8. Chapter 8

8

I laria's heart skipped a beat.

A text message from Soren.

For two years she'd heard nothing from him after he treated her like pond scum.

Yet, here he was, asking about her. As if he cared.

Or maybe it was just out of courtesy. Her parents had just died, after all. Galen probably put him up to it.

It was best not to read anything into it and keep the text conversation short.

Ilaria: Hi, Soren, I'm okay.

She grabbed her bag and car keys while still holding her phone and locked the front door behind her.

Soren: Where are you?

She frowned. What right did he have to ask that? And what did it matter to him where she was?

Then she remembered she had canceled at the last minute. Her heart panged. In fact, if she hadn't made up her excuse, she'd be dead now, too.

She couldn't deal with that right now so she squashed the feeling. She replied she was still in Chicago, giving him the same excuse she had told her parents. No way was she going to tell him the real reason she avoided the trip.

As she walked through the condo underground parking structure and unlocked her car, her phone rang.

Soren. He was calling.

The masochistic part of her wanted to pick up and hear his voice. But the self-preserving part of her was the victor as she swiped on the "x" to hang up.

Ilaria: Can't talk right now.

Soren: Okay. Just call when you get a chance.

Not likely.

As she drove to her parents' house to see Silas, she thought again about her earlier conversation with Vincent. Another thought struck her. If anyone had a motive to kill her father, it was Vincent. The vitriol in his voice was telling, and he admitted he was dead set against the partnership with the MacGregors.

But whatever a boss decided was what the family would do, so Vincent would have had no choice but to fall in line with her father's wishes.

Unless her father was out of the way. And herself, she realized. She was supposed to have been in the car with them. She should have been killed too. And with both of them gone, Vincent would have taken over the family.

Her fury escalated at the prospect of her uncle getting her father out of the way so that he could gain control of the family organization.

Ilaria saw the entrance to the driveway of her parents' house but, on a whim, stopped short of it and pulled over to the sidewalk.

She grabbed her phone again to send off another text to Soren.

Ilaria: I think I need to talk to Galen. In person.

Soren: Ilaria, DO NOT come out here. For your own safety. Your parents' murderer is still at large.

She wasn't sure why she felt compelled to send him that last message. Was she hoping for a welcoming response instead? "I can't wait to see you"?

Behind the house was the granny's quarters in which Silas lived. Her parents had also built an office from which to run the family's businesses.

Her throat tightened when she looked up at the house in which she grew up; the rustic, Italian-style villa with the large, circular driveway and stone facade that was always so lively and full of love with her parents' presence.

Now it just looked big, empty, and cold. No more big holiday gatherings with kids running around, food overflowing on the table, or laughter echoing through the house. That dream was kaput now that her parents were gone. Instead, she added yet another thing on her list of to-dos: consider selling the house.

She tamped down the anxiety, the feeling that the number of things to do was ballooning out of control. She had used up most of her energy just getting dressed and driving over here. Where she would muster up the energy to do everything else escaped her.

Another ping sounded on her phone.

Soren: I mean it, Ilaria. Don't come out here.

Soren: But if you do, TELL ME when you'll arrive so I can pick you up.

Ilaria didn't bother to reply and turned off the screen. She didn't need a keeper.

She walked through the gate to the side of the main house toward Silas's living quarters, avoiding looking too closely at her childhood home and the empty silence. Silas had been her grandfather's, and then her father's, advisor, and now, it seemed, hers. He had lived here ever since her grandfather built the house.

She knocked on his front door. After some rustling from inside, Silas opened the door. Even when he wasn't expecting company, he wore his uniform of tan slacks and a brown sweater vest over a white button shirt. His thin, gray hair was combed neatly. Without a word, he opened his arms, and she stepped into them.

Silas had no other family and never married. He started working for Ilaria's grandfather at age seventeen and was as loyal an employee as one could be to the Carosi family. Having known him since she was born, she considered him like a surrogate grandfather. Calm and wise, he sneaked her lollipops when she was young, taught her how to ride a bike, and gave her sage advice whenever she clashed with her father, alike in their stubbornness. Now he was the only one she trusted to help her run the family business.

Silas smoothed her hair and steered her inside. "I was planning to come by your place later today to check on you. How are you doing, sweetheart?"

Ilaria tucked herself into a tan leather chair. She had always loved how cozy Silas kept his little house. Despite having a permanent bachelor status, he employed a liberal amount of fur, fluff, and feathers in his traditional decorating style. He seemed to prefer ornateness over clean lines and traditional warm gold tones over modern cool silver.

"I'm okay. I managed to take a shower and get dressed, so I call today a win."

His eyes lit with amusement. "A win, indeed."

She studied him a little closer. His eyes were rimmed red, and his skin was pale. "How are you doing?"

He lowered himself slowly into the off-white sofa opposite her. "I didn't sleep much last night." He looked down at his hands. "When your grandfather passed away, I felt I had lost a part of myself. And I have the same feeling again now that your parents are gone."

Ilaria moved next to him. They wrapped their arms around each other and let their tears fall.

"I miss them," she whispered.

"Me too," Silas said, wiping his cheeks.

"How am I going to run the business without my father?" She rested her forehead into her hands. "I didn't have a chance to learn everything. I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's not true." Silas rubbed her back. "You know more than you think, and the rest you'll figure out. And Vincent and I will help you."

She grabbed his hand. "Silas, you'll help me, right? You know everything about the family business. You've been here longer than any of us."

