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For a man about to be charged with two murders, he seemed remarkably calm on the phone.
He confessed.
He didn’t have to. He’s no idea if I’m going to go back or not but he did it anyway. He did that for me. I get filled with a strange feeling that makes my insides churn. I feel something. It isn’t butterflies. It’s our baby. A definite kick.
Do I go or stay? I was just starting to get over him. I was getting used to the idea of bringing up the baby by myself.
Our baby.
Do I stay here or go back to him?
Is he lying or telling the truth?
The real question is do I want to believe him?
I’m at the airport an hour later. The doctor turned up and simply handed me a signed form along with the tickets. “Aren’t you going to examine me?” I asked him.
He smiled. “Don Ricardo sends his regards,” he said in perfect English before seeing himself out.
I want to believe him. I know that. Even if he turns out to be lying, at least I’ll know.
He’s telling the truth about one thing. Don Colombo is dead. Alessandro is dead. The threat to me and my family is no more. We’re safe. Our unborn baby is safe. That’s no small thing.
Once I’m in the air, a strange sense of unreality descends on me. I don’t want to sleep. If I close my eyes, I have a horrible feeling I’ll wake up back in Rome with no phone call, and no proof of anything other than the fact I’m alone again.
I stay awake the entire flight. I try to watch a movie but that just reminds me of playing Moviedle with Ricardo so I end up reading instead. It’s a trashy romance but at least it helps me to escape for a few hours.
By the time I read the epilogue I wonder what the end of my own story is going to be. Do I get a happy ending or not?
I have to believe. What’s the point otherwise? I’m not going to hide myself away anymore. I’m not going to hide my feelings away either. I’m going to lay my cards on the table, tell him I love him, see how he responds.
One question continues to niggle at me all the way until the airplane comes in to land. What if he goes to prison for all this? Can I let him take the blame for the death of Alessandro Colombo?
It was a noble thing he did and that’s what’s most confusing about all of this. He’s a mafia Don, a criminal, and yet he did something pure and good for me. Took the blame for the murder I carried out. Told the cops he’d done it.
I get a cab out from the airport to his place. When the cabbie hears the destination, he refuses payment, tells me Don Ricardo has been very good to the taxi drivers’ union for years. Bids me farewell at the gates.
Two men greet me, carrying my bags up to the house. I thank them and walk slowly to the open door. I head inside and I can hear his voice. He’s on the phone to someone, talking figures.
It’s like he can sense I’m here. The moment I set foot inside, he ends his calls, stepping out into the hallway from his study, looking me up and down, fixing his eyes on my bump. “You’re bigger than when I last saw you,” he says.
“Top tip, don’t comment on a girl’s weight.”
“You’re supposed to be in Italy. Thought you weren’t coming.”
“You’re supposed to be recovering from a coma.”
“I have a lot of things that require my attention.”
“You better get on with it, then.”
He frowns, then smiles. “I can spare a short while for my wife.” He takes a few steps my way. “How was your flight?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be locked up?”
“What for?”
“You confessed to a double murder. It was in the papers and everything.”
