Twisted Bond by SR Jones
Chapter Three
Giovanni
The wheels of the jet touch down and burn along the tarmac.
I feel like I can breathe. I don’t have Amelia back yet, but I’m in her country, finally, after long days waiting in Italy to act, and it’s a step in the right direction.
She was always mine, truly, and I hers. From the moment I first found her in the library, reading naughty books, her hand smoothing her dress down guiltily, it was written in the stars for us. I believe from that moment the vines of our hearts started to weave together. We instantly recognized something in the other. Perhaps she was too young to understand it. Perhaps I was too scared to face it. It didn’t matter; the recognition was there in our souls. Sometimes fate takes her time to work. Others, she does so in an instant. That day, all those years ago, in a library in Maine, fate worked her magic.
I’m stronger with Amelia in my life, and I believe she’s stronger with me in hers. In nature, two trees can grow together; inosculation they call it. We have two old trees that did just that in the gardens at the villa. They became so intertwined, they ended up sharing one another’s life blood. My nonna once told me it’s how they’ve stood so long. It strengthened them.
Amelia needs to come home. I need her back. It’s non-negotiable, and I’ll do whatever it takes.
After speaking with Konstantin the night she left, I tried to get some sleep. It proved impossible, though, and I ended up laying in until past midday. I was hyper aware of the jet waiting for me, and desperate to act, but after the conversation with Marcello and K, I reined myself in, and decided to wait until the next day to make any decisions. I had Matteo notify the pilot to stay on standby for the following morning. Marcello was correct, and it was best to wait until we had more information.
When I finally surfaced from a night of no sleep, I hunted out Damen and had a long talk with him. He and Maya agreed to put off returning to Athens, for now. He’s been looking into Amelia’s grandmother further for me, and by looking into, I mean hacking into every corner of that bitch’s life.
Maya seemed genuinely upset that Amelia could be in danger, and it warmed my heart to think Amelia has a real friend in the young Greek woman.
“What’s the plan?” Marcello asks.
I turn to my brother, grateful for his presence. In the end, I decided he’d be more use with me than stuck in Italy, so now there’s myself, Marcello, Matteo, and our guards raring to go. Quite the group.
Marcello was pivotal to me finding Amelia’s whereabouts. The CCTV footage from the airport showed Amelia checking in. I dispatched some men to ask a few questions of the airline staff who were working, and I soon traced her steps.
One of Marcello’s friends on the police force checked the flight manifests and found that Amelia had flown into Newark. From there, she took a connecting flight to Maine. I now know Amelia is on American soil and heading home.
In the meantime, Damen unearthed some concerning information. It seems her absolute cunt of a grandmother has had Amelia committed to the same hospital where her mother was sent. Thank God, he was monitoring Doctor Rosendale’s correspondence still, so the matter came to light quickly.
At first, I flew into a panic and wanted to fly out to America that very same day. Those bastards most probably killed Amelia’s mother after all.
Damen read all the emails, however, and her grandmother most definitely wants Amelia alive.
The old bitch believes Amelia simply needs copious amounts of therapy, and then she’ll be the good and dutiful provider of heirs. She’s a horror of a woman but clearly not cold-hearted enough to want to kill her granddaughter.
Amelia’s mother was expendable; after all, she wasn’t the Marshall’s blood. Amelia is. What the doctor and the grandmother seem to be planning for my beauty is to browbeat her into compliance. Or, at least, it’s what the gist of the emails show.
Once I had that information, I knew she was safe, and it meant I could take my time to plan this properly. After all, I’m going to have to break into a guarded mental health institution, so I need to know what I’m doing.
We spent three days biding our time in Italy planning this. I was pouring over maps of the old asylum in my study for hours. Of course, I could go to the authorities because Amelia is not being held legally and above board. Doing so, though, may mean getting embroiled in a legal battle that could take weeks or months. During that time, Amelia will be pumped full of drugs and exposed to therapy where they will try to twist her mind until they’ve turned her against me.
“Hey,” Marcello says, dragging me back into the moment. “What’s the plan, brother? You want to get something to eat before we head to the house?”
