I see the two of us, standing at the altar. Taking our vows. I bent and kissed her amidst applause, and all the while, Santo was where my brothers were—standing behind us. At one point he communicated with someone at the door, but then came back. Could’ve been damn near anything, and it doesn’t mean he’s guilty.
“Why are you looking through the wedding footage?” I hate the cold tone of her voice. I look up, startled.
“I need to find when Santo left. I’m combing through footage now.”
She swallows and looks forlornly out the window. “Oh. Sorry I interrupted."
Normally, I’d make her look at me, but I’ll give her this reprieve. I owe this to her, this distance.
For now.
"How did you know to ask me about Piero?”
She flinches when I say his name. I hate that she does.
I remember Angelina screaming at me, furiously sobbing when she knew I called the hit on Piero.
You killed the only man she ever loved.
At the time, it was only confirmation to me that I’d done the right thing. They had no right to love each other.
But now I know.
Love doesn’t always know the rulebook.
“My mother texted me,” she says, a hollow tone in her voice that breaks my heart. “She said to ask you.” She glances at me then looks away again, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut as if to block it all from her memory. “But I knew you were hiding something from me, Ottavio.”
Jesus. Not my full name. It’s too intimate between the two of us.
“What do you mean?”
“You…” she begins. “I could tell you were hiding something from me because sometimes you had this distant look in your eyes like you were holding yourself back from me.” She sighs and opens her eyes. “Were you ever planning on telling me?”
I nod. “Yeah. Of course I was.”
“When?”
When I was confident that you loved me? When I knew that the truth wouldn’t cause a rift between us that wouldn’t heal? When I knew the power of our love was strong enough to overcome the past?
I don’t answer. “Your mother told you to ask me. And you were the one that pointed out her coming may have been a diversion.” Anna Regazza has a hand in this.
One piece of the puzzle slips into place.
I speed the footage up.
We sit and drink champagne. Orlando gives us a toast. We smile for the camera.
It seems so long ago.
Then I see myself sit up straighter and head to Romeo. It’s when I realized Anna Regazza had come.
“Slow,” she whispers. “Right there. Look.”
At the very corner of the screen, Santo paces.
Santo.
On the footage, I go inside, but I look at the outside footage where Santo is. He strolls along the perimeter of the garden. Rosa signals to him from her seat. He waves at her, and…
I pause and rewind.
He waves at her and gives a signal. Rosa stands, gestures to Natalia, and leaves Natalia in the care of her nanny. She meets Santo in the garden.
“Why the hell is he talking to Rosa?”
Elise rolls her eyes. I choose to ignore it.
A second later, Rosa walks back to the dance floor, but she wrings her hands. She paces back and forth, and when staff brings flutes of champagne, she takes one and drinks it in two large gulps. She’s clearly agitated, but I can’t tell why.
I shake my head. “I don’t get it.”
“Maybe Rosa’s the one to call.”
“Yeah,” I mutter to myself.
Santo’s back from the garden. He glances at his watch and takes a call. He paces. Then he does something strange. I watch him walk to Natalia and crouch in front of her. He smiles, says something to her, then gives her a huge hug. I watch Orlando, Mario, and our guards head into the house where I know Anna Regazza’s inside having a fit.
A shadow passes the garden. Santo rises, straightens his shoulders, then takes a phone call. He looks over his shoulder, and I don’t miss the way his face contorts. Anger? Rage? He’s conflicted.
Quickly, I scroll to the footage of our driveaway. One of our own cars waits, idling. No one noticed since we were all at the wedding reception. Santo knocks on the driver’s window. The driver exits the car, heads back to the garage, and Santo takes his seat.
I pause and rewind the footage.
I’ve never seen the driver before in my life.
Motherfucker.
The first call I make is to Rosa. It goes straight to voicemail. I curse under my breath and call Romeo.
I tell him everything. “Rosa’s in town,” he says. “She didn’t take your call?”
“No. Where’s Natalia?”
“Natalia’s with her.”
I call her bodyguard, who answers on the first ring. “Yes, sir, Mr. Rossi?”
“I need to talk to Rosa.”
“She’s indisposed at the moment, can’t talk sir.”
“What the fuck is she doing that leaves her indisposed?”
“Uh… uh, I think she’s getting a Brazilian wax,” he says sheepishly.
I cringe. “Ah. Right.” I squeeze my eyes shut. I did not need to know that.
“You asked,” Elise mutters. I don’t reply.
I text Romeo to question Rosa, then look through everything else I have recorded. Our footage goes as far as Santo heading to the highway, likely to the airport.
“What do you have here in Tuscany, and why would he come here? How does Romeo know he’s here?”
“We have tracking software on our phones. It shows Santo leaving and then arriving here shortly after we do.”
She blows out an exasperated breath. “And where does it show him now?”
I frown. “At the airport. Since we got here.”
“So you think he disabled his phone or left it, yet he didn’t leave it in America?”
“Right. Doesn’t make sense that he’s still in the airport, does it?”
She shakes her head “Unless… well, unless he is still there.”
I look at her sharply. “Still at the airport?”
“Well, yes. People do business there all the time, don’t they? It’s the perfect meeting place for people to go incognito. Do whatever shady shit you’re doing, then hop on a plane and go anywhere in the damn world.”
“Let’s go.”
Our vineyard’s closer to the Florence Amerigo Vespucci Airport than our home, so it’s only a fifteen minute ride. Though there are two main airports that serve Tuscany, we always use the Florence airport because it accommodates our private flights more easily.
“I don’t know why he’d be at the airport. It’s all so convoluted.” I give her a sidelong glance. “He might’ve left his phone there. You don’t know anything about leaving things places so you can cause a diversion, now, do you?”
She doesn’t respond, only picks at the cuticles on her fingers with a haughty look.
We drive the entire way there in silence. The drive is beautiful, but I hardly pay attention to the rolling green hills, the sun above us, or the blooming spring flowers as far as the eye can see. I’m piecing things together.
Maybe he is still at the airport.
Why?
“Elise, call Rome again, please.”