I observed silently as he booked passage on a plane to California, then we ate lunch together. I helped him pack up some belongings—about a week’s worth, which made me want to grab his arm and refuse to release him—and when the time came for him to go, I did my best to keep the sorrow from my face as I kissed him goodbye. Only after I went downstairs and saw his car depart through the tall security gates did I allow myself to cry.
I tossed and turned all that night, unable to rest peacefully without Romeo beside me. Before he’d departed, he’d written down his cell phone number and told me to sneak a burner phone out of their headquarters. I’d done as he said and slipped into the room he’d given me directions to, feeling like some clandestine spy. It might’ve actually been fun had I not felt so much trepidation about Angelo possibly being around. I’d located the burners, dashed back to our quarters, and called him.
“Yes?” It was good to hear his voice, even as impersonal as he’d just made it sound.
“It’s me.”
His tone altered to a much more loving one. “I miss you already, farfalla. How are you holding up?”
“By focusing all my attention on reading more baby books and looking forward to my appointment.”
“The driver will be out front waiting for you at two this afternoon.”
“I’ll be there.” I promised, annoyed when a tear rolled down my cheek. Not now, I told myself. That isn’t something Romeo needs to hear.
“Call me when you’re through, okay? I want to make sure I’m up to date.”
“I will,” I promised again. Then, to lighten the mood I changed my answer. “Or maybe I should say, ‘Yes, husband.’”
“Oh, dio, not that. You’ll make me hard when I need to remain professional.”
I forced a laugh and heard him chuckle in return, but his didn’t sound any more real than mine had. “I love you, Romeo.”
“I love you, farfalla. Call me tomorrow.”
“After my appointment,” I confirmed with him.
“Talk to you soon.” Then, he disconnected.
I slept a little better after that, mostly because I held onto the phone. It might be a poor substitute for my husband, but it felt almost like a talisman, a link to him from his home. Still, it felt like I had only just relaxed into a doze, when someone shook me awake again.
“Signorina…signorina… you must get up.”
“What…” I asked, out of it. “Philippa?”
“There is an emergenza. You must go downstairs.”
“Emergency? What emergency?”
“With Signore Romeo. Hurry, hurry!”
Bewildered, I looked for him before I remembered. “But he’s not even here. He’s in California.”
“He has come back for you. That is why you must run.”
I rubbed at my eyes feeling like I had brain fog. “He came back?”
“Go to him, signorina. There is no time to waste.”
Confused, scared and yet hopeful. I threw on my robe and followed my maid out to the landing that led to the lower floors. I took a couple of steps and paused. “He’s where? On the first floor?”
“Yes,” she said, staring straight in front of her at my side.
Still, even in my weary state, I kept adding up two and two and getting five. “He defied his father and hopped aboard a redeye?”
“Yes, yes,” Philippa flicked her hands like she might a bothersome mosquito. “You must get downstairs.”
But as much as I yearned to see Romeo, something felt wrong. I halted in the middle of the spiral staircase. “But, Philippa…”
She remained on the step above me, and as I gazed into her eyes, I saw a rapid transformation. Her innocence and meek nature vanished to be replaced with a look so devious and calculating that I didn’t recognize her. She spoke in a fierce voice that didn’t betray even a modicum of an accent, Italian or otherwise.
“For the love of all that’s holy, enough is enough.”
And then, she shoved me with all her might.
I was in the process of falling before my mind could reconcile the fact. Down and down I went, landing with great force on my left side, on my right side, then on my back. I spun nauseatingly fast, hitting the back of my head on the way. I only had time enough for one thought before I winked out of existence, and that was probably due only to the power of my instincts.
My baby…
28
Romeo
Despite it being one in the morning, I was awake when my phone rang. My first thought was that it might be Lucia, but when I looked, I saw Savio’s number instead. Perplexed by why he would call at such a time, I answered.
“Savio?”
I heard women sobbing in the background. No, they were wailing. “Romeo,” my youngest brother said, his tone hesitant. “You need to come home. Right now.”
My heart seized in my chest. “What is it?”
Yet even before he said the name, I knew who it would be.
“It’s Lucia. She fell down the third-floor staircase.”
I jumped out of the hotel bed, jarring the hell out of my hip, but it didn’t matter. Even if my whole leg came off, I had to get there. I switched on the speaker function and crammed everything back into my suitcase, not bothering to care whether the things I stuffed into it belonged to me or the hotel.
“Is she…” I couldn’t complete my inquiry.
“She’s alive but unconscious. We’ve all packed into Marcello’s Escalade. We’re following the ambulance in.”
I hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask more questions until after I’d arrived at the University of Chicago Medicine hospital four hours later, and even then, I’d had to ask Marcello to take Chiara and Alessandra somewhere else. I couldn’t bear to listen to their grief, though I allowed Giorgio to stay. I couldn’t visit Lucia yet because they’d taken her back to conduct a myriad of scans, so Savio volunteered to answer my endless queries.
“Who found her?”
“The maid. Philippa.”
“What the hell happened? Why was she going downstairs in the middle of the night?”
“We don’t know,” Savio shook his head. “Maybe she had a craving or something. Philippa said she heard a series of thumps and went to look. Lucia was laying at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Have the doctors said anything?”
“Only that her heart is still beating and she’s breathing on her own.”
“What about…” This question stuck in my throat like a razor blade. “Is she still…” I couldn’t get it out.
“I told them she was pregnant,” Savio supplied.
“She’s in her second trimester,” Giorgio spoke up out of the blue, looking sullen.
“I know how far along my wife is,” I snapped at him, even though he’d done nothing to provoke me. At least my father hadn’t decided to tag along. If Angelo were to get underfoot right now, I might send him sailing off the top of this high-rise building.
A few never-ending hours after that, a man in green scrubs and a white coat appeared in the corridor. One of the doctors from her medical team had at last come to find me.