Chapter Two

Stefano

“Barry, it’s me.”

“What!”

He smiled at the excitement in his best friend’s voice.

“I know it’s been a minute.”

“Fuck you!” Barry Shaw laughed. “It’s been forever, you asshole. Last time I saw you was when you were in the hospital.”

Stefano smiled, remembering how his friend had shown up at the hospital with flowers in hand after he’d been admitted for a heart attack. They’d promised to keep in touch, but those best-laid plans had turned into several years.

“Yeah, it’s been a few.”

“How’s the heart?” Barry asked.

“Good, the stent they put in seems to be doing the job. Well, that and a healthy diet.”

“That’s great.”

Stefano could hear the smile in Barry’s voice. “Hey, you still have that place in Aruba?”

He’d already checked on the cost, and a ticket was around eleven hundred with one layover. If Barry wasn’t able to provide him with a place, he would just get a room somewhere else.

“I do. In fact, I’m headed there now.” Barry paused and then said, “What’s up?”

Relief swept through him and he sank onto a stool at the kitchen bar. The bright kitchen with its wall of windows was one of the things he’d loved decorating the most.

“I need a place to lay low for a while.”

“What’s wrong?” Concern sharpened Barry’s voice.

“I’ll tell you when I see you.”

“Is Rossi coming with you?”

“No.”

There was a short pause, and then Barry jumped in to fill the silence.

“Okay! I’ll message my property manager to pick you up from the airport since my flight isn’t until late tonight.”

“Thanks, Barry, you’re the best.”

“No problem, man. You remember Camilla?”

“I do.”

Camilla had been Barry’s housekeeper at the man’s home in the States way back when.

“She’s at the house with Mark.”

“Little Marky?” He laughed. It didn’t surprise him that Barry had brought Camilla with him; the guy hated housework with a passion.

“He’s not so little anymore. He’s a teenager now.”

“Oooh.”

“Yeah,” Barry snickered.

They talked for a few minutes longer and then ended the call.

The phone call from Rossi while he was talking to Barry, Stefano had sent to voice mail. The text messages, he hadn’t glanced at. If he wanted to be strong, he couldn’t read them, not yet.

Maybe he wants to apologize? After a moment of hesitation, he scrolled through the texts, but all of them were telling him to answer Rossi’s calls. With hope, he scrambled to listen to the only voice message the man had left. He held his breath when Rossi’s deep voice filled the room.

“Hey, Stef, I don’t know why you won’t take my calls, but let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

The message ended.

“He doesn’t know why I’m not taking his calls?” he asked incredulously to the empty room.

Stefano knew damned good and well that suggesting dinner was Rossi’s way of trying to smooth things over and make it disappear…again.

This couldn’t be smoothed over by another fucking plate of food!

Stefano jumped from his seat. He had a plane to catch.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t given Rossi several chances, but the man had refused to even talk about his request. Stefano had tried to understand this from Rossi’s point of view, but two years had passed since they’d moved in together, and overall, they’d been seeing each other for thirty years. The longer Rossi refused to acknowledge them, the more it began to hurt. And that hurt had morphed into slow-burning anger.

“Crap!” He glanced at his watch and jumped up. Now, he needed to hurry if he was going to catch his flight.

Reaching their bedroom, he tossed his clothes and shoes into an oversized bag—one they kept for trips out of the country. He didn’t even take time to fold anything. Then he just swiped the items off the top of his dresser with one arm into a bag and dumped his side of the bathroom counter into the same bag, and all that he slapped on top of his clothes. He could sort everything out at Barry’s place.

With a shaky breath, he gently placed his note for Rossi on the small table near the door and then paused in the doorway. Looking back into the house, the Christmas tree sat dark in the corner. He didn’t need the twinkling lights to show everything on that tree. Every single ornament that hung on its branches had been ones they’d collected together. Every place they’d gone as a couple, they’d made a point to stop in local shops in search of one.

Rossi’s slippers were resting near a recliner chair that sat next to the fireplace. The book Rossi was in the middle of sat facedown and open to the page. No matter how many times he cautioned his man that it would ruin the book, Rossi always forgot. Most nights, Rossi would nod off with glasses on his nose and a throw blanket across his lap, looking all of his forty-nine years. Other times, he looked and acted young for a man turning fifty this month.

Stefano squeezed the doorknob and blinked hard. He’d made a home with Rossi, and leaving it was like shoving a knife in his gut, but he couldn’t stay any longer. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and locked the door before he took the stairs to the sidewalk and the waiting driver.

The Queen Beatrix terminal dumped Stefano out into the hot Aruba weather, but the light drizzle made the heat bearable.

A few seconds later, he noticed a man leaning against a beat-up old van holding a sign with his name.

“I’m Stefano Esposito,” he greeted the man when he drew near.

“Hey! Ted here. Barry asked that I pick you up.” The smiling man shook his hand.

It was a bumpy ride down the pothole-riddled road, and he didn’t take a relieved breath until Barry’s home came into sight. He wondered how long it would take Rossi to find him.

Because he knew without a shadow of a doubt, Giovanni Rossi would find him. It might take a few months, though. And maybe during that time, Stefano would figure out what he wanted. He gave a quiet sigh of relief because, at the moment, it would take Rossi time to make calls and search—they had a lot of friends and neither of them had spoken to Barry in several years.

Pulling up with a squeaking of the brakes, Ted let the van idle while he retrieved his bag from the back.

“Thanks, Ted.”

“No problem! Tell Camilla I said hi.”

“I will.” Stefano smiled. Camilla had always made him and Rossi feel at home when they’d visited Barry in the States.

Stefano turned toward the archway that would take him through the outside garden and to the front entrance of the home that sat on the south side of the island on Savaneta Beach.

Drawing closer to the front entrance, he heard raised voices.

“You leave my grandson alone or…”

“Or what?” a male voice sneered.

“I’ll call the police on you and your goons.”

“Good luck with that. I own the cops.”

Stefano rounded the corner and came to a stop. Camilla, dressed in a faded blue dress, held a dishtowel twisted in her hands. The bun she’d probably fashioned at the back of her neck this morning was coming loose in tendrils.

It was the man that Stefano kept his focus on, though. Dressed in a linen shirt and pants, the thirty-something-year-old man looked elegant and could have passed off as a businessman if it hadn’t been for the nasty threats.

Camilla must have sensed something because she turned in Stefano’s direction and a wide smile broke out on her weathered face.

“Mr. Stefano!” she cried.

“Hello, Camilla,” he said, stalking closer. “And you are?” He narrowed his eyes at the stranger.

“Nobody you need to concern yourself with,” the man snapped and hurried down a small pathway in the direction of the beach.

Stefano turned after the guy disappeared and reached for Camilla’s hands.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes!” Her voice wobbled and she squeezed his hands tightly. “Come inside. Mr. Barry phoned me a few hours ago. I have your room all ready. Although, I was disappointed that Mr. Rossi would not be joining us.”

“Mr. Rossi is busy,” he murmured and followed her into the coolness of the beautiful beachside home.

“How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure.”

Her eyes searched his and then she smiled. “Stay as long as you’d like. I’m sure Mr. Barry won’t mind.”

He hoped not, because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever go back.