Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

Angelo

Imake sure Sabella is comfortable and that she has everything she needs. After serving her breakfast in bed, I bring the balloons, flowers, and chocolates from the hospital into our room. It's good to remind her that people care about her.

Then I drop off the kids and swing by the local hospital to make a donation for a new operating wing. With the sum I'm pledging, they can fit out the new extension with state-of-the-art equipment.

My next stop is at the municipality where I donate a couple of million for building a raised pedestrian bridge over the river to avoid future accidents when there's flooding. The mayor abandons his tea break to receive me in person. Despite his excitement about this new improvement for the village, his nervousness around me is palpable. That doesn't stop him from presenting a few other projects while he has my much-valued attention—his words—that include building a library and a cultural center, which he proposes to name after me. I'm a few million poorer when I finally leave his office.

When I get back to the house, three cars are parked in the front. I frown. Sabella's family isn't due until late afternoon. I'm more curious than concerned. If there was a problem, my guards would've alerted me.

I ask Heidi about it when she meets me at the door.

"It's Sabella's friends from the village," she whispers as she takes my coat. "I served them tea in the room. I hope you don't mind."

I glance at the stairs. "Of course not."

My wife may be popular with the locals, but that doesn't change the way they feel about me. Sabella won them over by being who she is—a caring, kind, and generous person. I'll always be what I am.

Knowing my presence won't be welcome, I stick my head around the doorframe to offer a greeting, which is the minimum politeness expected from a host, but the true reason for showing my face is to make sure Sabella's visitors aren't wearing her out.

The group from the hospital, minus the grocery store owner, is crowded in the lounge area of our bedroom. The way their backs go stiff and their smiles slip at the sight of me comes as no surprise. Before retreating to my study, I ask if they'd like more drinks or something to eat, which—no surprises either—they decline.

The first thing I do is to arrange for Sabella's clothes and personal possessions to be moved from the new house. I give instructions for the rest of the stuff to be put in storage. Then I bury myself in work.

Heidi comes to call me for lunch. "Would you like to eat in the dining room or at your desk? I'll take a tray up to Sabella."

"Leave it." I stand. "I'll have lunch with Sabella. I'll take the tray myself."

The approving smile is a new look on her. She hasn't given my decisions her blessing for a long time. "It'll be ready in a minute. Before I head to the kitchen, would you like me to show you the rooms to make sure everything is prepared to your liking?"

A physical ache spreads through my chest, constricting my lungs and my ability to breathe. I swear this is what a heart attack must feel like. "That won't be necessary."

"I thought we could put Sabella's mother in your mom's workroom. There's a daybed that's comfortable. Sabella's sister and her husband can take Adeline's room. I put your old crib in there for the baby. Sabella's brother and his wife and son can take the room next to yours seeing that the kids occupy the other rooms."

She doesn't say the room I once reserved for Sabella, the one in which I locked her in.

"Doris can sleep on the sofa bed in my quarters." Eyeing me with uncertainty, she adds, "If that's all right? The sleeping arrangements, I mean."

I'm careful to keep my voice level. "That sounds good."

She leaves with a nod.

I wait until she's gone before I drop my mask. Once I no longer hear her footsteps in the hallway, I walk to the door.

Pause.

Hesitate.

Instead of turning for the kitchen, I head upstairs and stop on the landing.

It's ironic how I thought I'd never let anyone set foot in those rooms again, and here I am, having them prepared for Sabella's family. Of all people, it's my enemies who opened those doors I barred so tightly in both a literal and figurative sense. I'd lie if I say I'm at ease with this, but I'm doing it for Sabella. Because she's the one who breathes life into this house. She's the one who brings beauty and kindness to these rooms. Without her, the house would've remained a cold, dark tomb in which the only goodness was the glimpses of a happier past trapped between its walls. I clung so hard to those movie flashes of moments, thinking if I fought hard enough, they wouldn't fade, that I failed to notice how I turned the home my mother built into nothing but a house. Just like the gift I offered my mother. Brick and mortar. A pretty skeleton. But it missed a heart.

That's what my mother was trying to tell me. That's what she tried to make me see when she challenged me about Sabella's happiness. Because when a woman is happy, her house is a home. And when a house is a home, the people who live there are a family. They can withstand the most violent storms because they have a solid foundation to keep them strong. Protection. Love. That's the way of the world. It boils down to one simple truth. A woman is the heart of a home. It took all of this and so many years for me to understand.

