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“She ran into her art room a few minutes after the rain started. She seemed a little distraught.”
Rain?
I walk over to the window in Topher’s condo, pulling the blinds aside. When I walked in here, it was barely raining. A little drizzle. But it’s starting to look like a full-blown storm out there. I rub the back of my neck, wondering why that would affect Daniella.
“Try and knock and see if she’ll come out,” I say to the woman on the other line.
I hear rustling and the sound of knocking.
“Miss Daniella?” she calls. There’s no reply, complete silence. “She’s not answering sir. And the door’s locked.”
My breath comes out in a huff. “I’m on my way,” I tell her before hanging up.
I turn to my brother, who’s staring at me curiously.
“What?” I question.
“Nothing,” he replies, looking away. “You’ve got somewhere to be,fratello. So go.”
I nod, heading for the front door. But Topher’s words before I leave stop me in my tracks.
“And Christian? Don’t forget what I said about it being okay to fuck up once in a while.”
“I’m not taking your dumb Hallmark Channel advice,” I tell him, stepping out of the house and heading to my car.
I make the thirty-minute drive home in twenty, because the more time I spend away from Daniella, the more I worry and wonder about what could be wrong with her. It could be nothing, this could just be her needing some space and the staff blowing it out of proportion but I don’t mind seeing her a little early.
The rain is still pouring by the time I pull up to the driveway. Lightning flashes on the horizon, quickly followed by loud thunder. I’m soaked from the moment I step out of the car. I toss the car keys to one of the capos guarding the house before rushing in. The head of staff immediately walks up to me.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Where is she?” I question, my voice harsher than necessary.
I’m already on edge. She gestures up the stairs toward the art room and hands me a key. I’m guessing it’s the master key to unlock the room. Upon arrival, I hesitate at the door. She once said she didn’t like anyone seeing her paintings. And I would really hate to intrude on something that’s might be special to her.
I knock on the door but she doesn’t answer. I know again, still nothing. I unlock the door and step in. I don’t see her immediately. Instead my eyes roam the various paintings lining the walls. And then land on the one right in the middle. Something about the painting chills me to my core. It’s big, larger than life. The paint is thick and textured on the canvas, nearly three-dimensional. The strokers are rough and visible. It’s genius. But that’s not what stalls my footsteps.
Daniella’s in the painting. She painted herself standing in the middle of a busy road. Her face is turned only slightly in the painting, so I only get to see half of her expression. But her eyes are wide and terrified as she looks at something. Something that’s coming right at her, something fast approaching. A cyclone. And even worse than the wide-eyed terrified expression on her face, there’s something else that scares me. The satisfaction. Like a part of her feels like she deserves it. The painting almost feels alive.
Some rustling draws my attention and I turn just as Daniella gets to her feet. She was lying on the couch I hadn’t even realized was in here. At first glance, she looks perfectly fine, but then I take in the tremors going up her arms. And how pale her face is, and I clench my jaw. I take slow steps toward her while she watches me with a glare.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“You shouldn’t be in here.” Her voice shakes on the last word.
When I reach her, I slowly guide her down to the couch. She flinches when I touch her.
“Your hand is cold,” Daniella whispers.
I sigh, taking off my jacket and starting to undress, removing my wet clothes as well. Daniella’s eyes nearly pop out of her sockets.
“What are you doing?”
My eyes meet hers. “I can’t stay in wet clothes forever,tesoro,” I say, taking a seat on the couch.
I’m still wearing my pants, so she can stop looking at me like I just stripped naked. After a sigh of her own, she lowers herself into the couch beside me. I don’t touch her. The two of us stare at nothing for a little while. Well, I’m still staring at the painting in the middle of the room. There are others here, beautifully well-done paintings, but none of them tug at me the way that one does.
“Stop staring at it,” Daniella snaps, interrupting my thoughts.
