Maybe it’s the last few months of anger and frustration that had unlocked the darker side of me, the side that I always knew was there. Whatever, I’m not looking too closely at my motives right now. I’d spent months studying the Ricci family, getting the lay of the land, learning what I needed to about each and every one of them so I could, in turn, use that knowledge to my advantage.
This was a completely different scheme to the one I’d been plotting for years, so it had taken some time, which it probably wouldn’t have if she who should not be named hadn’t gutted me and sent my life into a tailspin. I know everyone thinks I’ve given up on finding her, I don’t allow her name to be mentioned, and any time it is, I evacuate the scene.
But nothing could be further from the truth. It hurts too damn much, is all. The kind of pain that shouldn’t be exposed to prying eyes. I never knew I was this weak, but I went to sleep thinking about her and woke up the same. I have to fight hard to concentrate on anything else, but the ankle biter is a constant reminder; he misses her too.
Sometimes I’d find him curled up in the bed in her old room at my family home even though I moved him into the guesthouse with me. He always finds his way home, though, since we’ve become codependent on each other.
I had to move out of the house; I couldn’t even stand to look at my bed, not once her scent disappeared from the sheets anyway. Everywhere I looked, she was there, and I’d grown tired of seeing the looks of pity and fear in my family’s eyes. Especially my sisters. It had taken me a long time to convince them that I don’t hold them responsible for hooking her up with Diego, but I know they blame themselves.
Plus, every once in a while, one of them would slip and bring her up, and it got to be too much. I’m sure that’s because of a lot of guilt on my part, guilt, and feeling like I’d lost a limb or some other very vital part of who I once was. Gianna!
I pushed back memories of her face and turned my focus to what was up ahead. If things go as I hope, I’ll have to have all of my faculties about me. Right now, I was about to walk into the lion’s den alone, with no backup and no real way of knowing if it would all blow up in my face.
Half an hour after deplaning, the driver pulled up to a little café that I’d learned old man Ricci likes to visit every morning to have a cup of coffee and a pastry while sitting in the sun with the morning paper. This is it; this is where it all begins. You’d think I’d feel some kind of way, maybe a bit hesitant, even nervous, but instead, I felt a rush of adrenaline that made me step out of the car with confidence and purpose.
Everything depends on what happens here today. Well, as far as this particular scheme is concerned. If this doesn’t work, there’s always plan B. I was about to use the information I’d learned about this man’s family against him and them. Like, the fact that he was not so pleased with his son and was having second thoughts about passing the reins off to him.
I saw his goons as soon as I stepped onto the pavement, but I walked into the place, ignoring them, not acknowledging their presence in any way. Of course, they were on the job, and I’m a new face, so they paid attention. I went up to the counter, ordered my coffee and danish, and walked back outside to a table that was strategically within old man Ricci’s line of vision if and when he should look up.
It didn’t take long. I knew the minute he looked up from his paper; I felt the moment he did a double-take. “Young man!” It was the first time I heard my supposed grandfather’s voice, and it was filled with the surprise and uncertainty I was expecting.
I took my phone out and pretended to make a call, and he got up from his table. The two goons flanked him, and he held his hand up to hold them back. “Young man, do I know you?” I looked up at him for the first time with disinterest.
“Excuse me?”
“Your face. That’s Ricci, no? Yes, you’re a Ricci. I know your face. It’s mine; it’s my son’s face. How do you have this….”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got up, walked around him, and left. First phase of the plan done; now it’s up to him to figure out who I am. I made sure to walk slow enough for his people to get to their car before getting into mine. I’m sure if my driver was watching in the rearview mirror, the smile on my face would’ve sent shivers down his spine.
DRACO
“What the fuck are you saying to me, Denver? You’re where?”
“Sicily!” My blood ran cold.
“What? Why? The fuck! Why am I now hearing this?”
“He didn’t tell us where he was going. We went to your parents’ house, and then he just left for the airstrip. We didn’t have time to tell you anything.”
“My parents?”
“Yeah, he’s been going there a lot lately. We thought you knew.” Ah fuck Pop, what did you do? I hung up the phone without saying another word and headed out to the car. “Tommy, Pop’s now.”
“On it, boss.” Dammit, Gabe, just dammit all to hell. He’d clipped my wings, lulled me into a false sense of security when all along he’d been up to this shit.
I know for a fact that there’s no way he went there without extensive planning; that’s how he works. I should’ve known Pop had something to do with him finding the nun, but I just always thought he’d found her through the computer. So much has been going on since we got back from Europe that we never even really got down to discussing the particulars.
Every time I brought it up, he seemed disinterested, but I see now that that was a well-devised scheme to keep me off his scent. I dropped the ball, and now my kid might be in danger; nothing can feel worse than this. If that fuck does anything to hurt him, they’ll bury me under the jail because I won’t care who’s watching.
Of course, he took my plane, so there’s no way for me to go after him like I want to unless I book a flight, and that shit would take forever with the restrictions in place. Pop’s plane is an option, I guess, but the old man never lets us use it. He has a phobia about one of us buying it with a bomb meant for him. Powerlessness is not something I’m familiar with, and neither is the weakness I felt at the thought of my son being hurt.
I slammed out of the car and took the steps to my parent's front door two at a time, not even stopping to greet the butler who answered the door. I knew just where to find the old reprobate this time of day, cursing out whoever did the Sunday New York Times puzzle that takes him days to finish.
“Pop, what have you done to my son?”
“Oh, you’re here. I knew you’d show up. Have a seat.”
“Not in the mood, Pop; what were you thinking?” He chewed on his unlit cigar and filled in a word. “Cazzo, there you are.” I should light that shit and let Ma have his ass.
“Pop, this is serious. Do you know where your grandson is?”
“It’s not me. It’s your mother.”
“What? What’re you talking about?” Just then, she came into the room with a tea tray, all smiles.
“Pauly said you were here. Come, sit down; I’ll explain.”
“Ma? what do you have to do with this?”