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Finding happiness with Leonardo Moretti? That can’t possibly be a sane notion.
Worrying my lip, I wrestle with my thoughts, but no answer comes to me readily.
Digging into my pocket, I pull out my phone to call Maria. As my best friend and closest confidant, my younger sister is always the first person I talk to about things. And though I know I can’t fully explain to her everything that’s gone on between Leo and me, I still miss her and her sage advice appropriate to someone far beyond her years.
The phone rings, and finally, Maria’s voice comes across the line. “Hey, Tia,” she greets, her voice laced with curiosity. “How’s married life? You kill that jerk of a husband yet? You calling for a getaway car?”
I snort in shock at her blunt delivery and pray there’s no way Leo can tap my phone. “Maria!” I scold, all the same.
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” she says dryly. “Mostly. But I miss you. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I respond, uncertainty evident in my tone.
“Well, that was convincing.” Her tone drips sarcasm, and I can just picture her deadpan expression.
“I just really miss you too. Can you come over once you’re done with your lessons today?”
Maria pauses, and when she speaks next, her voice is tinged with concern. “Of course I will. As long as I can get permission. You know how Father feels about the Morettis…” Her voice trails off as she seems to realize that I now fit under that umbrella. “Well, you know what I mean,” she quickly recovers. “But, Tia, are you sure everything is okay?”
I take a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “I’m fine. Really. We can talk about it when you get here.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll ask Father if I can stay for dinner.”
That makes me smile, and my shoulders relax as I think about getting to spend some quality time with my sister. “That sounds great.”
We exchange a few more words, and after hanging up, I’m left alone with my thoughts once more. Today, it’s a challenging place to be left, and I’m not sure that sitting quietly is going to help me stay sane.
The day stretches before me, and I decide to walk the estate grounds until Maria arrives. Maybe the fresh air will clear my head.
“Shall we venture outside, little one?” I suggest to my tummy, resting my palm over it. “I agree. It’s a beautiful day.”
Rising from my chair, I slip my book back onto the shelf I took it from and head for the library’s tall double doors. Thankfully, I’m already wearing a pair of joggers and tennies—the perk of being pregnant and trapped at home—so I won’t have to change.
Instead, I head straight for the terrace that stretches from the back of the house.
The estate is vast, with well-manicured gardens and sprawling lawns. But I’ve already explored every inch of the gardens and arboretum. Today, my curiosity leads me deep into the woods surrounding the back of the house. They seem to stretch on for miles without another property in sight.
A person could get lost in them easily, except for the looming Allegheny Mountains that confirm which way is east and west.
The rustling leaves and distant bird songs provide a comforting backdrop to my inner turmoil. And I breathe freely as I pick up my pace, determined to cover some good ground before I have to return.
I cover several miles as I watch the sun make its slow procession across the sky, and as it dips toward the horizon, I know I’ll need to head back soon if I’m going to beat Maria’s arrival.
But just as I start to slow, hooking a left, something in the distance catches my eye. A cottage of sorts that looks fairly abandoned.
Is this still Moretti land?
I was under the impression that their estate was the last one that defined part of the borders of Piovosa’s town limits before succumbing to the wilderness beyond. And though I don’t want to intrude on anyone’s land accidentally, the darkened windows draw me in, awakening my curiosity.
I creep closer, hoping to get a peek from the treeline that rings the small property. And as I walk a slow path around the perimeter, the distant sounds of a commotion reach my ears. Intrigued, I follow the noise past the corner of the small cottage.
As I pause near a towering red oak, my hands pressing against the rough bark as I hug its side, the scene that appears before me turns my blood to ice.
Leo stands with several Moretti men, their guns pointed at a group of prisoners. My heart pounds in my chest as I watch, hidden from view as I slip further behind the broad tree trunk.
The air vanishes from my lungs as Leo, cold and unyielding, issues orders to the men who haul one prisoner further from the cottage before forcing him onto his knees.
A sense of dread washes over me. I’m not naive. I know the world my family inhabits is steeped in shadows. My father is no stranger to the complexities of power and the lengths one must go to maintain it. Yet, in all his dealings, he never brought that darkness within the confines of our home.