The first step I take toward the west wing is painful. The second comes easier. My heart thuds in my chest in tandem with the fall of my shoes on the floor. The closer I get to their side of the house, the more difficult it becomes to breathe. When I finally stop in front of my mother's work room, it feels as if I'll suffocate.

Flattening a palm on the door, I push it open. Memories crash over me where I pause on the threshold—my mother sitting behind her sewing machine, smiling up at me when I enter, waving me over, and wrapping her arms around me. When I close my eyes, I smell the odor of the fried zucchini and aubergine from lunch that clings to her hair. I feel the light weight of her soft arms around me and the warm, heavy reassurance of her love.

There's so much of her I recognize in Sophie. Her petite body and delicate bone structure. Her auburn hair and the muddy brown of her wide, haunting eyes. Her sensitivity and intelligence. Having Sophie is like having a part of my mother that didn't die. They're similar yet so different. Sophie doesn't suffer from my mother's inferiority complex. She's a strong little girl, just like Sabella. I suppose that's what it must be like to have children, to see yourself in them and at the same time a wondrously unique little being. There's so much to discover. As they grow, every day brings something new. I always wanted to be a father, but I never realized how much I'd love it.

Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes. This room is like a child. It bears the genes of a person who's gone as well as those of a newborn baby. The furniture is the same. The sewing machine stands in its place on the table. Yet the rugs and linen are new. Beiges and browns replace the colorful mishmash of old. The daybed is made with a cream comforter and matching pillows. The wooden surfaces are polished, but the smell is different. It's something lemony instead of the lavender I remember.

When I take it all in, a sense of peace washes over me. It doesn't hurt less, but the pain is more bearable. The pain has a different dimension now.

Hope.

Yes. My mother would've liked this. She would've been pleased. She'd prefer to have her favorite spaces filled with breaths and tears and laughter instead of with dust and flaking memories.

I close the door and walk to Adeline's room. I only hesitate for a second before I open the door. For a moment, I'm too overcome with shock to process my feelings. All her personal belongings are gone. The jewelry and ornate photo frames and clothes vanished as if they were never there. The bed is made with white linen. My old baby crib stands in the corner. A fluffy panda bear sits on a fleece blanket that's neatly folded on the foot-end. A mobile with seagulls carved from wood and painted white hangs over the crib.

The pang of loss that tightens my chest isn't only because Adeline's existence is all but wiped from the room. The grief that assaults me is knowing that this is what Sabella and I lost. A crib with a teddy and a mobile with birds. A baby. A little girl, perhaps. With Sabella's expressive brown eyes and her soft pink lips. The beauty spot at the corner of her mouth. Maybe I should've given our baby a gravestone. A cross with roses like my mother and Adeline's. But we never even got the chance to name her. I never got to go down on my knees and kiss Sabella's belly. To put my hands on her stomach and feel the first kick. And a devious, unfair part of me is jealous of Sabella's sister and brother for having what we lost.

I take another moment to let the newness sink in. I want to cling to the past, to the explosion of colors and baubles, to the jewelry box I so carefully repaired, and to the string of Venetian glass beads I restrung, but it's time to move on. It's time to hold the good memories inside my head and my heart instead of locking them up in a room. It's time to make new memories.

My heart rips in two when I close the door. No one said it was going to be easy. But this is life. Death is part of it. It's the choices we made. No, not we. Me. It's the choices I made. It's me who'll live with them. And Sabella. She'll have to live with the choices I made because I never gave her one. She's suffering from my mistakes, and she doesn't deserve a single ounce of the pain I dumped on her. She's always been innocent. Her only sin was to be mine. To have been promised to me. I'll make things right if it's the last thing I do. I'll dedicate my life to that goal. With all the shit I put her through, I've got my work cut out for me.

The bruise in my chest feels raw by the time I open the last two doors on opposite ends of the hallway. My mother and father's rooms. They look the same, but they've been cleaned. The windows are open, letting the crisp air of an early spring inside. The voile curtains lift in the breeze that blows in from the vineyard. The bed linen is new. The colors are different. Not brown and black with gold trimmings but butter yellow like a winter sun. Not purple with silver stitching but blue like the sky in summer.