“First thing to do is get to the rental,” I say. “We can order in once we’re there. I want to get everything set up.”
We’ve rented a house right on the sea front, only ten minutes’ walk from the mausoleum that Amelia grew up in.
As well as having Damen monitor the emails between the doctor and the grandmother, I also gave him Amelia’s phone and all her information. I didn’t like doing so, but her right to privacy is superseded by the need to get her out of that facility. Any information that Damen unearths can only help.
When Damen came to me yesterday with the information he’d gathered so far, it made me sad. Amelia led such an empty life in many ways. It’s as if her father couldn’t see the vibrant person she really was, and instead wanted to keep her as nothing more than his polite, studious, bookworm of a daughter who one day would marry a boring lawyer and pop out five children.
From the information Damen gleaned, my beautiful jewel hardly went anywhere. What a waste of such beauty and charm. What a waste of such appetite for life.
Amelia may love books, and she may be quiet, but she’s also greedy for experiences. She eats them up the way other women crave chocolate or expensive diamonds. I truly think if she’d have carried on in her old life, she would’ve withered away and slowly faded. What I did was wrong, but I do believe that in taking Amelia and making her my captive ultimately set her free.
Before she came to Italy, Amelia had never done anything much other than study. She was the member of a few online book groups, as well as a group for people who like writing haikus, and she had a few friends she chatted with about books and poetry.
It was a sheltered existence, but one I believe she enjoyed. Since Italy, though, she enjoys many other things.
I smile as I think of all the new temptations I’ve introduced my bookworm to. My cock stirs at the memory of her soft skin, big, pillowy breasts, and moans of pleasure. She’s a carnal little thing underneath her good-girl exterior.
There is one person I’m keen to talk to in America, and that’s her friend, Janey. Before Damen found out what was in the recent communications between her grandmother and the doctor, I had wondered if Amelia was staying with her. It seemed there were many messages between them over the last few months, often jokey in tone, gossiping, or talking about work at the library. They often swapped shifts; albeit most of the time it was Amelia covering for Janey. Her friend seemed to have rather an active nightlife and suffered with regular hangovers, which Amelia was only too happy to cover for.
Even after her father died, and she could have made a bid for freedom, Amelia, to all intents and purposes, stayed trapped.
She sees me as the bad guy, but I’m her savior.
I set her free.
I didn’t clip her wings; instead, I taught her to soar.
She ran away from me, but now I’m here to bring her home.
I’m going to make her my wife.
I may not be a sentimental man, but I am a man who can see the value in things.
It’s what makes me such a successful collector. I’ve seen the value in Amelia, and there’s no shame in admitting how special she is to me.
I haven’t avoided love or commitment so far in my life because of some phobia of them.
In fact, I think men who do so are weak. There is nothing stronger than family and love, and the bonds marriage and children create are sacred. I simply hadn’t met a woman I felt I wanted to spend my life with.
With Amelia, all of that has changed.
I’ve even found myself at odd moments having ridiculous fantasies of our children running through the library, as excited about the books, secrets, and treasures it holds as Amelia herself is.
The plane finally comes to a stop and jolts me out of my thoughts, and I unclip my seat belt, stand and stretch my stiff legs. The men I’ve brought with me are menacing in black suits with guns in holsters strapped under their jackets. Gaining permission to enter the country with my bodyguards hasn’t been easy, but there aren’t many things in this life that money can’t buy.
It can’t buy Amelia, I remind myself. I’ll need to give her my heart to gain her trust.
Raucous laughter ricochets around the cabin. The men are making crude jokes about American women, and I let it wash over me. My mind is on one track now. Amelia. Marcello says something to Matteo about having to keep the men under control, and Matteo jokes that we ought to buy them a night with a prostitute or two. Marcello states that we can just go to a club and pick up women here. “They’re like the English tourists we get in the summertime. Not raised to be good like the local girls. You don’t need to pay here.”
Matteo laughs. “But paying takes any risk out of the transaction, no?”
Marcello shrugs. “Always preferred the chase myself.”
As if he has to chase anyone. He has women all over the place. I shoot them an annoyed glance, pissed off at their banter for some reason. Marcello’s raised brow is my only answer. I tune them out again, not wanting to listen to their inanity.
