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I keep my tone respectful as I answer, “I’m twenty-three.”
Mrs. Falco turns her face in my direction, her eyes staring blankly ahead. “We’ll get to know each other better after breakfast.”
My eyes dart between Damiano and his mother before I reply, “I’d like that.”
While I eat, Mrs. Falco asks Damiano, “Will you be home for a while?”
“I’ll be between Manhattan and the mansion for the next few weeks,” he answers before wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Climbing to his feet, he says, “Have a good day, Mamma.”
He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her head before leaving the dining room.
Most of the tension in the room leaves with Damiano, and my shoulders relax a little.
A guard steps into the dining room, taking a seat next to Mrs. Accardi. His eyes flick between Carlo and me.
“This is Gabriella di Bella. She’ll stay with us for a while,” Carlo tells him. He gestures at the guard, then explains, “Gerardo oversees the mansion's security. He’s Mrs. Falco and my mother’s guard.”
“Welcome,” he says before his attention is drawn to Martha as she brings him his breakfast.
“Nice to meet you,” I murmur.
“Gerardo, give Gabriella the Wifi password,” Carlo orders as he climbs to his feet.
Mrs. Accardi also gets up from her seat and follows her son out of the dining room.
When I’m done eating, I’m not sure whether I should wait until everyone’s finished or whether I can leave.
I glance at Gerardo and Mrs. Falco, and when she pushes her chair back, she says, “Gabriella, join me in my sitting room.”
I dart to my feet, and unsure if I should assist her, my stomach fills with knots as I follow her.
I’m surprised when she walks down the hallway to a sitting room where the sun is streaming in through the windows.
She takes a seat, and with her head held high, she glances in my direction. “Please, sit.”
I pick a chair opposite her and perch my butt on the edge, my hands folded on my lap.
“Don’t be nervous,” she says.
I almost nod but instead murmur, “Okay.”
“Have you visited the States before?” she asks.
“No, this is my first time away from Sicily.”
“Your English is good,” she compliments me.
“My parents had me attend extra lessons,” I inform her.
“Have you called them to let them know you’ve landed safely?”
I shake my head. “No. I have to get a SIM card.”
“You can use the house phone.”
I hesitate for a moment, but too scared to lie to Damiano’s mother, I say, “I doubt they’re worried about me, and they’ll ask questions I can’t answer, so I’d rather not call them.”
Her left eyebrow lifts while a frown forms on her forehead. “You’re not close with your parents?”
