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“Not a word. What’s happened with Rocky?”
“It’s weird. Two days ago he just dropped me like a hot shit. Told me he had to go deal with something and walked out in the middle of our date. I haven’t heard a thing since. Do you think he’s having an affair?” She sounds nervous, like she’s been thinking about this for some time.
“I doubt it. He seemed really into you.”
“What’s going on then?”
“I don’t know. Hang on.” I look up in the sky. In the distance I can see a jet approaching the island. “There’s a plane coming into land. Hopefully it’s Vincenzo.”
“If it is, ask him about Rocky, would you?”
“Sure, let me know if you hear anything at your end.”
“Will do.”
I hang up just in time for a message to pop up on my phone. It’s from Vincenzo.
Plane coming for you. Go home.
That’s it. No please, no thank you, not even a hint about what’s going on with him. Just go home. I read it three times, getting angrier each time my eyes scan down the screen. That’s it then is it? Marriage over? Not even brave enough to do it in person?
I go back to the house and pack my bag. I leave the unfinished canvas behind but I do bring the paints with me. A memento of what might have been.
By the time I’m finished packing, I can hear a car in the distance. I look out of the window and it’s the jeep heading along the road toward the house. I get a fluttering feeling that it’s Vincenzo but it’s not. As it gets closer I see it’s a man I don’t recognize.
I head downstairs with my suitcase, walking outside in time for the jeep to come to a stop in front of me. “Ophelia?” the man asks as he climbs out.
“That’s me.”
“Great.”
He’s in his sixties, thinning hair, sunken cheekbones, looking a lot like he’s a candle melting in the heat. Sweat soaks his brow and he mops it with a silk handkerchief. “Angelo Felici,” he continues, holding a hand out toward me. “Consigliere to the Felici famiglia. Vincenzo may have mentioned me.”
My heart sinks to the bottom of my feet. “Oh my God. He’s dead isn’t he,” I say, my voice trembling.
“Who? Vincenzo? No, he’s fine, though it was a close run thing for a while. Why would you think he’s dead?”
“He told me that if anything happened to him, I was to find you. He left some money with you for me. I thought when you turned up here, it must mean something had happened to him.”
“It did but I’m not at liberty to discuss what. I’m here to collect you and bring you back to the States. Unfortunately Vincenzo is tied up with something at the moment so couldn’t fetch you himself. He sends his profuse apologies.”
“Profuse? Doesn’t sound like him.”
Angelo laughs. “I guess it doesn’t. I added the profuse but he is sorry. You ready to go?”
“Do we need to lock up or anything?”
“I have people on the plane who will take care of the security of the building. All you need to do is climb in and admire the scenery.”
He drives us to the airstrip, pointedly refusing to answer any of my questions about Vincenzo. All he’s willing to tell me is that something happened but he can’t say what. It’s infuriating.
The flight back is the same. He’s willing to talk to me about many things but not Vincenzo. We discuss the role of a consigliere, the history of the Felici famiglia, and then we move on to art.
Angelo talks about Tracy like she’s a member of the family, waxing lyrical about her early career, telling me several things I vow to remember to make sure I include in the book. “She was riddled with self doubt at first,” he tells me. “Burned the first dozen canvases she finished. Imagine how much they’d be worth if she kept them.”
I enjoy talking to him about Tracy Benn but my mind still wanders to Vincenzo. What is happening with him?
When we land, I’m driven home but not by Rocky. Angelo takes me all the way to my building. “Do you know where Rocky is?” I ask him, thinking how worried Cathy sounded on the phone.