When we disembark from the plane, we take the three waiting cars I’ve organized and drive out of the private airport and along the highway. On the way to our rental ocean home, we pass Amelia’s ancestral pile. I tap the window, pointing it out to Marcello.
“God, it looks kind of depressing,” he says.
“It is. The place is full of dust, and it has a kind of musty scent. It could be amazing, though. A little money spent on it.” I shrug.
“A little money?” Marcello laughs. “I think you will find to make that place shine will cost many, many tens of thousands of dollars. Are you still planning to break the trust and claim it as yours?” he asks.
I’ve told my brother of the plan partially hatched with Konstantin. At first, he seemed genuinely shocked. He told me that Amelia would hate me for doing so, but when I explained that I planned on giving the house to her, no strings attached, he gave me a sly smile.
“I think that will get you more brownie points than a pair of diamond earrings, brother,” he had said.
I believe he’s correct.
Our vehicles slow to a halt in front of a home on stilts, overlooking the beach and the ocean.
“Nice,” Marcello says.
We get out of the car, and I instruct Matteo to tell the men to gather our bags and bring them into the house.
Marcello, Matteo and I are all trained in how to use a gun, and the other men are extremely talented in that department. If anyone gets in our way at the hospital, God help them.
We’ll still be taking it at night however, when staffing levels are low, and there will only be a few night guards on duty. We will have enough chloroform to put them under, but not kill them. It should buy us the time needed to get Amelia out of there. Damen will be able to disable the cameras and monitoring they use remotely, thankfully, or we would have had to access it from the control room ourselves, which would have added another layer of complexity.
I’m hopeful that our plan will work because we don’t want any injuries or a gunfight.
Something like that will gain widespread attention, both from the media, and the police. Amelia alone being taken…probably not. The good doctor running things knows she’s there illegally. I doubt he’ll want what he does publicized, or so I’m praying. The last thing we need is any of us being detained in this country. America worships the mighty dollar, but I don’t have the connections here that I have in Italy, and my money might not be enough on its own to buy my freedom.
Worse, I’d risk embroiling Amelia in a scandal, and I don’t want that for her. She still doesn’t know the reality of what happened to her mother. If she found out through the media, it would destroy her.
The ocean air slaps me around the face. It’s biting and briny, nothing like the lemony, sun-drenched oceanic scent of my home. This is fish, seaweed, and slippery rocks. Wild, untamed, and stunningly beautiful in a savage way. Like my lioness when she shows her claws, I think with pride.
Grinning to myself, I jog up the wooden steps to the front door of the house and use the key under the plant pot to open it.
People must be very trusting around here, but then again, I suppose there’s nothing in the house worth taking other than the television perhaps.
I unlock the door, walk inside, and flick the hallway light on. The place is airy and open plan. Everywhere there is modern furniture with sharp squared-off edges, all in pale, smooth wood. The walls are white, with the odd piece of brightly colored modern artwork. I glance into the main living area and note the black leather sofa. In front of it is a bright cerulean-blue rug, and a log burner completes the laidback, modern-but-cozy vibe.
To our left is a spacious kitchen with the breakfast bar in the middle and gleaming appliances all around the edge.
It’s the sort of place I’d normally hate, but the huge picture windows with the view out over the crashing sea beyond make the space dramatic.
“Christ, I’m shattered.” Marcello yawns and scratches his head as he stares around the room.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” I suggest. “We have an early start tomorrow because I want to go see this friend of Amelia’s who works at the library. Then we can scope out the hospital and the area around it.”
“Why do you want to see her friend so much?” Marcello asks. “It’s not as if she can tell us anything about where they’re holding Amelia, or anything about the situation with Amelia’s mother because no way can the friend know, when Amelia herself didn’t.”
“No,” I agree. “But I want to know if she ever met the grandmother and the father. I want to know more about the family dynamics, and what the plan was for Amelia with Jeremy. So far as I can tell, this Janey person is Amelia’s closest friend. I’m interested to see what she knows about her life. I also want to know if she would be willing to come visit Amelia in Italy and spend some time with her friend out there because Amelia is going to need friends when she finds out what happened to her mother.”
