And now I have the perfect excuse to do something completely reckless and impulsive. Only took the tears of a desperate girl to give me the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.
Chapter 31
Isadora
I set the doll, with its broken hand, into Rand’s awaiting palms, unable to look him in the eye.
“To say that I’m disappointed is an understatement. I thought very highly of you, Isa. I thought you were the perfect fit for our family.”
As much as I want to feel bad for what I’ve done, the truth is, I still have a shit-storm to take care of at home, and at the moment, that takes precedence over guilt. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll see if I can salvage Mrs. Blackthorne’s doll. We’ll keep this under wraps, as I’m sure she’ll be less forgiving than her son.”
With a solemn nod, I dare to look up at him. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s of no concern to me what you appreciate. I’m doing this for Mrs. Blackthorne’s sake. She, too, thinks very highly of you.”
This man deserves a Master’s Degree in guilt-tripping. If I wasn’t so preoccupied over a dangerous criminal showing up at my aunt’s house in the next couple of days, I’d probably find myself teetering on the edge of the roof, like Lucian the other night, weighted down by shame.
Without another word, Rand walks off, and I close the door to my bedroom. From beneath the bed, I grab my suitcase to begin packing up my stuff.
A text chimes on my phone, and I open it to see the message my aunt has been waiting to send me.
You need to come home. Family emergency.
Tension winds inside my muscles, the disappointment of having failed her pressing down on my conscience.
Abort mission. Something came up. I have to figure out another plan.
Are you in trouble, Isa?
No, it’s okay. Just let me figure this out.
A knock at the door leaves me huffing with exhaustion. Maybe Rand decided to smear my nose in it some more?
“Come in!” I don’t even have the energy to face him at this point. My whole world is crumbling around me, and I can’t muster the will to care about some stupid fucking doll that’s worth more than my aunt’s life.
The door clicks, and I twist to find Giulia standing in the doorway. Her gaze dips toward my suitcase and back as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “I take it he declined.”
“Is it obvious?” Perhaps it’s the presence of another woman, one who was also desperate at one time, that finally punches through my defenses. I turn away from her to hide the tears welling in my eyes again. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s crying in front of someone. “I feel … lost right now.”
The gentle touch on my shoulder twitches my muscles. “What will you do?”
“All I can do. Go home and be there for my aunt. I can’t leave her alone in all this.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Do you think she’d want you to place yourself in danger that way?”
“Versus what? Staying here and pretending my life is as perfect as everyone else’s? I’m not going to play house with a nut job, while some drug dealer decides to use my aunt as target practice.”
Sighing, she lowers her head. “You asked him for help?”
“He said … that I was too young for whatever help I didn’t realize I was requesting.”
Gaze still cast from mine, she picks at her thumb, fidgeting. “Then, he told you of our arrangement.”
“In so many words.”
“I’m surprised he denied you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he hasn’t touched me since the day you arrived here.”
An agitated laugh escapes me, as I unzip the bag I intend to have packed within the next ten minutes. “I don’t think that has anything to do with me.”
“Maybe not. But as recent as the night before you arrived, he called for me every night. Now, he wants nothing to do with me.”
Called for her? For some reason, all that comes to mind is the scene in Dracula, when Lucy fucks the wolf. “Lucian thinks I’m a child. He treats me like a little girl. An irritating little girl.”
“Well, I’ve seen the way he’s dealt with thieves. The fact that he didn’t fire you tells me he thinks more of you than you probably realize.” Backing away from me, she heads toward the door. “Anyway, I just wanted to check on you. I’ll pray that everything works out in the end.”
“Thanks. But I don’t think God gives a shit about a girl who doesn’t have much faith in prayer.”
“He might surprise you, Isa. They say he works in mysterious ways.”
Mysterious indeed. I couldn’t have guessed when I woke up this morning that I’d be sacrificing myself to the Devil.
Once she’s out of the room, I go back to packing up my clothes. I leave the new wardrobe hanging in the armoire, cringing at the soda-stained shirt. It’s then I realize I forgot to send Aunt Midge a text to come pick me up, with all the Giulia distraction.
“Shit.” When I lift my phone, there’s a text message from her.
Holy shit on a shingle, that was fast!!!!
I frown down at her message and the barrage of exclamations she uses and text her back.
What was fast?
I have to bite my nails to keep from losing my mind, as she takes a turtle’s lifetime to answer, so I shake my head and dial her number instead.
The moment she picks up, I can hear laughter in her voice. “You’re a saint. I’m convinced of it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“He returned your mother, Isa. And apologized on top of it all.”
“Who?”
“Franco.”
Franco? The guy who broke fingers, burned my mother, and threatened to kill both of them Franco? Somehow, I can’t picture an apology in all of that violence. It’s unfitting, only adding to my disbelief.
“He showed up here with that Hawaiian guy, driving a fancy black car. I nearly had a heart attack when he walked up into the yard, but he had your mother with him. She’s a little worse for the wear, looks like they roughed her up most of the night, but she’s going to be okay. She’s resting now.”
Makaio? I pull the phone away to see it’s only been an hour since I left Lucian’s office. “What happened? What did he say?”
“He just said it was a misunderstanding. He apologized and said he won’t bother us again. That was it. He left with the Hawaiian.”
“You’re sure it was Makaio.”
“Same guy who carried in your luggage that first night? Yeah. There’s no mistaking that one.”
This has Lucian written all over it. He has to be the one behind this. Who else would send Makaio to return my mother?
“I don’t know what you did, but thank you. I know you’re not a fan of Jenny, but you saved your mom’s life today. You saved mine. I love ya, Isa.” Her voice is shaky again, like she might cry, which is my cue to cut the call short.
“Sure, sure. Love you, too. Look, um, send me a text later, to make sure all is still okay.” I still can’t wrap my head around this. Everything feels numb and spacey, but cold and tingly at the same time. Shock, maybe?