My mother.
My mother with a man who is not my father.
The photos begin to blur as my eyes fill with tears, and masochist that I am, I keep clicking only to see more and more photos of them together. My mother and her lover. A man whose face I never see. A man who is very clearly not my father, not with his build, not with those tattoos.
Dad’s letter to me comes to mind. The betrayal he’d felt. My conversation with Bastian and Amadeo telling me Emma isn’t my father’s daughter repeats itself, their voices so clear. I see the evidence they had. And then I hear what Lucien said. How Dad wasn’t surprised about the accident that killed her. That almost killed my sister. My sister who won’t speak and is terrified of men.
And tears spill from my eyes as I remember the man I knew. The one who loved me. Only me. The one who put this photo of his girls where he wouldn’t have to see it day in and day out. Who, by the end, couldn’t stand to look at Mom if I’m being honest. And Mom, who, by the end, cowered from him. It all makes sense, I think, as I look down onto the small screen of my phone and see Mom’s face, see Mom in the arms of a stranger. Mom happy. It all fits.
The library door opens, and I jump, quickly dropping the phone into my bag and standing, wiping my eyes, looking as guilty as I feel. It’s Hyacinth, and she startles. I don’t know if it’s because she found me in here or the state I’m in.
“Vittoria. Are you okay? Has something happened?”
I wipe my eyes and shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” I look behind her for Emma but she’s alone.
“I told Emma I’d look for you to read to her. She was up early and upset you weren’t there when she woke up.”
“God. Of course, she was. I didn’t even realize the time. I’ll go right up.”
“I’ll get us some coffee and meet you up there. She’s setting her stuffed animals and dolls up for a tea party. All of them.” She rolls her eyes but is smiling warmly.
I love the innocence of the act. “Thanks, Hyacinth.”
She nods even though she looks worried. I give her hand a squeeze and head up to Emma’s bedroom as she disappears into the kitchen.
But as I’m approaching her bedroom door, I hear it. The chopper landing. They’re back. I’m out of time. I hurry into Emma’s room and find her at the window, watching as the chopper lands. It’s so stark and loud against the peaceful backdrop of the sun rising. But it’s what I see, or more who I see, spilling out of the chopper that silences me, that has me grabbing Emma’s hand hard as, from downstairs, we hear the sounds of men. A lot of men. And gunfire.
Because it’s not the brothers who have returned. These are soldiers.
I turn to Emma and see the tea party she was preparing in the large walk-in closet. See all the stuffed animals taking up the entire back wall.
“Hide,” I tell her. She’s good at that. Has been since Mom died. “Go. Hide.” I rush into the closet with her even as I hear footsteps charging up the stairs. “And don’t come out until someone you know and trust comes to get you. Do you understand? Me or Hyacinth. Understand?” She nods, but she looks terrified. “Bastian or Amadeo,” I add at the last minute. She’s squeezing my hand so tight I’m not sure she’ll let go. “No one else. No one!”
She nods, too frightened to even cry. I’m grateful for her silence for the first time ever as she does as I say, and I rush out of the closet and close the door just as soldiers burst into the bedroom.
21
BASTIAN
Our flight is landing when the call comes in, and even though it’s not the middle of the night or in any way unusual for Bruno to be calling at eight in the morning, I know before I answer that something is wrong.
Amadeo and I descend the stairs of the jet and step onto the tarmac. The chopper that will take us up to Ravello is waiting in the distance.
“Bruno?” I ask as I slide the green bar across the screen to accept the call.
“You land?” he asks, voice tight.
“Just now. What is it?” Amadeo and I both stop. I put the phone on speaker and bring it close to our ears, given the noise.
“You need to get to Ravello.”
“What’s happened?”
“We were attacked.”
My heart stops.
“Your mother is okay,” he says. “I’m with her now.”
I wait. So does Amadeo. I don’t think either of us wants to ask the question.
“Francesca was killed. As was the nanny.”
I’m not breathing.
“Vittoria and Emma are gone.”
Gone?
Gone is good, right?
Gone is better than dead.
“Mom wasn’t hurt?”
“No, but she’s upset. Very upset. I’m afraid she might have witnessed the killings.”
“We’re on our way,” Amadeo says.
I disconnect the call and push the phone into my pocket as we run to the chopper. We’re barely strapped in, headsets on, as the pilot takes off, and I dig my phone out of my pocket.
Me: Jarno?
Bruno: Badly injured. He won’t make it. It’s a fucking massacre. I’ve alerted our men in Naples, and a few are on their way here.
I show the phone to Amadeo so he can read the text.
I look at Amadeo. “We need to move her.”
“Agree. I’ll make a call as soon as we land. Call in another favor.”
“Who?”
“Stefan Sabbioni. We’ll send her to Sicily.”
We sit in tense silence, the chopper flying too slowly. When it finally lands in Ravello, we’re both running across the lawn toward the back entrance of the house. I can already see the carnage, the blood on the furniture Mom loves to sit on to look out at the garden as she has her tea in the afternoons. The knocked over chairs. The downed men.
Amadeo makes the call, keeping it brief. Two men who are usually stationed at the Naples house emerge armed with automatic rifles slung over their chests. They’re wearing protective gear like they’re ready for war.
Bruno walks out behind them, his face grave.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“Doctor just gave her a sedative. She’s in her room. Go see her. She’ll feel better when she sees your faces.”
We nod, and both go upstairs, taking in the destruction of the house—the walls riddled with bullets, the glass shards of the windows on the stained marble floor. Armed soldiers stand at the front doors and at every window.
Mom’s room is at the far end. I notice the open door of Emma’s bedroom and stop to pick up the stuffed pig she’d been carrying that day I took her from the shrink’s office. I pick it up as we walk to Mom’s bedroom, and I see Amadeo’s eyes move to the closed door of Vittoria’s room. The one she was locked in when we first took her. Before she was anything to us other than the enemy.
Vittoria is safe for now, as is Emma. They could have killed them along with the rest and left their bodies for us to find. But they didn’t. They’re alive.
“Mom?” Amadeo says as we walk in. Her doctor is standing beside the bed, and a nurse is adjusting the blankets.