“The sedative I gave her is strong,” the doctor says, moving away as we approach the bed where Mom opens her eyes and reaches out a hand. I take it.
“Mom.” I brush her hair back from her face. She looks up at me, then at Amadeo and takes his hand too.
“They didn’t get you,” she says, drawing us closer. “They didn’t get you.”
“No, we’re okay, Mom. You go to sleep now. We’ll talk about it when you wake up.”
“Francesca,” she says, and tears roll down her face.
“Shh. Close your eyes, Mom. Go to sleep.” She does because of the sedative, and we turn to the doctor.
“She’s physically all right.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Amadeo says. “We’re moving her. You and the nurse will go with her?” Although he asks it as a question, it’s not.
The doctor glances at the woman who nods. “Of course.”
“Your cell phones, Doctor.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“For her safety.”
He hands over his phone and turns to the nurse who does the same.
“Thank you,” I say.
Bruno is waiting for us in the doorway. “Naples?”
“No. Sicily. Stefan Sabbioni will house her until this is done,” Amadeo says.
“I’ll arrange transport.”
“Where’s Francesca’s body?”
“In the kitchen. She and Hyacinth are both there. They were surprised, I think. It would have been quick.”
I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak.
“Jarno?”
He shakes his head. “He was in the library.”
Amadeo mutters a curse under his breath.
“And Vittoria and Emma aren’t here,” I say. It’s not a question.
“You’re sure? You searched everywhere?” Amadeo asks.
“Everywhere. I got here about an hour ago to find the carnage. Called in men. We searched the house and the grounds. No trace of them.”
“Find out where my uncle is,” Amadeo says as he and I walk into Emma’s bedroom to find it torn apart, like the rest of the house. No bullets here, though. No one was killed in here. I set the little well-loved pig on the bed. The closet door is open, and I see the tea party they must have been having. Someone kicked the tiny cups over and the icing from the cake is embedded in the carpet. I crouch down to see the heavy tread of the boot’s imprint.
I stand, look over the stuffed animals. There are dozens in various sizes along with baby and Barbie dolls strewn in. I turn to go when my gaze lands on Emma’s torn-apart little shoes. She always put them on the minute she got out of bed.
Amadeo lays a hand on my shoulder “We’ll get them back,” he says. “He took them. He wants something in exchange, or he’d have killed them and left them for us to find.”
I nod. I know that.
“I want to have a look at the other bedrooms,” he says.
I follow him and am almost to the door when I hear a sound. It’s so soft I almost doubt that I heard anything at all, but I stop and listen. It’s quiet, unnaturally still. Graveyard still. Amadeo leaves, but something tells me to wait. A full minute passes before I hear it again. It’s so quiet it’s almost nothing. Not quite a whisper. Almost not noise at all. I take my pistol and cock it as I turn back into the room.
Not many places to hide. I can see under the beds from where I am. No one’s under there. Not that a soldier would be hiding under a bed. The bathroom door is ajar, and I push it fully open. No one’s behind the shower curtain. No one’s here at all. I walk inside and open the cabinet under the sink, feeling stupid for looking there, but I do it, and it’s empty. Which makes me feel stupider.
I straighten, shake my head, and cross the room to the door when it comes again, and this time I stop and turn to look into the closet with its still-open door. I cock my head as I take in the array of stuffed animals and dolls. And I hear it again. I step toward the pile and re-engage the Glock’s safety before pushing it into its holster. And this time when I hear the sound, I think I can make out a word.
Help.
My heart races as I crouch down to push the animals out of the way, and I almost don’t believe it when I see a cloud of curly blond hair, then big brown eyes. Big, terrified brown eyes that stare up at me, her scarred face streaked with tears. She’s moving her mouth, muttering one word. Trying to make a sound.
“Help.”
Relief like I’ve never felt floods my system. It’s a moment of light as Emma reaches out to me. I take her in my arms and feel her tiny body press into mine as her arms put a stranglehold around my neck.
“Emma,” I say, standing, carrying the little thing with me as she sobs quiet tears into my neck and keeps trying to say that one word.
“Help. Help. Help.”
I walk out of the closet and sit on the edge of her bed. She’s holding on to me so tightly that it takes effort to draw her back far enough to see her face. I wipe her eyes and try to offer a reassuring smile.
“I heard you, Emma,” I say. “I can hear you.”
She hugs me, then reaches for something. The pig. It’s just out of reach so I grab it for her and look her over, make sure she’s unharmed. She is.
“You hid well,” I tell her.
“Vittoria,” she says, the sound so quiet it’s not even a whisper. “Vittoria is gone. Bad man. Bad.” And she starts to sob all over again, her body wracked with it. I wrap a hand over the back of her head and draw her to me, standing as I do.
“We’re going to get Vittoria back,” I tell her as I walk out of the room, keeping my hand on her head so her face is buried against my neck. I don’t want her to see the carnage.
A part of my brain is telling me I’m making a promise I may not be able to keep, but I tell that part to shut the fuck up and walk past the open door of Vittoria’s empty stripped-down bedroom to Amadeo’s. He’s sitting on the bed on the side he doesn’t sleep on. Vittoria’s side now, when she sleeps in his bed. And in his hands, he’s holding her tank top, the one with teapots on it. He has it pressed to his nose.
“Look who I found,” I say.
Amadeo stiffens, and he stands with his back to me for a moment. I think he’s composing himself. When he turns to us and sees Emma, a wide smile spreads across his face.
“Emma.” He comes to her, rubbing her back and patting her hair. She looks at him, then at the tank top.
“Vittoria,” she says, reaching a hand to the tank top. I meet my brother’s eyes over the top of her head. His face is set, hard, that smile vanished. It’s the way he looked before, in the beginning. As we plotted our revenge.
“We will get Vittoria back,” he tells Emma in a voice I barely recognize. But I understand why. Because we will get her back. Just not sure in what state.
22
VITTORIA
I got the soldiers out of the bedroom as fast as I could. I didn’t struggle more than I had to to show that I was struggling. I just needed them gone. They wanted us both. They searched for her, but they were in a hurry to leave. I knew why once we were on the chopper. An entourage was headed to the villa. Amadeo and Bastian? Had they flown through the night and were arriving just this morning? What a scene would greet them.