“She has you,” Marcello points out.
Yes, she does, but from what I know of women, they need to talk about these things, a lot. I’m more than happy to discuss things with Amelia, but I’m sure I’ll say something wrong, or I’ll not give her the answer she’s looking for. I’m not enough of a bastard to want to deny her female friendship.
I don’t want Amelia to be all mine and never share her with anyone else. I’m possessive when it comes to other men, but not when it comes to her spending time with friends or family. There’s also a selfish reason behind me asking her friend if she would like to spend some time in Italy. I’m hoping it will make Amelia more comfortable and much more likely to stay if she can see that her friends can come and visit often.
It’s another reason I’m thankful that Maya and Damen are staying at least until Amelia is safely back in my arms.
If I’m being brutally honest with myself, part of me doesn’t want to have to deal with her heartbreak because I think I’ll fuck it up. It’s not that I don’t care or can’t be bothered, but more I believe I’ll say something wrong and make everything worse. I guess, selfishly, I want the buffer of her having some friends around so that I’m not the only one trying to diffuse the hurt and betrayal she’s going to feel.
The guys bring the bags in and argue about rooms as I rummage in the massive fridge and pop open some beers. In the end, we’re all too tired to order food, and the owners of the house we’ve rented have left a welcome basket with the basics, so we end up eating cereal or toast before heading to bed.
Some of the men have to share twin rooms, but I have one of the doubles, as has Marcello and Matteo.
After a quick shower and brush of my teeth, I flop onto the mattress, still wearing the towel as my eyes drift shut to thoughts of finally seeing Amelia again.
***
The scent of coffee is the first thing to impinge on my consciousness.
I yawn, stretch, and sit up.
The towel is still around my hips, so I stand and pull it off, heading to my bag in the corner to take out some clothes for the day. Once I’m dressed, I pull back the curtains and stare outside. The view of the ocean is beautiful. Very different to the cliffs of Amelia’s home, or the sweeping terraces down to the sea from mine.
Although this house is only ten minutes down the road from the rocky outcrop the Marshall’s mansion sits on, this is on the very oceanfront. Right below the window are some wispy grass-covered dunes, then nothing but pale white sand before you reach the crashing gray-blue waves of the Atlantic.
Although I prefer the sparkling Mediterranean any day, I can appreciate the wildness and grandeur of this coastline.
My stomach rumbles, and my nose twitches as more coffee scent wafts into the room. I grab my phone, take my watch from the nightstand, and wrap it around my wrist. I pull a suit jacket on because it looks cool out there. As I head to the door, I pause and reach beneath my shirt to feel for the cross I placed around my neck before I left Italy. This cross belonged to my great-great-grandfather, and it’s been in the family for many years. At home, I keep it in the safe, but for some reason, I decided to bring it with me for this journey. Maybe it’s because I need God on my side now to make sure this goes well.
I open the door and jog down the stairs, hitting the landing as the rich sound of male voices joking and jeering reach me from in the kitchen.
Every language has its rhythm, and I find the rhythm of the Italian language the most beautiful of all. Sometimes, like now, when I hear it from outside of a room, instead of listening to the words, I listen to that wonderful, ancient beat of the rise and fall of the consonants and vowels.
Italian always sounds liltingly musical, whereas Spanish can sound staccato and rapid fire. English, to my ear, sounds like a softer version of German.
The only other language that I think can match Italian for its beauty is French.
When I get Amelia back home where she belongs, I’ll pay for her to have Italian lessons so that she can understand what’s being said around her at all times. I want her to feel completely at ease and as if she truly belongs.
In all my musings about what will happen when we return to Italy, I don’t let myself dwell on the possibility that she’ll decide not to stay.
Every now and again, though, Konstantin’s words come back to haunt me because a dark part of me feels that, just like him, now I’ve felt the sunshine of Amelia in my life, I’ll do anything to keep it there.
I glance at my watch and see that it’s past ten. Today, Amelia’s friend Janey will be working at the library. I’m going to go see her with Marcello and Matteo. If we all go, we’ll make a real spectacle of ourselves. How often would you get a big group of suited Italian men walking into the small local library in this quiet part of town?
