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I shrug. “Never mind. Just making conversation.” I oil a pan and scramble us some eggs with bacon and cheese. We don’t move to the table. I eat standing in the kitchen like a starving dog while watching Corrado hoover the breakfast at the kitchen bar. We were both hungry, our bodies screaming for nourishment.
Not long after, I’m washing the dishes when Drago walks in carrying my brother’s duffel and a smaller leather briefcase that I presume is Corrado’s.
“Thank you.” I wipe my hands on a towel, then extend my hand to take the duffel, but he looks at Corrado and doesn’t give it to me until Corrado nods.
Drago, the obedient soldier. It’s no wonder Corrado’s having a hard time with me voicing my opinion and opposing him. Nobody tells him no, and everyone awaits his approval with bated breath.
To be fair, I like Corrado’s approval too, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to please a man who pleases you, as long as I don’t lose sight of who I am and what I want out of my love life.
“Are you all right?” Corrado asks, and I turn, not realizing I’m standing there like a statue while holding a military duffel in my hand.
“I’ll be right back.” Intent on getting dressed, I carry the duffel to the bedroom, but when a woman says my name, I drop the duffel and, with a pounding heart, step back into the kitchen. I expect to see a woman there.
Maybe Isabella found Corrado.
So I’m confused when I don’t see anyone.
The TV anchor keeps talking, saying my name again.
Corrado’s in the living room already, turning up the volume.
The dark-haired, dark-eyed, popular anchor whose very presence tells me something serious is happening speaks about an event from last night. Behind her, the police and the FBI are going in and out of Club Keystone while the emergency crew is moving people out on stretchers. And in bags.
In the upper corner of the screen, my picture pops up.
I gasp and cover my mouth.
The anchor is saying I’m missing and that my family is looking for me. If anyone has information about my whereabouts, they should call the toll-free number. She says I was last seen in the parking garage with Domenico Benvenutis, a known mobster.
“The police are treating her case as kidnapping,” the anchor reports.
“Kidnapping?” I turn to Corrado for an explanation.
“They think Dom took off with you as a hostage.”
“But Domenico is dead,” I say.
“He is,” Corrado says calmly. “Nice work,” he tells Drago, a quiet presence in the house.
Drago scrunches up his nose. “Remains to be seen if it’s good work, however.”
“You did the best you could, I’m sure,” Corrado says.
“I did, yes, but you could’ve attracted less attention.”
Corrado hooks a thumb over his shudder and sits on the sofa with a groan. “There’s eggs in the pan.”
“Thanks,” Drago mumbles as he walks past me. “Don’t bleed on my furniture.”
“Hey, guys, I hate to interrupt your chill in light of the disturbing news of my kidnapping, but can you please explain what’s going on?”
“Come here, Michela.” Corrado pats the seat next to him.
“I can’t.”
“You can and you will. Sit down next to me.”
“My brother is going to see this.” I clasp my cheeks. “Gordon will see it and go crazy. I need to get ahold of him.” I rush into my room and search for my phone, but I can’t find it. Even so, it’s the phone Corrado gave me that has no contacts.
