Yeah, what’s she gonna do about that?
Pursing my lips, I reply.
Me: And who is this?
As if he doesn’t have my phone tapped and won’t see this.
Unknown: Don’t play dumb with me. You know who this is. Ask your husband why he didn’t let me see you yesterday. Ask him what Santo’s doing in Tuscany. Ask him to tell you everything.
My blood runs cold. What?
Me: What do you want from me?
Unknown: I will not have your new family rob me of what’s rightfully mine. You’ll meet my demands or suffer the consequences.
Oh no she does not.
I go to type a reply when my phone’s swiped right out of my hands. I blink in surprise to see Tavi holding it. I watch his eyes go from the typical angry look to downright furious.
“Who the fuck does she think she is?” he mutters.
“Hey, I was reading that.”
He ignores my protests.
“She’s just popped her head out of nowhere, like a stubborn weed,” I mutter. “And what the hell is she talking about, about yesterday? I don’t understand. What does she think is hers?”
“Something about your inheritance.”
“My inheritance?” I thought all that belonged to me was the shops, and like I said, she gets nothing. She took my father’s money and ran with it.
“We need to talk with her. Let me check with Romeo to see if he found anything before we do.” He hands my phone back. “Tell her we’re in Tuscany and we can meet with her on a video chat tonight around dinnertime. Should give me enough time to check on things before we do.”
I nod and type out a text, then slide the off button on my phone.
We’re on our honeymoon, and I’m gonna enjoy this.
Tavi isn’t supposed to meet with anyone until lunchtime, so we head to the shops. I buy fine alabaster vases in Scarperia, a small kitchen rug made of panno casentinese, hand-woven orange wool, in Casetino.
“I’d love to shop food next,” I tell him, but we have to meet with his associate first. I’m craving the handmade biscuits from Siena and pecorino cheese from Peinza, as well as some of Tuscany’s signature Chianti.
“I was going to tell you, but we have to visit my family’s vineyard. There, you can take any of the wines you’d like, and we also stock local handmade cheeses and some cold-pressed olive oil.”
“Mmm,” I say, already planning what I’m going to make my new husband for dinner. “Please tell the staff we won’t be needing them to cook dinner tonight.”
“You have plans, baby?”
I smile. “I do.”
As we drive to the vineyards, I can’t shake the strange feeling that we’re being watched. I look over my shoulder a few times, but see nothing.
“Tavi,” I say, as we drive down the long, winding road uphill that takes us to the vineyard entrance.
“Yeah?”
“I feel like I’m being watched.”
“You are, though,” he says, unbothered. “None of the Rossi brothers have brought a new wife to Italy for some time. They’ve been waiting for this.”
“For what?”
He smiles as he takes a sharp turn and continues his drive. “For you.”
But no. I don’t think it’s just the locals or his staff whispering to each other behind their hands, or casting furtive looks in my direction. No… something else is off.
Tavi’s on a phone call, and I don’t want to interrupt him. Something is amiss. I know my mother’s causing drama, but that’s nothing new. Something else is at play. I wish I knew what.
His phone’s ringing off the hook, one call after another, until finally he grabs it and slams the off button; when it powers off, he throws it on the dash and exhales.
I wait a minute before I talk. Give him another minute to take deep breaths. I reason that it’ll help calm him.
“Tavi,” I say gently, reaching for his hand. I won’t fear the man I’m married to. But I also won’t stick my head in a hungry lion’s mouth.
“Yes?” he says, before he lets out a breath.
“What’s going on? Can you tell me now?”
I watch as the crease between his brows deepens. He’s a few years older than I am, but right now, he looks as if he’s a decade or more older.
“Santo’s gone missing.”
I feel as if ice pumps through my veins. Santo, the cold, calculating one, my business partner, the one who follows every move Rosa makes under her brothers’ watchful eyes, the one I would call first if ever I needed to hide a body—he’s gone missing.
“Do you think he’s been taken prisoner?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “We don’t know. We have hardly any clues. He went missing yesterday at the wedding. He was supposed to be with Leo, told Leo he had to take a call, then he just left. Your mother said something about asking Santo, but Santo’s loyal. We were going to ask him what the hell she was talking about, but then he was gone.”
“Wait,” I say slowly, as I mull this over. “You mean to tell me that Santo went missing at the very same time my mother showed up?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, Tavi,” I say slowly, shaking my head as I think this over. “Is it possible my mother was only a diversion? All of you, and many of your soldiers and guards, were distracted by her tantrum, right?”
He sits up straighter. “Yes.”
“And then he went missing?”
“Right.”
I shake my head from side to side. “Tavi… Tavi, why is Santo the one who works with me in town? Why him, and not one of the lesser-ranking members of The Family?”
“Because he’s the one—Jesus.” He shakes his head. He grits his teeth, and shakes his head again before he continues. “Because he’s the one that told us about your father’s business.”
I look out the window and tap my fingers on the dash. “Yeah, babe. You’ve got to find Santo.”
He powers his phone on and hands me mine, as mine buzzes with a text.
I grit my teeth when I see another text from the unknown number. My goddamn mother. Tavi would likely intercede, but he’s on the phone with Romeo as we head back to the house.
Unknown: Ask Tavi what happened to Piero.
CHAPTER 17
Tavi
I can hardly understand the concept of one of my brothers betraying us. No. No, it isn’t possible. It can’t be. I won’t believe it.
Santo was raised as one of us. He isn’t a blood relative but adopted into the family by my father when he was a child. He was the only one my mother ever let my father have free rein with, and as a result, he’s more ruthless, more conniving even, than any of us.
But like any of us, he’d lay his life down for us. I know he would. I’d swear my own life on it.
It’s the only reason I ever let him work with my wife to begin with.
My family’s vineyard in Tuscany serves a dual purpose—first, we actually grow grapes here and make our own wine. Our Chianti’s won awards year after year, and we’ve gotten some pretty tempting offers to sell it in a retail location. We won’t, though. It was one of the few things I ever agreed with my father about.