Echo, p.9
Echo, page 9
Principessa: I do not know if I should give it to you.
She fucking shouldn’t. But the window for her to get ahead of this was gone. The trigger already pulled, no amount of caution would stop this bullet, but I didn’t tell her that.
Me: Do you want to see me?
Principessa: It depends. Who else will see you?
I knew where she was taking this, and I wasn’t offended, but I gave her shit anyway.
Me: Already embarrassed of me, Principessa? I haven’t even asked you on a date.
The dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.
Principessa: Is that what this is? Why you gave me the phone? You are going to ask me on a date?
I was an asshole.
Me: No.
I was going to do much fucking worse.
Principessa: Oh.
Me: Disappointed?
There was only one way to subvert Giancarlo. Yesterday, I’d dismissed it as a last resort if Santoro wasn’t going to listen to reason or threats. But now? I was going to take Giancarlo out at the fucking knees.
Principessa: I am not sure how to respond to that.
My thumbs flew across my screen.
Me: Truth, Principessa. With me, always the truth.
Principessa: Then, yes, I am disappointed.
Me: Brava. Right answer. Give me your address, bella.
Principessa: I should warn you… Papà is having guests tonight. He said it is an early birthday celebration for me.
Fuck. FUCK.
Me: I need to speak to your father. Right now.
Principessa: He was very ill this morning. He just fell asleep. I dare not wake him.
I knew what that party was about, same as I knew the plane didn’t accidentally malfunction. I was out of time. I needed to get back to Sicily, immediately.
I issued her another order.
Me: The second he’s up, call me. I mean it, Sancia.
No dots appeared.
I fired off an order like she was one of the famiglia’s soldiers.
Me: Confirm.
Principessa: I see your text.
I read between the lines. She saw, but she wouldn’t necessarily obey. Cristo.
Me: I need you to do more than see it, bella.
Principessa: You called me Sancia.
I knew what she was after. I didn’t deny it.
Me: I needed to make sure I had your attention.
Principessa: Why?
Me: This is important, Sancia, and, yes, I used your name again.
She texted back, but only with an address on the outskirts of Palermo that was in an expensive enclave.
Me: Grazie. Gated? Armed security?
Principessa: There is a gate. I do not know if there will be a valet or outside staff onsite tonight.
I didn’t know how many soldiers Santoro had, but I knew how many Giancarlo would bring with him. I didn’t plan on walking in the front door, but just in case, I asked for what I needed.
Me: Gate code?
She gave it to me.
“Good girl,” I murmured as I fired off a response.
Me: Brava. I’ll see you tonight, but it’ll be later. I’m switching to a new cell. I’ll text you the number in a couple minutes. Call when your father is awake. Capisci?
Principessa: I understand, but Erico?
I fucking frowned because I could hear her voice as I read the text, and it wasn’t good.
Me: Yeah?
Principessa: Papà is not doing well. Please hurry.
The pilot came up behind me. “Good news.”
My back to him, I held a hand up. Then I sent my angel a reply.
Me: I’ll get there as fast as I can. Promise, bella.
My screen lit up with an incoming call from Caio.
Ignoring my brother, not waiting for a response from her, I powered down my cell and shoved it into my pocket before turning toward the pilot.
Shouldering two bags, both mine and his, he held the briefcase we used for cash. “The clothes are at least dry.” He almost smiled. “The emergency personnel also arranged for a hotel for us to stay in tonight. We’ll have some paperwork to sign in the morning after their initial investigation, but then we can catch a flight to Rome tomorrow afternoon. From there, I’ll—”
“We’re not staying in a hotel or waiting until tomorrow.” And there wasn’t going to be an investigation if I could help it. “We need another plane as soon as possible.”
The pilot’s face fell. “You want to fly again right now?”
I never wanted to fucking fly again. But I had to. “Yes. Burners?”
The pilot silently reached into his bag and pulled out two new cell phones, handing me one.
“Power yours up.” I quickly turned mine on and sent Sancia the number. Then I issued the pilot orders. “Start making calls, ask around, but do it quietly and do what you have to.” I took the briefcase from him. “Just get us a plane. Private, no questions asked, use the cash. I don’t want to burn another set of our false documents if we don’t have to, but if asked, use our Greek passports. I want to be up in the air within the hour. I don’t care if we have to fly in a fucking turbo prop. Make it happen.” I glanced toward the emergency crew. “Which one’s in charge?”
