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I bite my tongue and grit my teeth. “I understand. See you tomorrow.”
He hangs up, and I exhale a shaky breath. I take a few more seconds to combat my nerves and get a grip on my emotions before turning to Cal, who is leaning against the wall.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.”
There’s so much I have to do before leaving Boston, first of which is talking to my boss and asking for a leave. The conversation will probably not go over well, but I’ll explain it’s a family emergency. Thankfully, she likes me.
"It’s alright. Need a ride?”
I shake my head and offer him a smile. Cal is a prime example of the fact that appearances can be deceiving. Most other guys would be pretty sour about the abrupt end of a potential hookup. He’s being pretty chill.
“No, it’s fine. Get back in there. Maybe you’ll get even more lucky and find someone hotter than me,” I say teasingly.
He laughs. “I doubt that. Goodbye, Elena.”
He walks back toward the club while I order a cab. My mind whirs as I try to imagine what everyone back home must be going through right now.
* * *
When I arrivein New York, I’m driven to my family’s home first. My dad and brother aren’t around, which is typical. They don’t spend a lot of time here. I drop off all my luggage before asking to be driven to where I hope they are.
I’m surprised by how empty it is when I arrive on the De Luca property. Usually, there are several men milling about the home, patrolling, talking, scheming. They’re usually not allowed into the main home, but they’re always around regardless. Today, though, the surroundings are empty. Apart from a few men standing guard, there’s no one, no cars and barely any sound.
The guards don’t stop me as I walk up to the front door; they know who I am. I haven’t been here in over a year, choosing to limit my short visits to the city to my family’s home. But once upon a time, I considered this place my second home.
The house is pretty simple. Creamy, smooth walls and modern furniture. There’s a lot of art around the place, mostly sculptures and clay figures either made or purchased by Rosario De Luca. The littlest De Luca is one of my friends and an art prodigy. I’ve always marveled at the things she can create with her hands.
I climb the stairs and head down the hall, choosing to start at Rosa’s bedroom in my search for somebody to talk to. I pause in front of the door when I realize she’s inside. I can hear her voice, soft and lyrical, but she sounds horrible right now. She’s speaking in low, hushed tones and doing her best to comfort her mother. The door is open slightly, and I can see Rosa on the bed beside her mother, whose head rests against the headboard. Tears stream down the De Luca matriarch’s face. My chest cracks a little at the sight.
Maria has never really liked me much. She always said I was too much. Too wild, too loud. I spoke too much and did things carelessly. I was the opposite of a good Italian girl. She hated my recklessness. There was a time after my mother left that Maria stepped up, trying to fill her space. She wanted us to see her as a mother, as well. While Tony was all too happy to do so, I couldn’t bear the thought, so I pushed her away. I may have said some hurtful things in the process. I was a thirteen-year-old grieving from being abandoned. Maria listened, though; she backed away, and we’ve spent the past decade tiptoeing around each other.
Still, I want to move forward and comfort her. I’m woefully unaware of what to do in situations like this. What am I supposed to say to a woman who just lost her husband? Thankfully, Rosa looks up and notices me. She offers me a shaky smile before gesturing for me to give her a minute. I move from the doorway and lean against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.
Two minutes later, Rosa steps out. She’s two years younger than me with long, glossy black hair. She has gorgeous blue eyes and a pretty, doll-like face. She’s tall and slim. I’ve never seen Rosa look anything less than put together. But right now, she’s a complete and utter mess. Her eyes are smudged with mascara, her cheeks are wet, and I can tell she’s barely holding it together.
I don’t hesitate to take a step forward and pull her into my arms.
“Oh, God, Rosa. I am so sorry,” I breathe, even though it doesn’t feel like enough. It’ll never be enough.
She hugs me back for a few seconds before pulling away. “Who told you? Tony?”
I nod. “He was pretty distraught. How are you holding up?”
“Well, I’m still in denial. I keep thinking it’s a joke and my dad will walk up the stairs and hug me, you know?”
“I understand, sweetie,” I say softly.
She has no idea. I spent the first two months after my mother disappeared believing she would come back home and we could be a family again. The situations aren’t comparable, though. My mother abandoned me. Rosa’s father is dead.
“Come on, let’s go downstairs. Mom has asked for space,” she says, taking my arm.
“Are you sure you should leave her alone?” I say hesitantly.
Rosa nods. “She needs it right now. I’m glad none of the men are here. She would have been forced to try her best to keep it together around them. At least now, she can grieve alone.”
“About that. Where did they go?”
She sighs softly. “Roman has ordered that there won’t be any funeral or mourning until they avenge Papa’s death. They’re out there now. Every single man that’s still loyal to the family is trying to capture the man responsible.”