I grab a slice of toast from Marcello’s plate, dancing to one side to avoid the kick he aims at me. Toast in my mouth, I pull open the fridge door, and grab a bottle of water from inside.
Snatching the keys for one of the cars from the side, I nod my head at Marcello and Matteo. “Come on,” I order. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to spend too long on this.”
When we reach the BMW, I throw the keys at Matteo.
“You drive,” I tell him.
I take the passenger seat, and Marcello rides in the back. I give directions to the library and then spend time browsing my phone. I check the markets, the news headlines, and then any emails I’ve received. There’s a new one from Damen, and I open it with trepidation.
There’s been another communication between the grandmother and the doctor. It seems that Amelia’s grandmother is demanding she be allowed to visit and speak with Amelia. The doctor seems to think this is a terrible idea because, as he says, the therapist feels she is making progress.
I pause to consider what the hell making progress could mean. Does it mean that Amelia is already agreeing that she will stay in America and marry someone like the insipid Jeremy?
The very thought makes my blood boil. I squeeze my hands into fists so tight, my blunt nails dig into my palms.
By the time we arrive at the library, I’ve worked myself up into a state of rage and need to take a few deep, cleansing breaths.
We spill out of the car after parking in a small lot right across the road from the library itself.
The library is a non-descript, gray building that looks as if it was built in maybe the sixties or seventies. Ugly. Boring.
To either side of the library are rows of shops, including a hairdresser, a coffee shop, a hardware store, and a convenience store. It looks like a nice, safe neighborhood, but it doesn’t have the beauty I can offer Amelia in my home country.
I’m already missing the heat, the blue sky, and the sun. It’s a dreary day here, and the breeze is sharp enough to make me thankful I’m wearing a suit jacket.
Matteo pockets the keys as we jog across the road in tandem. With a glance to my left and right, I jog up the steps to the library doors.
Inside, the building is blander than outside. Upon entering through the double doors, there’s a set of full steps leading down to another set of doors. The smell of cheap air freshener hits my nostrils, making me gag.
Entrance to the main library is via the second set of doors, which swing open with an aged creak. There’s a small barrier with Entrance on it in green, and one on the other side with Exit in red. By the exit barrier is a desk, which curves around to the left and takes up quite a lot of floor space. Behind the desk there are stacks of books on trolleys, and a woman with her back toward us, bent over one of the trolleys.
The rest of the room is taken up with shelf after shelf of books, organized at quick glance it seems by genre. Sitting at a table, folders open in front of them, are three youths. None of them are looking at the books or the folders in front of them. Instead, three hungry male gazes are all trained on the young woman behind the counter who is bent over the trolley.
No wonder either.
She’s wearing a short skirt and has long, lean tan legs that go on forever. If I weren’t absolutely head over heels for Amelia, I might be looking at her the same way myself.
I smack into Marcello and glance at my brother. He’s stopped dead in the entranceway and is staring right at the woman bent over the trolley, trying to retrieve a book from the floor that’s fallen on the other side.
“Not like you to stare like a teenager, brother,” I say to him.
Unless someone here speaks Italian, no one will understand what I’m saying. I give him a push between the shoulders, and he laughs and carries on walking. Dick. We all troop through the entrance, turn to our left, and head to the counter.
“Excuse me,” I say in English.
The woman straightens, turns, and fixes me with a polite smile.
“Holy mother of God,” Marcello says under his breath.
I get it because the woman is very beautiful. I’m a bit surprised at his reaction, though, because it isn’t as if Marcello doesn’t have women coming out of his ears. He’s in the middle of an affair right now, but I’ve never seen him this way before.
Ignoring my salivating sibling, I focus on the woman in front of me.
“Are you Janey?” I ask.
Her brows knit together as her gaze slides along the three of us, moving from one to the other. Her features settle into a hard line. “Who’s asking?” she demands.
“My name is Giovanni Bianchi. I’m actually here to ask you about Amelia.”
Her expression goes from suspicious to outraged. Her lips purse, and her eyes narrow. “You’re the fucker who broke her heart. Where the hell is she?”