The pilot nodded toward a younger man. “Him, but he’s green.”
Fucking perfect. “Got it. Get us a plane.” I walked toward the emergency crew supervisor with the briefcase.
Sancia
Vittorio pulled through the gate and drove up to the estate just outside Palermo and stopped.
He glanced back as the cook quietly got out and rushed inside.
Papà was still asleep.
I looked at Vittorio. “I am hesitant to disturb him.” Papà did not cough when he was asleep.
“He needs to be woken, Principessa.”
“Just a few more minutes.”
Vittorio glanced at the house as one of the staff walked in with fresh-cut flowers from the gardens. “He is out of time.”
Anger flared, instant and bright. “Do not say that,” I scolded in a harsh whisper.
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I am not saying anything you don’t already know.”
Tears welled. “That is not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Inhaling, refusing to engage in this conversation or acknowledge that it was the most Vittorio had ever spoken to me at one time, I did what I did not want to do. I woke my father. “Papà.” As gently as possible, I squeezed his arm. “We are home.”
The second he stirred, he coughed. Then, for a brief moment, Papà looked around as if he did not know where he was. “Cara mia, why did you let me sleep so long?” Looking much older than his age in years, his forehead wrinkled in disapproval. “We had matters to discuss.”
My heart hurt, and at the same time, I had to push down another flare of anger. “You needed your rest, and we can discuss them now.” But first, I had to get him out of the car so I could call Erico without the audience of Vittorio. “Let’s go inside, Papà.” I did not know why Erico wanted to speak to Papà, but an uncomfortable feeling that it was something I should not ignore had only grown with each kilometer closer to the estate we got.
Vittorio silently got out of the Maserati and opened Papà’s door.
Papà glanced at his watch, then at his driver. “Are we all set?”
“Si, signore.”
The uncomfortable feeling grew to distress. “I do not need a party, Papà.”
Seeming to ignore my protest, Papà addressed Vittorio. “Give us a moment.”
Nodding once, Vittorio stepped back a few paces, but not completely out of ear shot.
Turning toward me, Papà’s expression became the most stern I had ever seen it as he lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I do not have time to explain or discuss what I am about to tell you. I am going to say it once, and you are going to memorize it without question. Then you are going to repeat your complaint about the party loud enough for Vittorio to hear, and I am going to get out of the car. After which, we will never speak of this again, and you are strictly forbidden from ever telling anyone. Your life will depend upon it. If you understand, blink once.”
Alarm mixed with a new kind of dread, and I blinked.
“Manhattan Bank and Trust.” Papà rattled off a number, then said something more cryptic than a secret bank account number. “When the time comes, the choice will be obvious.” He barely dipped his chin. “Now do as you’re told.”
Riddled with anxiety, fighting tears, I desperately repeated the number in my head so I did not forget it before I raised my voice just enough for Vittorio to hear. “Papà please, I do not need a party. I do not want one.”
His stern expression held only as long as his response. “Too bad. You are having one.” Turning, Papà made to get out of the car.
Immediately coming forward, Vittorio held out his hand to Papà.
Refusing Vittorio’s offer of help, Papà brushed off his driver and braced on the door to steady himself as he got out. “Go get ready, cara mia. Put on your best dress, then meet me in my study before our guests arrive.”
My stomach twisting, my heart racing, I followed Papà out of the vehicle on his side to make sure he did not fall as apprehension tripped out of my mouth in tumbled thoughts. “I never dine with anyone but you, Papà. What guests are you talking about? I do not think this is a good idea. Not when you are not feeling—”
“No more nonsense. We are celebrating.” Cutting me off, Papà nodded at Vittorio.
Closing the car door behind me, Vittorio gave me his warning stare.
My hand landed on the cell phone in my pocket that I had momentarily forgotten, and suddenly I wondered if I should stop Erico from speaking to Papà. But just as quickly, I dismissed the thought. Besides the fact that Erico had said he would do it with or without my help, something very wrong was happening. If forced to choose who to believe in that moment, I was ashamed to admit it would be Erico. With Papà making me swear secrecy, and hiding our conversation from Vittorio, then insisting on a dinner party with me present when he had never allowed it before—I did not understand what was happening.
