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I’m sure she’s worried about her son. I’m worried too. “I don’t know what’s going on, Alma. But I agree, it’s big.”
A dozen soldiers.I texted Antonio for tenth time, after she told me:I need to know you’re alive. Please.
There was no response.Nothing.So I texted Cristiano, then Lucas, and then Cristiano again. It was hours later when Cristiano decided to show some mercy:If something happens to Antonio, you’ll be the first to know.
After Lucas and you.It wasn’t much, but I took it to mean that Antonio was still breathing. I held the hope close, until the sun set over Porto.
Now, the hope has become wispy shreds of nothing, disappearing like snowflakes in the warm air. I can’t catch a single one to hold onto. Even a sky teeming with brilliant stars can’t sustain my faith.
Alvarez knows something.He must.
I go to the kitchen and make him a generous plate from the platter of food Alma left.
“Thank you,senhora,” he says politely, when I try to hand him the plate, “but I had my meal before Alma went home.”
So much for that idea. “I’ll cover it and save it for you. If you get hungry, help yourself.”
He nods.
I had hoped to bribe him into telling me something, or to at least distract him enough with a tasty dinner that he might slip. But since subterfuge is not happening, I’ll be direct. Although I’m sure it won’t get me anything more than the last time I asked. “Have you heard from Antonio?”
“No,senhora. He’s been gone two days. You have not heard from your husband?”
His tone makes me bristle.No, I have not heard from my husband who has been gone two days. Thanks for rubbing it in.
“I understand that there’s heightened security in the building and outside the apartment. Under these circumstances, I think there’s a better chance that you’ll have heard something from Antonio than that I would have.”
He shrugs. “I know nothing about what’s going on outside the apartment. I’m wearing the same blinders as you.” His mouth twists into an ugly snarl.
He’s telling the truth.He’s disgusted, almost insulted. I’m sure for a man like Alvarez, who is a top lieutenant, being kept in the dark,like a woman, is hard to swallow. This isn’t the first bitter pill that Alvarez has had to swallow recently, either. He was grumpier than usual when Antonio had Santi teach me how to use a gun. I have no idea whether he wanted to be the one to show me the ropes, but he wasn’t happy.
These small slights are not uncommon. My father never coddled his guards either. But I do feel a bit of empathy for this man, who risks his life to protect me.
“Antonio has tremendous confidence in you. Otherwise, he would have never assigned you to my protection.”
“You are his most precious possession. That is true.”
“I like to think of myself as a wife, not a possession. But you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have his trust.”
“But it will never be the same kind of confidence he has in Cristiano and Lucas.”
If that’s your standard, you’ll be sorely disappointed.“He’s known Cristiano and Lucas since they were boys, playing war games in the vineyards. If it makes you feel any better, I doubt he’ll ever trust me as much as he trusts them.”
He glances warily at me. Alvarez thinks that women shouldn’t be trusted, certainly not in the way a man would trust his soldiers. He’s smart enough not to say it, but I have no doubt it’s what he’s thinking.
“If you hear anything, please let me know.”
He nods curtly. “Perhaps you’ll do the same.” His brow is knit tightly, and he doesn’t look directly at me while he speaks. It cost him to say it—to even think I might have some news before him.
“Of course,” I say softly. “Good night.”
65
ANTONIO
After more than two full days of delivering calculated pain, I’ve heard enough from Tomas. I’m out of patience.
His father, along with mine, murdered Vera. Tomas overheard them planning.And he did nothing to warn her.I almost ended him then. The bastard doesn’t know why they killed his mother, or what they did with her body. After so many years, it almost doesn’t matter. While it won’t bring much solace, it will give Rafael and my mother a bit of closure.