How does she know anything about me? I had Amelia’s phone for most of her time with me, and Damen hasn’t found any calls or long messages to Janey about me in particular since Amelia has been back.
“I’m really worried about her; what the hell have you done with her?” She places her hands on her hips and angles her head to one side as she gives me an angry glare.
“Wow, I like her attitude. She’s not scared of you.” Marcello grins at me, licks his lips, and turns back to Janey.
“When did you speak with her last?” I ask.
“I’m not telling you anything about her,” she says. “I’m worried sick about her. What the hell are you doing here, and where is she? I’m the one who’s going to ask the questions, not you.”
Marcello puts his hand on my wrist, silencing what I was about to say next.
“Listen, Janey. I’m Marcello, Giovanni’s brother. I work for the police in Italy, and we are very worried about Amelia.”
It’s somewhat of a lie because he no longer works for the police, but he used to, and he still has his badge. He takes it out now and flashes it at the female ball of rage standing in front of us.
Her eyes widen a tad, and I see her shoulders relax just a notch as she lets some air out of her lungs. Tiny, incremental movements show some of the fight going out of her.
“There was a misunderstanding between my brother and Amelia, and yes, she was upset. She came back to America, but we are really concerned for her as she’s disappeared.”
Again, not quite the truth, but enough of it to hopefully sway her friend into talking to us. We can’t tell anyone where Amelia actually is because that would endanger her more. Looking at Janey right now, I could see her marching into the institute herself and demanding they release Amelia. Which won’t do at all because it will give them a heads-up that people know she’s there. I want our assault on that damn place to be a complete surprise.
“We are simply trying to figure out what’s happened and what her movements were when she arrived in America,” Marcello says. “We have reason to believe that her grandmother may not be acting in Amelia’s best interests.”
“Follow me.” Janey lifts a section of the counter and steps out from behind it. She closes it behind her and walks past the shelves of books to a door at the far end of the library.
She opens the door and ushers us into a small but comfortable room, kitted out with soft chairs dotted around what looks to be a fridge in one corner, and a kettle and plate of biscuits on the side. It’s a boring but comfortable staff room, and I would bet good money the homely feel is due to Amelia.
She turns to us and brushes her long hair back from her face.
She’s very different in appearance to Amelia, but beautiful. She’s nowhere near as unusual as my jewel, but she is a very striking young woman. She has the sort of beauty that simply won’t fade with age either. It’s not hard to be beautiful when you’re young, healthy, and full of the joys of life. Some though, like Audrey Hepburn, remain beautiful their whole lives.
Janey will probably be one of those people because she has amazing bone structure and strong yet feminine features. I steal a glance at my brother and can see from the way he’s looking at her that he’s noted all this himself.
“Amelia’s grandmother never acts in her best interest, if you ask me,” Janey snaps angrily. “I’ve been worried about her ever since she started working here. Her father and grandmother were so controlling. I mean, it’s not normal, is it? Who behaves that way in this day and age? Amelia’s family is like something from the Victorian era.”
“I know,” Marcello says as if he and Janey are simply having a gossipy chat. “The things she told us, right, brother?” Marcello rolls his eyes.
This is what my brother is good at. He can chat with the best of them and make people feel comfortable. He can fit in, in all kinds of situations, and with all different types of people. It made him an extremely effective police officer, and now he’s a brilliant and effective member of my team. I don’t have the same ability to blend in the way Marcello does. He’s a very dangerous man, with some very particular skills, but most people don’t realize that about him. They think he’s the nice one, the easy-going one, and the friendly one. If only they knew that beneath his friendly exterior beats a hard, calculating heart of steel.
It seems that Janey is as fooled as any of the others because she smiles at him and rolls her eyes in return, mirroring his body language.
“What did she tell you, and when exactly did you speak to her?” I ask.
“She called me the first morning she was back,” Janey says.
There’s no record from what Damen has told me of Amelia getting herself a new phone, and there’s no record from her email address of any messages going out. I still have her phone at home in Italy, so she didn’t speak to Janey using that. Unless Amelia bought a burner, we would have a record if she’d called Janey from any kind of registered cell phone or mobile device.
