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“They’re still giving you trouble?”
“Yeah, they’re the Molinaros of Chicago,” he says.
“Molinaro is no longer a problem. His line is all but wiped out.”
“Good, one less scumbag. Did you know Molinaro’s oldest daughter is married to Romero’s son?
“Yeah, papa told me years ago. Want my help to get rid of them for good? I’m in the mood to declutter. I’ve got no one left in Sicily to dispose of.”
Maximo lets out a dark laugh. “Yes, word thatil leonehas done some housekeeping has spread around the world. You hold all the power now.”
“It was overdue. Should have done this years ago when I took over.” I take a sip of my drink, letting the Scotch burn in my throat. “So how about it? Until I get a lead on Ella, I’ve got time to go hunting.”
Maximo’s eyes gleam in the dark, and we clink glasses. “To a successful hunt.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ella
It’stheendofour second week at‘Mountain Breath’already.
We easily slotted into the daily rhythm here. Miriam adopted me as her personal assistant, and we’ve been busy organizing her myriad of winter projects. We work well together, planning everything out to ensure all runs smoothly during the lock down months.
I think it’s only because I’m pregnant that I’m not sent outside with the others.
Temperatures continue to drop, signaling that winter is swiftly approaching.
If ever I get the chance to work outdoors, everyone makes sure I don’t carry anything heavy and only get the easy jobs. It’s sweet and annoying at the same time.
I’m pregnant and not an invalid.
Tara, the naturopath, has taken me aside a few times to give me herbs and vitamins for peanut. And as Miriam predicted, she got hold of a few midwifery books. She studies them every night. I like her.
Should I still be here in May, I have no doubt Tara will be able to deliver this baby. Interestingly, Claudette often sits down with her to talk over the material.
Miriam and I are in her office, sorting through paperwork. We’ve just finished a yoga and meditation session and are waiting for the breakfast crew to finish cooking.
“How come you don’t have any dogs?” I ask. “I would have thought this place calls for hunting dogs or therapy dogs. They’re so good for people with depression and anxiety.”
Miriam looks up from the computer. “Ian is allergic to dog hair. He breaks out in hives, and depending on the breed, even has trouble breathing.”
“Oh no! That would just about kill me. I love dogs. Before my life turned upside down, I was a dog trainer for the blind. It was the best job!”
I wonder how the dogs I was training in Dublin are doing. Have they been paired with their humans yet?
And what about Oreo, Milk and Brownie? They would have grown so much. My heart pangs. The thought of my puppies inevitably leads to memories of Tiero.
Where is he now?
“Breakfast!” a voice booms, followed by a resounding gong outside. It’s akin to the ones found in Tibetan monasteries, and ringing it is enormous fun.
“Perfect timing,” Miriam mutters. “It’s eight on the dot.”
And people are hungry. Laughter and the stomping of feet echo near the entrance within a minute of the food call.
“Ade is cooking,” I chuckle. “He’s the most punctual person I know.”
Miriam giggles as she stands. “He’ll relax up here, eventually.”