All I knew was that none of this felt right.
I would keep Papà’s secret about the bank. I would not break his trust on that, especially when he had said my life would depend upon it, but I was not sure about everything else. I wished Erico was here, but he was not, and I needed to speak to Papà alone.
Taking the risk in front of Vittorio, hoping I was not saying too much, I pushed. “Papà please, can we speak in your office now, before dinner?”
“No, Sancia. This conversation is over. I have to make some arrangements before the guests arrive, and you need to get ready. Stop stalling.” Already making his way inside, Papà waved me off without so much as a backward glance before going into the house.
I made to follow, but Vittorio stepped in front of me.
Startled, I looked up. “What are you doing?”
In a shocking departure from his usual aloof behavior, Vittorio did something he had never done before. Not only did he touch me, but he grasped my chin with an almost punishing grip.
His gaze boring into mine, he said nothing.
Fear coated the warm Sicilian sun on my arms, sending a chill up my spine.
His grip and his silence more frightening than his thoughts, he did not move.
My heart rate jumped into a frenzy, and suddenly, I was more afraid to step away than stand still as I stared at a man I saw almost every day of my life but knew nothing about. A man who I had never noticed was not much older than another man with tiger eyes who also called me Principessa.
Did Vittorio know my mother’s maiden name? Would he be a threat to me once Papà was gone? Was that what Papà meant when he said to tell no one, that my life would depend upon it?
Swallowing past the dryness in my throat that had not been there a moment ago, I forced my voice. “Remove your hand.”
“Where did the cell phone come from?” Vittorio demanded.
Jerking out of his punishing hold, I turned toward the house. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
Thick fingers wrapped around my upper arm. “You are not my charge, but that does not mean I am not watching out for you.”
Trying and failing to get my arm back, I looked over my shoulder at a man I had foolishly dismissed as nothing more than a driver. “You are right. I am not your charge.” I was not his anything. “And gripping my arm is not watching out for me.”
“I am not your enemy,” he stated, not letting go of me and still giving me his warning glare that he seemed to perpetually wear.
“You are not my friend,” I countered.
“I’m not paid to be.”
“So that is what this is about? Papà pays you, so you do his bidding?”
“While he’s still alive.”
“Release me this instant,” I demanded, fighting panic I did not want him to see.
“Give me the phone.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” I outright lied. “I do not have a phone.” This time, I successfully pulled away from his grip and started toward the house.
“You were careless, Principessa.”
Pivoting, I confronted him. “Why do you call me that, Vittorio?”
His jaw tight, his eyes hard, he stared, but he said nothing.
I summoned up every ounce of courage I had. “You may call me Miss Santoro.” Not waiting for a response, I walked toward the house.
“You were careless with that cell phone, Miss Santoro.”
I reached the door.
“Head to your room like your father instructed,” he warned.
I crossed the threshold, and I thought about it.
I could go to Papà and confess to the phone calls. I could ask him directly if what Erico had said was true, and I could demand that he tell why he had given me the name of a Bank and made me memorize a number. But Vittorio had frightened me, and Papà had hidden information from him, and I was ashamed to admit that I did not know if I could trust my own father.
All I knew was that Erico, a complete stranger, seemed to be the only one willing to tell me the truth.
Ignoring the house staff as I clutched the phone in my pocket, I rushed up the stairs to my room and locked the door. Then I took an extra precaution and went into my en suite bathroom and closed that door as well.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, I turned the water on and pulled out the phone, bringing up the text prompt.
Then I hesitated.
Staring at the last message Erico had sent me before he had texted a new number from another cell phone, I imagined his deep, rough voice as if he were here speaking the words to me.
I’ll get there as fast as I can. Promise, bella.
Glancing at my closed door, wondering how long I had before one of the house staff summoned me, I looked back at the cell phone. Did I truly trust Erico?
I had told him that I did not.
But now a single five-letter word had become relative instead of absolute, and it felt like the walls were closing in. I did not want to celebrate my birthday. I did not want to meet any guests. I did not know what Papà was up to, and I had never eaten a meal with anyone except my father or the house staff.
Everything felt wrong… except him.
Holding my breath, not sure if I was doing the right thing, even more uncertain if I cared, I pulled up the text of the new number and quickly typed.
Me: I am afraid.