“Her grandmother still has a house phone, and Amelia called me from that. She was really upset,” Janey says, giving me a livid glare as she hits the T at the end of upset hard.
I like this friend of hers. She’s protective and clearly cares about Amelia.
“Please,” I say to Janey sincerely. “I know I screwed up with Amelia, but I’m trying to help her now. Anything you can tell me about what she said will help. You won’t be betraying your friend, you’ll be helping her. She might be in real danger.”
“She didn’t say an awful lot, but she was bothered, and she cried some.” Janey shakes her head.
For some reason, her telling me that Amelia was crying on the phone while calling from the landline in her grandmother’s cold, starched guest bedroom makes my heart ache. Of course, I haven’t seen her grandmother’s bedrooms, but I imagine they are as cold as the woman herself.
“She said she had to leave Italy because things weren’t as she believed. She said you’d lied to her and basically that you broke her heart. She said this one thing, though; it was really strange.” She taps her finger against her lips as she thinks. “Yeah, that’s it. She said her whole life she’d been manipulated, and she thought by going to Italy she was getting away from that, but you’d been the one to manipulate her the most of all. She said something about everything being a pretence. Then she simply told me that she decided to leave because she couldn’t stay and try to make it work when everything was grounded in such a terrible lie to begin with. She said something about maybe other people might have decided to give you a second chance, but her whole life she’s had people lie to her, twist the truth and manipulate her into doing what they wanted, and she saw red flags everywhere.” She glances at the ground, flicks her gaze to Marcello, and then warily back to me. “Sorry, but that’s what she said. I remember the phrase really clearly, red flags everywhere.”
Red fucking flags. As if I’m some sort of abuser or kidnapper. My hands ball into fists, and I breathe out slowly through my mouth, keeping my temper locked down. Amelia is a dramatic little madam when she wants to be. I’ll give her drama when I get her home. If she’s not careful, I’ll tan her hide until I tame her flair for the dramatic once and for all.
Then, I pause my internal rant because, hell, for all intents and purposes, I kidnapped the girl, didn’t I? Maybe I am as bad as she thinks? What was it she said to me that time?
The ends don’t always justify the means.
Amelia and I see the world in very different ways and it’s becoming clear to me that I need to try to step over the divide between us and start to see things the way she does sometimes if we’re ever going to make it work.
“She told me she was at her grandmother’s because she thought you might try to find her, and you knew her father’s house. She didn’t know what to do going forward either. Amelia planned to spend some time there, and then make a plan for her future. At that point, she sounded a little bit more cheerful because I asked her what have you got in mind? Amelia said something about using her father’s house as a hotel, or maybe somewhere to host weddings and other large-scale events. She said that she had ideas that meant she wouldn’t need to marry for money the way her grandmother and father had always insisted on. It made me hopeful for her too. I felt that she had enough sense about her to be able to make it work. She told me she’d come see me the next day here because she wanted to take some business books out and research ways of setting things in motion. It’s why I’ve been so worried because she never showed up, and I’ve called her grandmother’s house a few times and the maid keeps saying that Amelia is out. I don’t buy that, though; Amelia doesn’t go out that much. She’s kind of a little bit...introverted, I suppose.”
“Do you know this Jeremy she was supposed to be marrying?” I ask.
“Only vaguely. I don’t really know him, but I’ve seen him around. His family are viewed as one of the preeminent families in this area, and this area is full of preeminent families, so they must be rich or powerful or both. I don’t really fit in with that circle.”
“Why is that?” Marcello asks.
I shoot him a surprised glance. This has nothing to do with Amelia, so why is he asking?
“My parents were normal, middle-class, hardworking types. We didn’t have a lot of money.”
“Were?” Marcello prompts.
“My father passed away last year, and my mother moved to live with her sister on the West Coast, so I don’t see her as often. I’m thinking of joining her sometime soon. I wanted to go to New York because that’s where all the fashion houses I’m interested in are based. Or even Europe; that would be amazing. I can’t afford it, though, and my aunt lives in a nice house in a good area. And there’s plenty of fashionistas in California.” She shrugs.
