AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Next morning, I dress smartly. My softest cream silk blouse and the lilac gray wraparound skirt. Silver sapphire earrings, necklace, brooch and bracelet bring out the color of my eyes. With my hair up, they make me look serious.
Jago’s gimlet eyes are hard, jabbing at me as I step into the huge dining room for breakfast. The massive mahogany table is more imposing than it was at dinner with the bare wood exposed.
Five places are set. Only two of them are undisturbed. For an instant, I think about taking the one at the head of the table, which is clearly set for the don. But I tell myself, Pick your battles, and I resign myself to taking the worst placed seat at the table. The place I was assigned that first night.
Breakfast is laid out as a buffet at the side of the room.
The three brothers are all there, loading up their plates. Bruno is saying something about trouble in a house. Alessio says the girls on Wood Street are always trouble, and they should put zookeepers in, instead of minders. A lead ball drops through my stomach. Wood Street? They have a house on Wood Street?
My heart is in my throat. These are bad men, I know that, but they can’t really be doing what Gianni was doing. Alessio looks around at me, and I see Jago watching and taking note as she heads for my place with a silver coffee pot.
Bruno turns from the buffet table with a hefty plate. He looks at me. Then, when her eyes narrow, he looks straight at Jago. Don’t any of these men have the first clue how to keep a secret? I guess that’s one of the disabilities of privilege. It makes you socially deaf, dumb and blind.
Carlo is coming to the table. Nervously, I wonder what he’s going to blurt in front of Jago, but the look on his face is amiable and unreadable. I should have known that, of the three, Carlo is definitely nobody’s fool.
As I head for the buffet table, I’m avoiding everyone’s eyes, preoccupied with thinking I must have misunderstood about Wood Street. Everything there is crackhouses and brothels, masquerading as clubs.
I’m halfway across the floor when the don bursts in from the far door. Scanning the room angrily, he announces, “Nobody talks about Bagniola.” His eyes are hard as stone in the red rims. “Not one word.”
I keep my eyes down, watching everyone’s reactions as much as I can, but only from the corner of my eye. The way Jago’s eyes flash to the don is a surprise, though. What is she thinking about Bagniola visiting yesterday? Is she fucking him too?
The glower that the don lays on at me is anything but hospitable.
The buffet has heavy-lidded sliver servers like in a hotel. Bacon, scrambled and boiled eggs, waffles, French toast, and pancakes are in the hot dishes. Toast, juices, and fruit are on the side in bowls, on trays of ice. I can’t believe one quarter of all that is going to be eaten. In any case, it seems idiotic to me to pre-cook all those egg dishes for five people.
The only reason I can imagine for not cooking everything to order, is so that Jago can stand in the corner with her hands folded and her beady eyes on everyone.
Even though I’m starving hungry, I’m still cautious about doing anything in this house of darkness and secrets. And I remember that I have my own secrets to protect, including what I’m doing with all three sons. I fetch a bowl of berries and a pot of yogurt to the table.
The don loads up about two and half potions of everything cooked onto a huge plate. Nobody speaks as we eat. After the berries and yogurt, I go back for some toast and jam, and a glass of orange juice.
The three sons peel away one at a time. Eventually, the don gets up from the table, but he leaves his scowl on me when he lumbers out of the room.
Under the saucer of my coffee cup, I spot the corner of a piece of torn paper. I wait for Jago to be doing something to take it out, but after a couple of minutes of us avoiding eye contact and her not moving a muscle, I decide on a plan B. Lifting the saucer with one hand, I put my palm over the paper with the other. Holding up the saucer, I give Jago my nicest innocent smile.
“May I have another cup of coffee, please, Mrs. Jago.”
The coffee, to be fair, is excellent. But I’m hardly going to tell her that.
She brings the coffee pot and waits for me to put the saucer back on the table before she pours. The note is under my hand, pressed against my thigh.
When she turns her back to leave, I turn my hand to see. The note says, Summerhouse. L8r ths morn.
The plain paper was face down on the table, as it’s face up in my hand. Cool thinking or dumb luck from the writer?
It was torn from a notepad. That tells me nothing. Racking my brain for all that it’s worth, I can’t remember seeing any of the men’s writing. The only thing I have to go on is the abbreviations and the somewhat out-of-date text speak.
Instinct tells me that would not be Carlo’s style. He might do something more imaginatively coded, otherwise I’m sure he would write the words in full. Between Bruno and Alessio, I can’t see Bruno trying so hard to be cool. He is cool. He doesn’t have to try. So, my hunch would be the older brother. But we’ve been fucking for days, so why the note?
There’s no way to know, though, and everybody has left the dining room. Everybody but the dark sentinel in the corner. God, that woman gives me the creeps. I don’t know if she saw who put the message under my saucer, but she couldn’t have read it. Not unless it was there before she poured my coffee.
L8r ths morn.
That could mean any time.
CHAPTER FORTY
No reason not to take a newspaper or a book to the summerhouse to wait. I think about asking Jago for a pot of coffee, but I can’t see her letting me take one to the summerhouse myself. She would insist on bringing it. A cone of ice drops through me. What kind of a state did we leave the place last time?