My finger hovered over the Send button for a fraction of a second.
Then I pushed it.
One heartbeat, two….
The little circles appeared and moved in a dance.
My heart jumped, and his message came a moment later.
Unknown number: How afraid and level of urgency?
Letting my breath out, already feeling less frightened just knowing he was on the other end of the phone, I responded.
Me: I do not know how to answer the second part of your question. Papà’s driver scared me.
Unknown number: When?
Me: Just now.
Unknown number: Did he hurt you?
My face flushed, and suddenly I felt foolish.
Me: No. I am probably making this out to be more than it is.
Unknown number: Fear is fear. There is no measure. What did Vittorio do?
Surprise momentarily distracted me.
Me: You know his name?
Unknown number: Answer my question, Sancia.
Oh God. Praying he would not be angry, I told him.
Me: He knows about the phone.
The dots appeared, then disappeared.
I held the phone tighter.
A whole minute passed.
Unknown number: What exactly did he do?
I started to type, but another message came through.
Unknown number: And don’t tell me nothing. You wouldn’t be texting if it was only about the phone.
I did not want to type my reply. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear—no. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to know I was not alone. I needed to know he still meant everything he had said, and as much as I had grown to love this device in my hand that connected me to him, I wanted more.
So I dared to say it.
Me: I wish to speak to you.
Unknown number: I’m on a plane. It’s loud as hell.
I was sitting next to running water. It was loud too.
Me: Please.
I waited.
Unknown number: Hang on.
A moment later, the phone lit up with in incoming call.
I answered and was immediately assaulted with loud background noise before his deep voice thundered over the roar of the plane’s engines.
“What happened?” he demanded.
My soul took a deep breath, but my words rushed out faster than watercolors bled onto paper. “I am sorry. I tried to be careful. Vittorio must have seen me texting when we drove back to Palermo. I am afraid I messed everything up.”
“I don’t care about the phone, bella. You did nothing wrong. Tell me why you’re scared.”
Whatever plane he was on was so much louder than the last one, and I suddenly felt more than foolish. I had no idea where he was or what he was doing, and I was calling to tell him that I was afraid of Papà’s driver? Afraid of something Papà had said that I could not tell him about?
She fucking shouldn’t. But the window for her to get ahead of this was gone. The trigger already pulled, no amount of caution would stop this bullet, but I didn’t tell her that.
Me: Do you want to see me?
Principessa: It depends. Who else will see you?
I knew where she was taking this, and I wasn’t offended, but I gave her shit anyway.
Me: Already embarrassed of me, Principessa? I haven’t even asked you on a date.
The dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.
Principessa: Is that what this is? Why you gave me the phone? You are going to ask me on a date?
I was an asshole.
Me: No.
I was going to do much fucking worse.
Principessa: Oh.
Me: Disappointed?
There was only one way to subvert Giancarlo. Yesterday, I’d dismissed it as a last resort if Santoro wasn’t going to listen to reason or threats. But now? I was going to take Giancarlo out at the fucking knees.
Principessa: I am not sure how to respond to that.
My thumbs flew across my screen.
Me: Truth, Principessa. With me, always the truth.
Principessa: Then, yes, I am disappointed.
Me: Brava. Right answer. Give me your address, bella.
Principessa: I should warn you… Papà is having guests tonight. He said it is an early birthday celebration for me.
Fuck. FUCK.
Me: I need to speak to your father. Right now.
Principessa: He was very ill this morning. He just fell asleep. I dare not wake him.
I knew what that party was about, same as I knew the plane didn’t accidentally malfunction. I was out of time. I needed to get back to Sicily, immediately.
I issued her another order.
Me: The second he’s up, call me. I mean it, Sancia.
No dots appeared.
I fired off an order like she was one of the famiglia’s soldiers.
Me: Confirm.
Principessa: I see your text.
I read between the lines. She saw, but she wouldn’t necessarily obey. Cristo.
Me: I need you to do more than see it, bella.
Principessa: You called me Sancia.
I knew what she was after. I didn’t deny it.
Me: I needed to make sure I had your attention.
Principessa: Why?
Me: This is important, Sancia, and, yes, I used your name again.
She texted back, but only with an address on the outskirts of Palermo that was in an expensive enclave.
Me: Grazie. Gated? Armed security?