Good. I'm glad Heidi added the new touches. It somehow lessens the pain. I'm equally glad she didn't put anyone in these rooms. I'm ready to open the doors, but I'm not quite ready for that.

Leaving my memories behind, I fetch the tray Heidi prepared from the kitchen and carry our lunch upstairs.

Sabella sits up in bed when I enter. A book lies open on her lap.

"Reading?" I ask as I leave the tray on the nightstand.

She smiles. "Trying to."

I take the book and turn it over. "Marine life?"

"A gift from Mrs. Campana. The pharmacist."

"I know who Mrs. Campana is." I put the book back in her lap. "That was very considerate of her."

"She knows I wanted to become a marine biologist. I mentioned it to her once."

She seems a little more upbeat. Yes, she gives me smiles and humor, but I know inside she's hurting. I know what she's buried under the surface because I buried those skeletons too.

Studying her face, I ask, "Did you enjoy the visit?"

"It was good to see them. They're very kind to me."

I draw up a chair and sit down. "Then they should visit more often."

"They're not asking questions about what happened." Her brow pleats. "I think they suspect. I'm worried about you." Her slender throat bobs as she swallows. "About what will happen to you if the truth comes out."

"They can suspect all they like. As long as we stick to what you told the officer, nothing is going to happen to me."

The look she gives me says she's not convinced.

"Hungry?" I ask to change the subject. Not waiting for her reply, I hand her a plate and a fork. Heidi made chicken-a-la-king.

While we eat, I tell her about my visit to the village and the improvements that will be made. To my surprise, I find that I enjoy this—simply talking to her. I like sharing the mundane details of my day. Maybe it's the interest she shows. Maybe it's the approval in her eyes. Whatever the reason, I'm reluctant to leave when our plates are empty, but she needs to rest.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask, getting to my feet. "I can do with a nap."

Her smile is sweet. "You have to stop lying to me. You're many things, Mr. Russo, but you're not an afternoon napper. I bet you have tons of work waiting on your desk."

Her accurate analysis makes me grin. "Fine. I'm not tired, but I'd like to hold you in my arms while you sleep. Yeah. I'd like that very much. There. Is that honest enough for you?"

She laughs but quickly swallows it down with a flinch. "What about your work? You must've fallen behind with the business."

"Work can wait. You're my priority."

She looks at me with an expression I've seen on her face before. It was a long time ago, a time before the ugliness of broken promises and vengeance came between us. It was the night I sneaked into her room and slid my signet ring onto her thumb. We sat on her bed, and she had her face tilted, looking up at me exactly like she's doing now. I never thought I'd see that light in her eyes when she looked at me again. To be honest, at the time, I didn't pay particular attention to the way her eyes softened when her gaze played over my face, but the moment is like déjà vu, bringing the recollection back with a rush.

"You go on," she says. "Finish what you have to do. I won't nap long."

She's telling me in not so many words she prefers to sleep alone. The rejection stings, but I promised myself I wouldn't rush her. If she wants space, that's what I'll give her. I'll give her whatever she needs. Which reminds me…

"I have something for you," I say, cupping her cheek. I want to give her so much more than the things I ordered from Bastia, the essentials she needs for everyday life. But I only bend down and press my lips on her forehead, not wanting to trigger emotions she can't stand.

Opening the nightstand drawer, I take out the box and hand it to her. "Here."

She stares at the box while saying with surprise, "An iPhone."

"It's the latest model. You can dial anywhere in the world."

She lifts her head quickly. "What about security?"

"If we need to talk about sensitive subjects, I'll give you a burner phone."

"Thanks," she says, phrasing it like a question.

I don't say that she's welcome, because having a reliable means of communication is her right. "You better get some rest before your family arrive."

"Doesn't Heidi need help with the preparations?"

"Heidi has everything under control. You're not allowed to worry about anything." I brush my knuckles over her cheek. "Your only job is getting well."

She flashes me a grateful smile as I take the tray and leave her in peace.

Since the kidnapping, I prefer to drive the kids everywhere myself. As I have to fetch them from school at four, I sent three cars to the airport, making sure that two of them were fitted with baby seats. Another car with armed men will follow to keep the convoy safe.

Before leaving, I check on Sabella, who's sleeping soundly.

On the way, Fabien calls.

