guests before us?” I glance at him and he shrugs. "May as well get comfortable; not sure how long we’re going to have to stay here."
I strip off my clothes and the knife—Michael’s knife that I had taken with me—falls to the ground. I stare at it and tears prick my eyes again. I pick up the knife, still in its sheath, press it to my cheek. The dark, edgy scent of him instantly fills my nostrils. My chest hurts and my heart, what’s left of it, feels like it’s going to burst.Oh, Mika, Mika, what have I done? Mika!Nothing I do will ever make up for what I did to you. How am I going to live with myself after what I did? How am I going to live without you, my darling? My one and only. My…other half. My soul.
My fingers tremble, the knife slips from my hold and I manage to catch it before it hits the floor. I straighten, place it on the small table near the window, then stagger to the bathroom. By the time I shower and change, my tears have dried up somewhat. There is a hollowness in my stomach and it’s not only from hunger.
That’s how it is…eh? Doesn’t matter that you have committed a heinous crime. Your body still needs sustenance to live, apparently. Live for what though? And for whom? A pressure builds again at the backs of my eyes and I swallow down the ball of emotion that has lodged in my throat. I walk into the kitchen to find Luca is heating up something in a saucepan.
He turns when I walk in, "It’s stew, the best I could do."
"It smells of…" I walk closer, then pause next to him and peek into the contents, "It has seafood?" I frown, "I’m allergic to it."
"Ah, well." He blows out a breath, "There should be some bread in the bread basket and cheese in the refrigerator."
"That works for me." I pull out the bread and cheese, and make myself a sandwich. By the time I sit down, he’s served himself a bowl of stew and poured us both coffee from themokacoffee maker he’d had going on the flame.
We tuck into our food, and when I am done, I lean back in the chair. "Any word on…"
He shakes his head, "I put out some feelers earlier, reached out to some old contacts who are in touch with the Cosa Nostra. They’ve heard nothing."
I frown, "But you dumped your phone—"
"I keep a few spare burners here."
"Right," I shuffle my feet, “so you were saying that they’ve heard nothing about Michael," I swallow. "Is that good or bad?"
He shakes his head, "I am not sure."
That familiar cold sensation stabs at my chest. My fingers tremble and I place my palms in my lap. "This doesn’t feel right." I mutter, "Shit, if something has happened to him, I… I…" I jump up and begin to pace, "maybe I should go back and make sure he’s okay. I’m his wife after all, aren’t I—"
"Do you think he’s going to see you in that role after everything that happened?"
My shoulders slump. "I guess not…but I wish I could do something. Why did I have to hit him that hard? Why did I have to panic? Why couldn’t I have just…pushed at him or something instead? Shit, this is not good. This is so not good." I wring my hands together in front of me, "There must be something I can do?"
"The best thing you can do is stay here, until things cool off."
I pause, turn to him, "Can I call my sister?"
He shakes his head, "It would be best not to."
"Maybe I could text her and let her know I am okay, just so she doesn’t worry."
"Can you put that off for a little while longer? It’s best for you not to communicate with anyone."
"You think Michael and your other brothers could track us?"
"They have access to some of the best hackers, so yeah, that would be correct." He places his spoon down in his bowl and leans back. "Thanks to me, the Sovrano clan is technologically the most advanced of all of the families."
"Why did you fall out with Michael?"
"Why didn’t I fall out with him?" He chuckles without humor, "From the time I was born, I’ve known that he was the older brother, the heir, the man who would one day be the head of the clan, the one slated to take over from the Don, when the time comes. It’s always been all about him… As long as I am in his shadow, I’ll never be able to come into my own."
"So, you saw me trying to leave, and seized the opportunity—" I scowl. "What were you doing at the boathouse anyway? I thought Michael asked everyone to leave."
"I don’t obey my brother in everything." He smirks.