Principessa: There is a gate. I do not know if there will be a valet or outside staff onsite tonight.
I didn’t know how many soldiers Santoro had, but I knew how many Giancarlo would bring with him. I didn’t plan on walking in the front door, but just in case, I asked for what I needed.
Me: Gate code?
She gave it to me.
“Good girl,” I murmured as I fired off a response.
Me: Brava. I’ll see you tonight, but it’ll be later. I’m switching to a new cell. I’ll text you the number in a couple minutes. Call when your father is awake. Capisci?
Principessa: I understand, but Erico?
I fucking frowned because I could hear her voice as I read the text, and it wasn’t good.
Me: Yeah?
Principessa: Papà is not doing well. Please hurry.
The pilot came up behind me. “Good news.”
My back to him, I held a hand up. Then I sent my angel a reply.
Me: I’ll get there as fast as I can. Promise, bella.
My screen lit up with an incoming call from Caio.
Ignoring my brother, not waiting for a response from her, I powered down my cell and shoved it into my pocket before turning toward the pilot.
Shouldering two bags, both mine and his, he held the briefcase we used for cash. “The clothes are at least dry.” He almost smiled. “The emergency personnel also arranged for a hotel for us to stay in tonight. We’ll have some paperwork to sign in the morning after their initial investigation, but then we can catch a flight to Rome tomorrow afternoon. From there, I’ll—”
“We’re not staying in a hotel or waiting until tomorrow.” And there wasn’t going to be an investigation if I could help it. “We need another plane as soon as possible.”
The pilot’s face fell. “You want to fly again right now?”
I never wanted to fucking fly again. But I had to. “Yes. Burners?”
The pilot silently reached into his bag and pulled out two new cell phones, handing me one.
“Power yours up.” I quickly turned mine on and sent Sancia the number. Then I issued the pilot orders. “Start making calls, ask around, but do it quietly and do what you have to.” I took the briefcase from him. “Just get us a plane. Private, no questions asked, use the cash. I don’t want to burn another set of our false documents if we don’t have to, but if asked, use our Greek passports. I want to be up in the air within the hour. I don’t care if we have to fly in a fucking turbo prop. Make it happen.” I glanced toward the emergency crew. “Which one’s in charge?”
The pilot nodded toward a younger man. “Him, but he’s green.”
Fucking perfect. “Got it. Get us a plane.” I walked toward the emergency crew supervisor with the briefcase.
Sancia
Vittorio pulled through the gate and drove up to the estate just outside Palermo and stopped.
He glanced back as the cook quietly got out and rushed inside.
Papà was still asleep.
I looked at Vittorio. “I am hesitant to disturb him.” Papà did not cough when he was asleep.
“He needs to be woken, Principessa.”
“Just a few more minutes.”
Vittorio glanced at the house as one of the staff walked in with fresh-cut flowers from the gardens. “He is out of time.”
Anger flared, instant and bright. “Do not say that,” I scolded in a harsh whisper.
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I am not saying anything you don’t already know.”
Tears welled. “That is not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Inhaling, refusing to engage in this conversation or acknowledge that it was the most Vittorio had ever spoken to me at one time, I did what I did not want to do. I woke my father. “Papà.” As gently as possible, I squeezed his arm. “We are home.”
The second he stirred, he coughed. Then, for a brief moment, Papà looked around as if he did not know where he was. “Cara mia, why did you let me sleep so long?” Looking much older than his age in years, his forehead wrinkled in disapproval. “We had matters to discuss.”
My heart hurt, and at the same time, I had to push down another flare of anger. “You needed your rest, and we can discuss them now.” But first, I had to get him out of the car so I could call Erico without the audience of Vittorio. “Let’s go inside, Papà.” I did not know why Erico wanted to speak to Papà, but an uncomfortable feeling that it was something I should not ignore had only grown with each kilometer closer to the estate we got.
Vittorio silently got out of the Maserati and opened Papà’s door.
Papà glanced at his watch, then at his driver. “Are we all set?”
“Si, signore.”
The uncomfortable feeling grew to distress. “I do not need a party, Papà.”
Seeming to ignore my protest, Papà addressed Vittorio. “Give us a moment.”
Nodding once, Vittorio stepped back a few paces, but not completely out of ear shot.
