* * *
“Laura, can you hear me?”
I opened my eyes groggily and saw Domenico sitting next to me. There were some vials with medicine on the table, and an elderly man standing next to the bed, talking over the phone.
“What happened? Where’s Massimo?” I asked, terrified, trying to get up.
Domenico stopped me and explained, “This is a doctor. He took care of you when I couldn’t find your pills.”
The older man said something in Italian, smiled, and left us.
“Where’s Massimo? What’s the time?”
“It’s nearly noon. Massimo left,” Domenico replied.
My head was spinning, and I felt nauseous. Everything hurt.
“Take me to him right now! I need some clothes!” I cried, wrapping myself in the sheets.
Domenico sent me a curious look, got up, and went to the closet.
“I ordered some of your things sent here before we arrived. The boat is waiting downstairs. We can go as soon as you’re ready.”
I jumped up and sprinted toward the closet. I didn’t care what I wore. I grabbed a white Victoria’s Secret tracksuit Domenico was holding, and a while later I was in the bathroom, frantically trying to put it on. I glanced at the mirror and yesterday’s makeup on my face. I said I didn’t care how I looked, but that would be too much. I wiped the makeup off and went back to the bedroom, where Domenico was still waiting.
The motorboat was too slow, despite ripping through the waves at maximum speed.
Nearly an hour later, I saw the hull of the Titan in the distance.
“Finally,” I breathed, jumping to my feet.
I didn’t wait until we were moored—I skipped to the deck of the yacht immediately. I ran, looking everywhere, opening all doors, but Massimo was nowhere to be seen.
Resigned and crying, I collapsed onto the sofa in the lounge. I was drowning in tears, and my throat felt so tight I couldn’t breathe.
“An hour ago the helicopter took him to the airport,” Domenico said, sitting next to me. “He’s got a lot of work now.”
“Does he know I’m here?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. He left his cell phone in the room. I couldn’t call him. Besides, there are some places where he can’t take his phone.”
Crying, I threw myself into Domenico’s arms.
“What am I to do now, Domenico?”
The young Italian hugged me and stroked my hair.
“I don’t know, Laura. I have never been in such a situation. We just have to wait for him to call.”
“I need to go back,” I said, getting up.
“To Poland?”
“No. Sicily. I’ll wait for him to return. May I?”
I sent Domenico a wide-eyed stare, waiting for his permission.
“Of course. As far as I know, nothing has changed.”
“So let’s pack our things and go to the island.”
I slept through most of the journey, with the help of sedatives. When finally I stepped into the SUV at the airport in Catania, it felt like I was returning home. The highway led along the slopes of Mount Etna, and the only thing I could think of was Massimo, smiling and telling me stories from his childhood.
When we entered the driveway, I noticed it didn’t look like last time. The maroon stones had been replaced with dark gray ones and the drive was lined with new bushes and flowers. I barely recognized the place. Confused, I looked twice, making sure we were in the right spot.
“Don Massimo ordered it all to be replaced during our trip,” Domenico said, stepping out of the car.
I entered the house and reached my bedroom, slipping into my bed and quickly falling asleep.
The subsequent days were identical. Some days I spent in bed. Others, I went to the beach. Domenico tried making me eat, but it was no use. I just wouldn’t have anything. I wandered around the house, looking for something—anything—that would prove Massimo was there. I exchanged emails with Mom, but I couldn’t talk to her—I knew I wouldn’t be able to fool her, and that she’d immediately know that something was amiss. I watched Polish TV, which Massimo had to be ordered installed in my bedroom. At times I tried watching the Italian channels, but I still understood next to nothing.
And if that wasn’t enough, all local tabloids and websites published the photo from the banquet—the one in which the Man in Black kissed me on the seafront. They were all captioned: “Who Is the Sicilian Potentate’s Mysterious New Companion?” Most articles also mentioned my dance skills.
Days passed, and I felt it was about time to go back to Poland. I called Domenico, asking him to pack only those things I had brought with me from Warsaw. I wouldn’t take anything that would remind me of the Man in Black.
Online, I found a cozy studio on the outskirts of Warsaw and rented it. What would come next? I had no idea, but I didn’t care, as long as I stopped hurting so much.
The next morning, I was woken by the sound of the alarm clock. I drank a cup of cocoa, which I found on the night table, and turned on the TV. Today’s the day, I thought. A while later, Domenico opened the door and sent me a sad smile.
“Your plane leaves in four hours.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’ll miss you,” he said, taking my hand. I squeezed it, feeling my eyes welling with tears.
“I know. Me too.”
“I’ll go check if everything’s ready,” Domenico said, getting up.
I stayed in bed, staring dumbly at the TV, skipping channels. I settled on some news before going to the bathroom.
“The head of the Sicilian Mafia was shot in Naples. The young Italian was widely considered one of the most dangerous…” I stormed out of the bathroom, back to the TV. The screen was showing a montage of scenes from the place of the incident—including two body bags and a black SUV. A hot, scalding feeling behind my sternum came next. I couldn’t breathe. Then, a sharp pain, like someone stabbing my heart with a knife. I tried screaming but didn’t manage even a croak. I fell to the floor, unconscious.
CHAPTER 11
Iopened my eyes. The sun illuminated so brightly that I could barely see. I raised my hand to cover my eyes and inadvertently jerked on the IV tube. What the hell? As soon as my eyes became accustomed to the light, I took a careful look around. All the equipment around me suggested I was in a hospital.
What had happened? Then it struck me—Massimo was… My heart started racing, and all the devices surrounding me began whining. A doctor appeared in the room, followed by a nurse and Domenico.
I noticed my young assistant and started crying. Wracked by great sobs, I couldn’t say a word. I coughed, sputtered, and choked, waving my arms in panic. The door opened and a figure appeared in the threshold: Massimo.
He passed everyone and fell to his knees next to me, taking my hand and snuggling his face against it, looking at me with eyes filled with fear and exhaustion.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Baby, I—”
I put my hand against his lips.
Not here. Not now. Tears rolled down my face, but they were tears of happiness.
“Madam,” the man in the white scrubs said, glancing at the medical report hanging from the bed frame. “We’ve had to do a carotid revascularization. The state you were in was a threat to your life. We’ve had to insert a tube into your body. That’s why you have a patch in your groin. Through the tube, we’ve inserted a guide wire into your carotid artery that allowed us to clear it. That’s the short version, anyway. Despite your perfect knowledge of English, without walking you through all the specialist medical jargon, I wouldn’t be able to explain the procedure in detail. But I don’t think that is strictly necessary. What matters is that we’ve made it.”