“You want to work in fashion?” Marcello’s face takes on a keen awareness, as he tilts his head to one side like a bird watching its prey.
“I love it,” she says. “At first, I wanted to complete a fashion design degree, but I really like dressing people, so I think I’d rather do styling, or something along those lines. I’ve set up an Instagram page. Amelia was one of my first sets of photographs.” She turns to me with a small smile.
I need to see those photographs, I decide.
“I bet Maya would love you,” Marcello says.
Maya? I’m getting whiplash with these conversational turns. What the hell is he playing at? Then again, if he’s angling to get Janey to Italy for some nefarious reason of his own, it can only benefit me because I want her there for Amelia. I decide to play along.
“That’s true,” I say. “We have a friend staying with us now, from Athens, and she’s a real fashionista. Rolling in money, absolutely loves Versace and Chanel, but I bet you could get her into some different designers, maybe some she hasn’t heard of before.”
“Yeah, well, maybe, if I was able to fly out to Italy on a whim.” She waves her arms around at the tatty but cozy room. “This is my life, and nothing about it screams glamorous fashionista from Athens. If she ever wants to chat, though, you can always give her my number, but I doubt she’ll want to talk to me until I’m more established.”
“Well, if you ever fancy a trip out to Italy to see Amelia, you’d always be welcome.” I realize my mistake as soon as I’ve spoken.
She scowls at me, and those hands go back on her hips as she widens her stance slightly.
“What do you mean I’ll be welcome to visit Amelia? She left you. You get that, right? She does not want to be with you.”
I stare at her, my jaw working, then I shrug and plaster on what I hope is a patented nice-guy smile of the kind my brother scatters around like confetti. “Well, that may be true, and I might not be able to change her mind, but I’m hoping that I can. I’ve come to grovel; I’m begging her to give me another chance. If she does and decides to come back to Italy with me of her own free will, then you would be very welcome as her friend.”
“Do you have a phone number in case we need to ask you anything else?” Marcello asks.
The sleazy fucker. I bet she gives it to him, though.
Janey hesitates for a hot second but rattles the number off to Marcello who taps it into his phone.
“I’ll send you a text with my name on there so that you have mine too, in case you think of anything else.” He leans in close, reaches out, and brushes back a hair hanging over her face.
She doesn’t move away or flinch; instead, she stares at him as he does so, a tiny speck of color warming both her cheeks.
Marcello looks at her for a long beat, smiles and steps back. “It was really nice meeting you,” he says. “Thank you so much for your help.”
He steps away and walks toward the door, and her gaze follows him.
I turn to follow my brother, but a light touch on my arm has me turning around. Janey has her fingers resting on my forearm.
“Will you let me know that she’s safe, please?” she asks.
“Of course,” I promise her.
“Thank you. I’m really fond of her you know?” She gives me a long look and then nods once as if we’ve had some silent conversation. Head high, she walks past me, my brother, and Matteo and to the door leading back to the main room.
“I better be getting back to work. God knows what those local boys will be doing out there in my absence. Probably sneaking out books from the erotica section again.”
“You have an erotica section in the library?” Matteo asks.
I laugh because he sounds like a shocked Italian grandmother.
“Of course,” she says. “A lot of ladies like to borrow those kinds of novels you know?” She gives him a wink, turns, gives me a brief smile, and then her gaze lands on Marcello, and her smile deepens. With an extra swing in her step, Janey opens the door and walks out, sashaying to the counter before slipping under the opening and back into her little den.
“You called my Amelia a little mouse once,” I tell Marcello in Italian. “I told you she was no mouse, and neither is that one. Yet you’re looking at her a like a cat who’s seen its latest meal.”
“More like a tomcat who has seen the latest pussy that he wants.” Matteo laughs.
“Screw you,” Marcello says good naturedly. We walk out of the library teasing one another in Italian.
As we reach the exit, Janey turns around and in imperfect but understandable Italian says, “Thank you for coming, gentlemen, and please keep me informed.”
“Fuck me,” Marcello says.
BustedI think as we head out into the gray day.
I glance at my brother, and he’s staring back at the library doors, an intense expression on his face. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Janey.