Turning toward me, Papà’s expression became the most stern I had ever seen it as he lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “I do not have time to explain or discuss what I am about to tell you. I am going to say it once, and you are going to memorize it without question. Then you are going to repeat your complaint about the party loud enough for Vittorio to hear, and I am going to get out of the car. After which, we will never speak of this again, and you are strictly forbidden from ever telling anyone. Your life will depend upon it. If you understand, blink once.”
Alarm mixed with a new kind of dread, and I blinked.
“Manhattan Bank and Trust.” Papà rattled off a number, then said something more cryptic than a secret bank account number. “When the time comes, the choice will be obvious.” He barely dipped his chin. “Now do as you’re told.”
Riddled with anxiety, fighting tears, I desperately repeated the number in my head so I did not forget it before I raised my voice just enough for Vittorio to hear. “Papà please, I do not need a party. I do not want one.”
His stern expression held only as long as his response. “Too bad. You are having one.” Turning, Papà made to get out of the car.
Immediately coming forward, Vittorio held out his hand to Papà.
Refusing Vittorio’s offer of help, Papà brushed off his driver and braced on the door to steady himself as he got out. “Go get ready, cara mia. Put on your best dress, then meet me in my study before our guests arrive.”
My stomach twisting, my heart racing, I followed Papà out of the vehicle on his side to make sure he did not fall as apprehension tripped out of my mouth in tumbled thoughts. “I never dine with anyone but you, Papà. What guests are you talking about? I do not think this is a good idea. Not when you are not feeling—”
“No more nonsense. We are celebrating.” Cutting me off, Papà nodded at Vittorio.
Closing the car door behind me, Vittorio gave me his warning stare.
My hand landed on the cell phone in my pocket that I had momentarily forgotten, and suddenly I wondered if I should stop Erico from speaking to Papà. But just as quickly, I dismissed the thought. Besides the fact that Erico had said he would do it with or without my help, something very wrong was happening. If forced to choose who to believe in that moment, I was ashamed to admit it would be Erico. With Papà making me swear secrecy, and hiding our conversation from Vittorio, then insisting on a dinner party with me present when he had never allowed it before—I did not understand what was happening.
All I knew was that none of this felt right.
I would keep Papà’s secret about the bank. I would not break his trust on that, especially when he had said my life would depend upon it, but I was not sure about everything else. I wished Erico was here, but he was not, and I needed to speak to Papà alone.
Taking the risk in front of Vittorio, hoping I was not saying too much, I pushed. “Papà please, can we speak in your office now, before dinner?”
“No, Sancia. This conversation is over. I have to make some arrangements before the guests arrive, and you need to get ready. Stop stalling.” Already making his way inside, Papà waved me off without so much as a backward glance before going into the house.
I made to follow, but Vittorio stepped in front of me.
Startled, I looked up. “What are you doing?”
In a shocking departure from his usual aloof behavior, Vittorio did something he had never done before. Not only did he touch me, but he grasped my chin with an almost punishing grip.
His gaze boring into mine, he said nothing.
Fear coated the warm Sicilian sun on my arms, sending a chill up my spine.
His grip and his silence more frightening than his thoughts, he did not move.
My heart rate jumped into a frenzy, and suddenly, I was more afraid to step away than stand still as I stared at a man I saw almost every day of my life but knew nothing about. A man who I had never noticed was not much older than another man with tiger eyes who also called me Principessa.
Did Vittorio know my mother’s maiden name? Would he be a threat to me once Papà was gone? Was that what Papà meant when he said to tell no one, that my life would depend upon it?
Swallowing past the dryness in my throat that had not been there a moment ago, I forced my voice. “Remove your hand.”
“Where did the cell phone come from?” Vittorio demanded.
Jerking out of his punishing hold, I turned toward the house. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
Thick fingers wrapped around my upper arm. “You are not my charge, but that does not mean I am not watching out for you.”
Trying and failing to get my arm back, I looked over my shoulder at a man I had foolishly dismissed as nothing more than a driver. “You are right. I am not your charge.” I was not his anything. “And gripping my arm is not watching out for me.”
“I am not your enemy,” he stated, not letting go of me and still giving me his warning glare that he seemed to perpetually wear.
“You are not my friend,” I countered.
“I’m not paid to be.”
“So that is what this is about? Papà pays you, so you do his bidding?”