He sighed, looking his age of seventy-three years. "Of course. As long as I'm able. I won't be here much longer, you know."

"You'll outlive us all," she chuckled as she wiped her face.

He rolled his eyes. "I really hope I don't. I'm old and getting tired."

Anxiety ran through her at the prospect of losing Silas, too. "You're not going anywhere," she said fiercely.

He squeezed her hand. "Let me get you some coffee." He went into the small bright kitchen, the medium-toned cherry cabinets and tan granite counters adding to the cozy feel of the house.

She got up to follow him and noticed a picture of her and Silas on the fireplace mantel. "Do you remember the night of my senior prom?" she called out.

Silas chuckled. "Oh, yeah."

In the picture, she was wearing a fire-engine red dress with spaghetti straps. It was gloriously low-cut, showing off her impressive cleavage even at age seventeen. She had developed early and had been self-conscious for most of her high school years. But when she glimpsed the dress in the store and saw how it made her look like a woman, she was determined to wear it to the prom. And ever since that night, she was never self-conscious again about her chest.

"Dad almost refused to let me out of the house." She smiled at the memory. "He was so upset."

"And it didn't help when your date arrived and he couldn't take his eyes off you," Silas added as he added coffee grinds to the machine.

"Off my chest, to be specific," she said. They both laughed. "Thank god you were there and talked sense into him. What did you even say?"

Silas poured water into the machine. "I told him he had done the best he could as a parent, and that it was time to trust you to make good decisions for yourself. Including decisions that wouldn't place you in a position to have to ward off unwanted advances." The coffee machine beeped as it brewed. "Which I knew you would."

She placed the photo back on the mantle. "Admittedly, there were a lot of lewd looks, but I didn't have to kick anyone's ass." They both laughed again. "And ever since then, Dad seemed to loosen the reins a little more. All thanks to you, Silas."

"Well, it was you he trusted," he said. "I just nudged him a little."

Ilaria settled into a stool at the counter. "Speaking of Vincent, have you talked to him?"

"Not today," Silas said. He retrieved two matching cups from the cabinet and filled them with just-brewed coffee. He placed one of the cups in front of her on the counter. "Why?"

"He stopped by my place." She took a sip of coffee and then recapped her earlier conversation with Vincent. "Do you think Galen killed my parents?" She trusted Silas; if anyone had a reasonable perspective, it was him.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I really don't know. I don't know Galen that well, or what kind of relationship they had. But I know your father trusted him implicitly."

"What did you think of the partnership?" She knew her father would have asked Silas's opinion before moving forward.

He reached into another cabinet and took out a box of biscotti. He laid out two pieces on a plate for Ilaria. "I told him what I thought were the advantages and disadvantages, and potential things to watch out for," he replied. "It wasn't my place to tell your father what he should do, but to help him gain a full perspective so that he made the best decisions." He patted her arm. "And that's what I'll do for you."

"Then he must have felt that moving forward with the partnership, and trusting Galen, was the best decision," she concluded. She dunked a biscotti into her coffee and took a bite. She was surprised to find herself hungry.

"Yes, he must have," he agreed.

Ilaria wrapped her palms around the warm cup, uncertain if she should tell Silas her own theory about Vincent.

"Something else is on your mind," he observed.

She smiled. "I've always wondered how you do that." She took another sip. "Well, after Vincent left, everything he said got me thinking. What if he was responsible for my parents' deaths?"

Silas raised his eyebrows. She put a hand up. "Wait, just hear me out." She ticked her fingers. "He hates Galen for what happened to Cordelia and Leo. He thinks those MacGregor kids weren't punished appropriately. He was wholly against the partnership. He was really critical of my father's decisions, implying he could be doing a better job."

Anger bloomed in her gut. "What if he's always wanted to lead the family? As far as he knew, I was supposed to be in Edinburgh with them. In the car with them. With both of us gone, he would have been promoted to boss." She paused to take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

Silas put his elbows on the table and rubbed his forehead. "I mean, I guess anything's possible, but is it probable? Vincent may despise Galen, but he loved Stefano. He idolized his older brother when they were growing up." Silas looked at her. "And he loves you."

She twisted her lip. "He lost his family. He's had years to nurse his resentments. That's enough to justify even the most heinous actions."

Silas nodded. "His grief lingers even today." He heaved a deep sigh. "Yet it's hard to see him capable of killing his own brother and niece." He laid a hand over hers. "But I can understand your reasoning."

Ilaria stared out the window, thoughts and gut churning. "Yeah, I don't know either. I have to find out who killed my parents, though. Whether it's Vincent or someone else."

And she had to avenge their deaths. But she didn't say that out loud.

He nodded. "I don't blame you. What are you going to do?"

She knew what she was going to do, but she kept it to herself. As much as she loved Silas, she knew he and Vincent were also close, and she needed to keep her activities under the radar and avoid Vincent's suspicion.

"Not sure yet," she responded as she stood up. "But I need a few days. Will you be able to take care of everything for the time being?"

Silas stood up as well and enfolded her in a hug. "Of course, take as much time as you need. I'll be here when you're ready."

She kissed him on the cheek and left.

Her mind thought ahead of her next steps as she walked back to the car. As if by compulsion, she read back through Soren's last texts. Mixed feelings flooded through her, both warmth and resentment over his seeming concern and commands. Resentment won out. Soren could take his concerns and commands and shove it.

She would do whatever she needed to do, and she wasn't asking Soren for his permission.