"Mr. Russo," he says. "What's going on? I've just been to the new house to deliver summer clothes, and everything is locked up."

I grit my teeth. "Sabella moved into the old house."

"She did?" he asks with a bite of animosity I'm prepared to overlook just because Sabella likes him. "Well, I hope that's good news."

My tone is measured. "It is."

"Then I'll swing by there to drop off her new outfits."

"It better wait. Sabella had an accident."

"What?" he shrieks. "Why didn't you tell me? Is she all right? What happened?"

"She's not all right, but she will be. I'll let you know when's a good time to come."

"Please give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery."

"Will do," I say, ending the call as I turn into the school parking lot.

The teacher, Mrs. Aravena, accompanies the kids.

My muscles tense as she approaches.

The kids run up to hug me. After loading them into the SUV, I close the door and give her my attention, expecting the worse. Did Sophie cry again? Did the kidnapping reverse all the progress we made?

"Mr. Russo," she says, leading me a distance out of earshot.

I watch her with apprehension.

She smiles. "I just wanted to tell you that Sophie is doing much better. She's catching up fast, and she seems a lot happier. You did the right thing to let her bring her dolls to school. She told me today that it's time for them learn to stay at home alone." Crossing her arms, she studies me with a perceptive gaze. "Thank you for doing that for her."

I relax marginally. "Any gratitude due is yours."

Her smile stretches. Uncrossing her arms, she says, "You're welcome," before walking away.

I stare after her for a moment before getting into the car. The kids speak simultaneously, competing for my attention as I start the engine.

"One at a time," I say.

"I want to tell you first," Sophie says. "We made clay models today, and Mrs. Aravena said mine was the best. It's a zombie."

Guillaume crosses his arms. "I wanted to go first. We're going to the beach to pick up the plastic next week."

"Sophie goes first today, and you go first tomorrow, Guillaume," I say.

They tell me about their day, each speaking louder than the next until I urge them to lower their voices lest they give me a headache or permanent hearing damage. When they've each had a turn, I remind them of the visitors we're expecting, warning them to be on their best behavior.

The city cars I dispatched to the airport are parked in front of the house when we get back. I inhale deeply before getting out of the SUV.

Heidi waits for us on the porch.

"Your teatime snack is ready in the kitchen," she tells the kids after greeting them. To me, she says, "I sent Sabella's family up to your room. They must have a lot to talk about." She adds with a meaningful glance toward the kids, "They can do with some privacy until they've caught up."

Which is code for she'll keep the kids busy to give Sabella and her family the time they need before the new introductions are made.

"Thanks," I say, grabbing étienne's arm as he storms toward the house. "No running. And no going upstairs. We're going to give Sabella a chance to visit with her family in peace."

Sophie's face drops. "But I wanted to tell her about my clay model."

"You can tell her later," I say, ushering them inside. "What she'll appreciate is a little time alone with her family. Understand?"

"Come." Heidi closes the door. "I baked scones."

The two youngest boys push each other in their haste to get to the kitchen while Sophie drags her feet down the hallway. Johan glances at the stairs as he follows, his gaze both apprehensive and wary.

I go to my study and pour a stiff drink. I'm going to need it. I'd just downed the Scotch and am pouring another when the door slams against the wall and Ryan Edwards barges inside and charges like a fuming bull to where I stand in front of my desk.

Caught off guard, I open my mouth to ask what the problem is, but before I can utter a word, he pulls back his arm and plants his fist on my jaw. The impact sends my face flying to the side. Scotch sloshes over the rim of the glass, soaking my shirt sleeve. By some fluke of luck, I don't drop the glass.

"You son of a bitch," he says through gritted teeth, swinging his fist again.

I grab his wrist. "I let the first one slide because I deserved it, but if you punch me again, I'll fucking break your bones."

"Come, motherfucker," he says, yanking his arm from my grip before removing his jacket with jerky movements. "I'm going to level you to the ground." He's surprisingly fast, landing a punch on my stomach. "Have you seen the fucking state of my sister?" He delivers another blow on my ribs, sneaking it in when I put the glass on the desk. "You fucking bastard. Is this how you protect her?"

When he takes another swing at me, I punch back. He crashes into the coffee table, but I'm on him before he has time to regain his balance, knocking him down with a left hook on his chin.

