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She answers on the first ring.
“Oh my god, Bella! What’s going on? I’ve called and texted—I don’t even know how many times. I thought something happened to you.”
“I know. I just got my phone on and saw all the missed calls and texts. Something did happen.” I sink down onto the edge of the bed, running a hand over the newly laundered comforter as I give Clara the shortened version of what’s happened over the past few days. I don’t want to tell her all of it—the horrible things that Igor threatened that I still can’t bring myself to say aloud or the absolute depth of my fear of what will come next, but it’s a relief to be able to tell her any of it at all. Ever since I told her the truth about Pyotr, my wedding, and the reasons for all of my neuroses since then, I’ve felt like a weight has lifted off of my shoulders.
“Bella. That’s terrifying,” Clara whispers. I hear the sound of her getting up, her footsteps on the tile, and then the click of a door behind her. “I went to one of the quiet rooms. Are you safe now? Where are you?”
“I’m in Italy. Gabriel’s family has a villa here, and he flew us out to it. I don’t know if I’m entirely safe, but it’s safer than New York, at least.” I hesitate, not wanting to tell her how dangerous it really is, but not wanting to lie, either. “For now,” I add. “But Gabriel promised that he’s going to make sure we’re safe.” My heart trips in my chest, although I manage to keep my voice calm. I’m not sure that I believe that Gabriel can. Not because of him, but because of how terrifying Igor is. I don’t know if anyone would be safe from him.
Clara whistles, laughing softly. “Well, if you had to be on the run and hiding out, at least you’re doing it in a billionaire’s villa.”
“It needs a lot of work.” I laugh, too, unexpectedly, and it feels good. A wave of homesickness follows it—not for New York, but for my best friend. I have the urge to ask her if she could fly out here, but I bite it back. The possibility of someone following her out here or tracking her to get to me is slim, but it’s still a possibility. And if she were here and Igor found me—I can’t even let myself begin to think about it.
“But it’s a good project. Something to keep my mind busy.” I force my mind back to the house, to topics that don’t involve the possibility of Igor harming the people I love.
“So you’re renovating a billionaire’s villa. First the nanny, now on to construction. You’re really wearing a lot of hats these days, Bella.” Clara’s voice is light and teasing, and I feel myself relax a little more.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to call?—”
“Don’t be,” she says immediately. “With what you had going on, you have nothing to be sorry for at all. I’m just glad to know you’re safe.”
“I’ll be able to keep in touch now,” I promise her. “The time difference might make it a little difficult, but I’ll do my best. I’ll text you, at the very least. Things will be a little more normal, now that we’re settling in.” I try to sound as confident as I can, to convince myself as much as her.
“Just do whatever you need to in order to feel okay,” Clara says firmly. “Don’t worry about me. Just text me whenever you have time.” She hesitated. “I’ve got to get back to work. Have fun in Italy, Bel.”
“I’ll try.” I laugh softly. “Talk to you later.”
Just that short conversation has me feeling better. The familiar sound of Clara’s voice is another little piece of home clicking back into place, and I feel the fear recede a little more, a little bit of hope flickering to the surface that maybe everything will be okay.
Gabriel promised me that he would make sure we were safe. And as afraid as I am to trust in the possibility that it could be true, I also want to cling to that flickering bit of hope.
I’m so tired of being afraid. So tired of feeling as if I’m on the verge of falling apart. For a brief span of time, back in New York, everything was better.
I know how much it will hurt, to lose that again. But I also want to feel it, at least for a little while longer.
Maybe especially if I’m going to lose it again.
8
GABRIEL
After breakfast, while Agnes and Bella take stock of the house, I grab a set of keys and go out to where my dad’s old car is waiting—a 1975 Land Rover that I remember learning to drive one summer when I was a kid. I feel a punch of emotion hit me in the gut as I climb in, breathing in the scent of saddle soap and what I swear is still a faint hint of his tobacco, even though I know that’s impossible.
My father loved this place. He inherited it from my grandfather, who inherited it from his father before him, and so on—the same old story. It’s been in the family for a long time, and I feel a twinge of guilt when I think about the business I’ve come here to handle. I know how my father would feel about me potentially selling the place off.
I have a lot of good childhood memories here. If Delilah hadn’t passed away not long after I lost my parents, I probably would have brought her and the kids here for the summers. This particular summer wouldn’t be the first time Cecelia and Danny are seeing something that’s a part of our family heritage. But there’s nothing I can change about that, and I’m glad they’re at least seeing it now, especially if I do decide to sell.
The drive through the estate is peaceful, and full of nostalgia for me, memories of summers that feel a long time in the past by now—especially after how the last few years have gone. I stop by the vineyards first, looking at the rapidly growing grapes and checking in with the workers and their foreman. The vineyard has been running well for years now without much input from me—my estate manager, Lucio, does a good job of handling the business. I’m not needed here to keep it functioning—at least not the portion of it that involves the wine business, and that sends another flicker of guilt rippling through me as I consider my plans for the estate.
I have a full portfolio of business interests back in New York, and those responsibilities require all of my focus. I work with some of the most powerful and dangerous men in the world, and that means I need to be aware and on my guard at all times, ready to handle situations when they arise, ready to defuse situations if necessary. Ready to pivot at a moment’s notice. I’ve gotten so used to the rhythm of it all over the years that it’s like second nature to me now, a muscle memory that I can flex without thinking about it.
But as a result of all of that, I’ve mostly ignored this estate. It’s running along fine, but it’s far from its full potential. A quick look at the books in the back office tells me that, as soon as I examine our production schedule and the volume of wine being produced. The estate could be doing more in every respect—with the wine, the racehorses, even the house itself and what it could be used for. A small part of me rebels at the idea of my family home being used as a vacation rental—but the other, more practical part of my mind says that before right now, it hasn’t been used at all for years. Other families could get to enjoy the home that’s been sitting empty for years, making their own memories.
Nostalgia isn’t a good enough reason to keep a place. I know that, even if I’ve had a hard time admitting it. And it’s my nostalgia, not Cecelia's or Danny’s, which makes it even harder to justify not letting it go. What time I would spend trying to get this place back to its real potential could be spent making other memories with them, when this whole situation with the Bratva is resolved. They’ll have a chance to enjoy it this summer, which is a bright spot in an otherwise dark mess of things—but when the issue of Igor is resolved, we’ll go back home. That’s as good a time as any for me to make a change, and leave this part of my past behind.
By the time the sky is starting to color, I’ve seen all I need to see for the day—enough to know what I need to focus on for the time that we’re here. I lock the door of the stone building that serves as a second office and storage for a lot of the estate’s records, and turn just in time to catch a glimpse of Bella going for a run.
She’s far enough away that I can’t see much of her, but I can see enough. It’s not that I’ve forgotten how good she looks in her workout clothes, just that the stress of the last few days has eclipsed the memory. But it all comes rushing back in an instant as I see her jogging along the path, my gaze instantly fixing on the curve of her ass in the tight leggings that she’s wearing.
