Page 12 of Finding Love

Dante clears his throat loudly, and I do the same. Nico coughs behind his clenched fist.

That stirs Papa, who turns around and scowls when he finds the three of us watching him. “Where’s Francesco?” he demands before checking his watch.

Something has to be said. We can’t pretend there’s nothing unusual going on here. “Papa, are you all right?” I ask, sitting in the chair next to Dante’s.

Papa’s head snaps back, and a familiar look of derision twists his mouth. “I had a little difficulty on the toilet this morning… nothing a bit of fiber won’t cure. Would you like the fucking details, son?”

At least that sounds like the man I know. He seems to have gone from weariness straight through to resentment. It reminds me of my grandfather’s decline. I was just a kid, maybe seven or eight years old, but I remember him being angry all the time over the last few months of his life and resentful of anyone who offered to help him. Men like us don’t want to be pitied or worried over.

“As for Francesco, he hasn’t yet come back from combing through one of the Vitali-owned whorehouses out in the Bronx, looking for Alessandro. He checked in with me, though. He’ll be back soon.” Dante checks the time and scowls. “He won’t make the call with Craig, but he doesn’t need to be here. Speaking of which, let’s get it rolling.”

Craig blurts out a question the moment the call connects, his voice filtering through the speaker and filling the room with anxious energy. “How is Emilia?”

Papa frowns, then looks guilty when he meets my gaze. “She’s fine,” he grunts out. He might have warmed up to the idea of her living here, but that doesn’t mean he wants to waste time discussing her condition. There are limits, and we have bigger problems on our hands. I have to accept that.

Dante glances at Papa before speaking. “We need news. What do you have?”

Craig’s heavy sigh tells an entire story before he says a word. “The closest thing I have to intel hints at him hiding out with some woman he supports. He could be in Jersey somewhere,” he reports flatly.

“Pussy,” I mutter.

Imagine that. Hiding behind a woman after leaving another woman for dead. He must have assumed she was, or at least that it wouldn’t take long given her state. Why else would he take the chance of leaving her there?

“You know we’re doing everything we can. He took it way too far.” Craig’s voice breaks a little before he clears his throat. “We’re going to find him.”

“How the fuck did Alessandro know we were in the Hamptons?” I look around the room and am met by equally blank expressions. They don’t know any better than I do, and it’s gone beyond the point of chapping my ass to consider Vitali having the upper hand.

“It could be you were followed out there,” Craig reasons. “Or one of the guys you took with you could’ve been working with the Vitali crew and were killed to keep them silent.”

“No way,” Dante grunts out while the rest of us shake our heads. We know our men. Papa pays them almost too much, all to keep them loyal.

“At any rate, I’m doing everything I can,” Craig tells us. “I would like to come by and see her. Who knows? I might help bring her memory back.”

Papa shakes his head. “Soon, maybe, but not yet. We’ve got these fucking photographers hanging around, watching to see who comes and goes. Once things quiet down, maybe then. We can’t risk a cop being spotted.”

With a resigned sigh, Craig replies, “Understood. I’ll keep you posted.” I’m glad for the opportunity to end the meeting when he ends the call. I’ve already spent too much time away from my reason for living.

“I’m going down to the house to check on her.” Either nobody sees fit to stop me, or they know better than to try. The house might as well be on fire, I’m walking so fast, barely short of jogging.

I need her.

I’m a fish out of water without her, gasping for air.

On my way outside, I cross paths with my cousin, Francesco. He’s bleary-eyed and clearly annoyed. “That motherfucker is a ghost,” he snarls out, gulping from a cardboard cup of what smells like strong coffee. “I need to scrub off my top layer skin after combing through those so-called establishments he runs.”

For the second time this morning, there’s an unspoken apology nestled in an unrequested explanation. “I know you’re doing all you can,” I assure him before moving on. Frankly, I don’t have the time or the patience right now to go through the same song and dance I went through with Nico. Not when she’s down there waiting for me.

Only she isn’t waiting, and I know it. She likely dreads my return. There is no ignoring the fear creasing the corners of her eyes whenever I draw too close. And it isn’t like it was when she first crashed into my life. There’s no excitement in knowing I unnerve her. Because now, I love her and know the thrill of being loved by her.

Like the old song says, the thrill is gone. I refuse to believe it’s gone forever. What we have is too strong and powerful, something neither of us could fight against. Something so strong, even my family couldn’t break it.

I open the door without bothering to knock. The living room and kitchen are exactly as I left them last night, untouched. There isn’t so much as a dent in the throw pillows to tell me she’s strayed from the bedroom since I left.

My heart clenches when I hear an instantly identifiable sound coming from the bathroom. Some sounds are like that. As soon as you hear them, the entire story is clear. In this case, Emilia’s almost violent vomiting hints at the misery she must be going through.

“It’s me,” I call out as I approach the bedroom, then venture close to the partly open bathroom door.

“Don’t come in.” Her weak, pained voice leaves me reaching for the door, anyway. I ease it open far enough to see her kneeling in front of the bowl, her arms wrapped around it, her body trembling pitifully.

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