He's as agile as he's fast, jumping to his feet in a second. He charges at me, head-butting me in the chest. I hear the rib crack, but I don't feel it. I go for him with everything I've got, smashing my fist into his face. That crunch was his nose. Blood streams from his nostrils. He barely pays it attention, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand before aiming a right hook at my temple.

I duck. He misses, his arm cutting through the air. I land two hits on his stomach, making him fold double. He fists his hand in the front of my shirt and swings another punch on my jaw, knocking me sideways. I stumble into the desk, hitting the lamp and sending it crashing to the floor. I shake out my hand and crack my knuckles.

"You fucking failed to protect my sister," he yells, storming at me. "You almost got her killed."

He doesn't see the fist that I smash into his face coming. I'm on him in a blink, grabbing the collar of his shirt and raising my arm to knock him out cold when a voice says from the door, "Stop it."

Sabella.

Ryan and I freeze. We turn our faces toward the voice.

She stands in the door, supporting herself with a hand on the frame. Her face is so pale it looks as if she's about to faint.

"Cut it out," she says in a weak but angry voice. "Haven't we had enough bloodshed this week?" She pins Ryan with a stare. "The men who attacked me kidnapped the kids to lure Angelo away from the house. There's no way he could've known what they were planning. He did what he did because there was no other choice. He had to go after the kids. If it was Brad, wouldn't you do the same?"

I let Ryan go. "Sabella."

"No." She locks her jaw in that obstinate way that says she's not going to let this slide. "Answer me, Ryan."

He untangles his fingers from my shirt and says grudgingly, "Yes."

Her fiery gaze lands on me. "The two of you are going to get your testosterone under control and behave like civilized people under this roof."

When she sways, I make my way over, but she stops me with a hand poised in the air.

"No more blaming and no more fighting." She looks between us. "Do you think you can handle that?"

"Yes," Ryan and I both say sulkily, but he looks as little sorry as I feel.

"Good." She places a hand over her stomach. "If you behave like children, I'll ground you and send you to your rooms."

Fuck that. "You're in pain."

In two long strides, I'm in front of her. Ryan rushes over, reaching for her even as I lift her into my arms.

"You shouldn't have gotten out of bed," I chide.

"Yes, well, if it weren't for the two of you, that's where I would've been."

Ryan follows on my heels as I carry her up the stairs.

"Call the doctor," I say over my shoulder. "Heidi has the number."

"I don't need a doctor." Sabella squirms in my arms. "It's just a little pain from the walking."

"Fuck, Bella." Ryan runs to keep up. "I think Angelo is right. We better get the doctor out."

She sounds tired. "I'll be fine. Where are the kids?"

"Heidi took them to the kitchen," I say.

She gives me an accusing look. "I hope they didn't hear you fighting. The whole house probably did."

I press a kiss on the top of her head. "Don't worry about the kids. They'll be fine."

"This isn't the right example to set for them."

"We'll talk about that later," I say, shouldering open the door.

Sabella's whole family is gathered in the bedroom. Margaret, Celeste, Matilde, Jared, and Doris glare at me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead ten times over.

Ignoring them, I cross the floor and gently lower Sabella onto the bed. Brad sits on the foot-end, playing with a toy truck. He stops and watches me curiously. A baby's cry rises from a stroller that stands next to the window. Matilde hurries over and lifts a bundle of blue blankets into her arms. Celeste fusses over Ryan, trying to clean the blood off his face with a tissue.

When I straighten, they're all looking at me, silent accusations burning in their eyes. Tears glimmer in Margaret's.

"I'll give you a moment before dinner," I say to Sabella, cutting everyone else out as if they don't exist. "But the doctor is coming to examine you."

She sighs, but she doesn't argue.

When I exit the room, Sophie stands in the hallway.

I close the door behind me, taking in her tear-streaked cheeks and sullen face. My pulse spikes in alarm. "What's the matter, darling?"

Her dainty nostrils flare. She balls her little hands at her sides and says in a heated tone, "There's a man downstairs who says our mommy and daddy are dead."

"What?" I take a step toward her. "What man?"

She backtracks, hurling words at me. "You knew. He said you knew."

I raise my palms. "Sophie, let me explain."

"And now Sabella's own family is here, and she doesn't need us any longer," she shouts before running off.