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I watch as she makes the call, noting the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. The conversation is brief, and when Fee hangs up, her face is a mask of irritation.
“Well?” I prompt.
“She agreed to meet us tomorrow. At her house,” Fee says, her voice laced with reluctance.
I nod, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “Good. That’s a start.”
The next morning, Fee arranges for Shawn to take Lou to school. Lou didn’t want to go, but Fee overruled her. Once Lou is safely with Shawn, we head out to Staten Island.
Marco eases the car onto the Staten Island Ferry, the Manhattan skyline slowly receding behind us. I glance at Fee, noticing how she fidgets in her seat, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.
I reach over, lacing our fingers together. “What’s bothering you?”
Fee hesitates, her eyes fixed on the water outside. “It’s… it’s my mother,” she finally says. “There’s something you should know before we get there.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
She takes a deep breath before slowly exhaling. “My mother was married to a very rich doctor—Dr. Dexter Schultz. They divorced a few years ago.”
“Dexter Schultz?” I interrupt, surprised. “The famous plastic surgeon?”
Fee nods. “That’s the one. She got an excellent divorce settlement. Now she lives… well, you’ll see.”
I’m confused by her cryptic response, but I don’t push. As we drive off the ferry and through Staten Island’s winding roads, I notice the houses getting larger, more ostentatious.
Finally, Marco turns into a gated driveway, and my jaw drops. The house—no, mansion—before us is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa, all white stucco and terracotta roof tiles. Manicured gardens surround it, complete with fountains and what looks like a tennis court peeking out from behind.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “This is where your mother lives?”
Fee nods, her face a mixture of embarrassment and something else—resentment, maybe? “Welcome to Casa Cher,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
As we pull up to the grand entrance, I’m struck by the stark contrast between this opulent mansion and the modest apartment above Perfezione where Fee raised Lou. It speaks volumes about the kind of person Cher must be, and I find myself bristling on Fee’s behalf.
Keep calm. You can’t go off on Cher right now. Not yet.
We head to the massive double doors and ring the doorbell. We only have to wait a few moments before a man in a suit and tie opens the door and looks at us like we’re dirt under his shoe.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“We’re here to meet with Mrs. Schultz,” Fee says, slipping into her customer service voice. “She’s expecting us. I’m her daughter, Sofia Saldano.”
The butler, his face a mask of bored indifference, leads us into a sitting room that could easily fit Fee’s entire apartment. Crystal chandeliers hang from ornate ceilings, and priceless artwork adorns the walls.
Cher saunters in moments later, clad in head to toe designer clothes, her face a picture of feigned surprise. “Sofia, darling! And… Don Pirelli. What a surprise.”
She completely ignores Marco, her eyes skimming past him as if he doesn’t exist.
“How’s Dad doing?” she asks, her tone more conversational than concerned.
I feel Fee stiffen beside me, her body tight with tension. “He’s recovering,” she says curtly.
Cher nods absently. “Well, what brings you all the way to Staten Island? I’m terribly busy, you know. I have several important ladies’ meetings today.”
Something in me snaps. “Ladies’ meetings?” I snarl. “Your father’s in the hospital, your daughter and granddaughter are living in near poverty, and you’re worried aboutladies’meetings?”
Cher’s eyes widen, clearly not used to being spoken to this way. “I beg your pardon?—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Do you even know that the Timpone family is trying to force Fee and Zip to give up Perfezione? That Gino Timpone wants 4.9milliondollars from Fee?”