“While he’s still alive.”
“Release me this instant,” I demanded, fighting panic I did not want him to see.
“Give me the phone.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” I outright lied. “I do not have a phone.” This time, I successfully pulled away from his grip and started toward the house.
“You were careless, Principessa.”
Pivoting, I confronted him. “Why do you call me that, Vittorio?”
His jaw tight, his eyes hard, he stared, but he said nothing.
I summoned up every ounce of courage I had. “You may call me Miss Santoro.” Not waiting for a response, I walked toward the house.
“You were careless with that cell phone, Miss Santoro.”
I reached the door.
“Head to your room like your father instructed,” he warned.
I crossed the threshold, and I thought about it.
I could go to Papà and confess to the phone calls. I could ask him directly if what Erico had said was true, and I could demand that he tell why he had given me the name of a Bank and made me memorize a number. But Vittorio had frightened me, and Papà had hidden information from him, and I was ashamed to admit that I did not know if I could trust my own father.
All I knew was that Erico, a complete stranger, seemed to be the only one willing to tell me the truth.
Ignoring the house staff as I clutched the phone in my pocket, I rushed up the stairs to my room and locked the door. Then I took an extra precaution and went into my en suite bathroom and closed that door as well.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, I turned the water on and pulled out the phone, bringing up the text prompt.
Then I hesitated.
Staring at the last message Erico had sent me before he had texted a new number from another cell phone, I imagined his deep, rough voice as if he were here speaking the words to me.
I’ll get there as fast as I can. Promise, bella.
Glancing at my closed door, wondering how long I had before one of the house staff summoned me, I looked back at the cell phone. Did I truly trust Erico?
I had told him that I did not.
But now a single five-letter word had become relative instead of absolute, and it felt like the walls were closing in. I did not want to celebrate my birthday. I did not want to meet any guests. I did not know what Papà was up to, and I had never eaten a meal with anyone except my father or the house staff.
Everything felt wrong… except him.
Holding my breath, not sure if I was doing the right thing, even more uncertain if I cared, I pulled up the text of the new number and quickly typed.
Me: I am afraid.
My finger hovered over the Send button for a fraction of a second.
Then I pushed it.
One heartbeat, two….
The little circles appeared and moved in a dance.
My heart jumped, and his message came a moment later.
Unknown number: How afraid and level of urgency?
Letting my breath out, already feeling less frightened just knowing he was on the other end of the phone, I responded.
Me: I do not know how to answer the second part of your question. Papà’s driver scared me.
Unknown number: When?
Me: Just now.
Unknown number: Did he hurt you?
My face flushed, and suddenly I felt foolish.
Me: No. I am probably making this out to be more than it is.
Unknown number: Fear is fear. There is no measure. What did Vittorio do?
Surprise momentarily distracted me.
Me: You know his name?
Unknown number: Answer my question, Sancia.
Oh God. Praying he would not be angry, I told him.
Me: He knows about the phone.
The dots appeared, then disappeared.
I held the phone tighter.
A whole minute passed.
Unknown number: What exactly did he do?
I started to type, but another message came through.
Unknown number: And don’t tell me nothing. You wouldn’t be texting if it was only about the phone.
I did not want to type my reply. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to hear—no. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to know I was not alone. I needed to know he still meant everything he had said, and as much as I had grown to love this device in my hand that connected me to him, I wanted more.
So I dared to say it.
Me: I wish to speak to you.
Unknown number: I’m on a plane. It’s loud as hell.
I was sitting next to running water. It was loud too.
Me: Please.
I waited.
Unknown number: Hang on.
A moment later, the phone lit up with in incoming call.
I answered and was immediately assaulted with loud background noise before his deep voice thundered over the roar of the plane’s engines.
“What happened?” he demanded.
My soul took a deep breath, but my words rushed out faster than watercolors bled onto paper. “I am sorry. I tried to be careful. Vittorio must have seen me texting when we drove back to Palermo. I am afraid I messed everything up.”
“I don’t care about the phone, bella. You did nothing wrong. Tell me why you’re scared.”
Whatever plane he was on was so much louder than the last one, and I suddenly felt more than foolish. I had no idea where he was or what he was doing, and I was calling to tell him that I was afraid of Papà’s driver? Afraid of something Papà had said that I could not tell him about?
