“That’s Luke. Not me.”
“Well, then you need to tell him to be careful. What’s going on with you and him, anyway? I saw how he looked at you at the church, and he was here the other day. Are you two having an affair?”
“An affair. It sounds so illicit.” She picked up her teacup and dumped its contents into the sink. “You’re caught up on this affair thing today, aren’t you?” she asked, her back to me.
“Is he Effie’s father, Izzy? Is that why Papa—”
She snorted and looked off to the side. “Luke is not Effie’s father.”
“Who is?”
She turned and met my gaze, her expression cooler. “It’s not important. What is important is figuring out what we’re going to do to keep you away from Salvatore.”
Isabella’s cell phone rang, and she eyed the display. “I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”
She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, surprising me with her sudden secrecy.
“This isn’t a good time,” I heard her whisper. Then I heard my name before she hung up and returned to the kitchen.
“Who was that?”
“The mom who took Effie swimming.”
“Oh. You could have talked to her.”
“It’s fine. She was just checking in. Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.”
“No, I’m good. I think I’ll go lay down if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, go ahead.”
I stood, feeling this space between us, something strange that hadn’t been there before. But then she walked over to me and hugged me.
“You’ll be okay, sis. I won’t let him hurt you. I’ll take care of everything.”
An unease settled over me as I made my way up to my old bedroom. Something in her tone or posture was off…wrong. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was the five years between us. She’d changed too, just like all of us. She’d grown a little harder. But maybe that was what she’d needed to do to survive.
After a short rest and a microwave dinner later in the evening, I’d gotten ready and gone to sleep in my old bedroom, the sinking feeling never leaving my stomach. It wasn’t too much later when I woke to rain beating against the window and voices arguing. I sat up and glanced at the time on my phone. It was a little after midnight. The display showed eight missed calls, all from—surprise, surprise—Salvatore.
I guess he’d gotten home from Natalie’s. Asshole.
I ignored the messages, got out of bed, and cracked the door open. The voices came from downstairs. It was Isabella and a man. Although I knew the voice, I couldn’t place it. It didn’t belong here.
“You promised me. I don’t want him hurt!”
My sister sounded agitated.
“I’m placating. Relax.”
“How the fuck can I relax? God, I wish this were over!”
I stepped out onto the landing and crept over to the stairs. Hearing the familiar creak on the third step, I froze, hoping they hadn’t heard. They continued arguing.
“You need to go. You can’t be here.”
I suspected my sister didn’t realize she was whispering that loud.
“I took care of what you wanted done. Don’t I get a little reward?”
What you wanted done?
“I’m sure Salvatore will be here any minute. He’s not stupid, he knows where she’d run to. Get out of here before he gets here.”
Salvatore was coming?
“I parked a few blocks down. I’ll duck into a room. No worries, babe.”
Was that Dominic? Calling my sister babe?”
Tires screeched to a halt just outside the house. Headlights shone through the windows, and a car door slammed shut.
“Pussy whipped,” the man said just as someone leaned on the doorbell.
I turned and ran into my room, pretending to just come out of it when I saw Izzy run to the door.
“Is that the doorbell?” I asked, not wanting her to know I’d overheard anything.
“Here we go,” Izzy said.
I walked down the stairs. Izzy opened the front door.
A soaked and furious Salvatore stood just on the other side, his gaze fixed on me.
15
Salvatore
“It’s the middle of the night,” Isabella said, standing in the doorway.
I looked over her shoulder and saw Lucia standing on the bottom step of the stairway. “I won’t be long,” I said, my eyes trained on Lucia. “I’m just here to collect what’s mine.” I then turned to Isabella. “Move.”
“No.”
“Move.”
“I’ll call the police.”
“I own the police.”