Page 80 of Alpha Bait

Ciao, Sicily

RICH

Trapani had started off well. At first, it bothered me that I hadn't been hearing much from my brother. I had been working and he had promised me updates. Those updates had been fewer and further between. I'd heard nothing from Indie either. My cousins and aunts were too useless for me to bother reaching out to. When I didn't hear from my brother for three weeks, I knew that something was wrong.

There was no reason why I shouldn't have heard from him. Every day we inched closer to the Holloway acquisition reaching its completion which meant we would be inched closer to a potential disaster. Putting our heads together was the only hope we had of avoiding that disaster.

I began to have an inkling of a worry one evening. I had been out late, catching up with an old Italian friend of mine that flew across the ocean from Boston with his wife.

After a night of drinking, a little bit of gambling and a whole lot of catching up, a strange grip tightened on my chest. The sensation came out of nowhere and for a moment, I believed I'd succumbed early to the heart problems that plagued the Carmichaels.

I chalked the tightening to nerves when it lasted longer than my sobriety. I should've felt completely comfortable. Sicily was beautiful and it had always been one of my favorite places to vacation as a child.

My instincts were seldom wrong, so when I began to have an intense worry that distracted me from the conversation, the delicious wine that never ceased flowing, and the strong espresso, I believed something was wrong.

There were not many Carmichaels to whom I shared a bond as strong as the one I shared with my brother or my late cousin, Selena.

There were few others I could call in a pinch. My second cousin, Martha, did have a pair of twin boys who worked for the company, one named Ward and the other named Xander. Both of them graduated from Princeton a couple years after I had left.

Xander worked as an account executive for the family company and Ward, who didn't have the brains of his brother, worked as one of our hiring managers for the Texas branch of the business.

I opted to call Xander.

My first few phone calls went unanswered and found myself winding down that night faster than I expected due to a morose mood which threatened to turn me into a lumbering drunken beast before daybreak if I didn't retire.

My friends understood and I walked the cobblestone streets home, fuming as if I'd experienced a mysterious grave offense.

It didn't help that I had not heard from Indie since arriving in Sicily. We'd always found a way to speak in secret, and I wondered if she'd given up on me, or worse, perceived me as giving up on her.

The idea of losing her tortured me. I had reached out to her a few times, but I had no clue how she fared in New York without me. She was safe, I expected, but I wondered if she was upset with me. Perhaps her brother had made it more difficult to reach out.

I missed her. I would often replay our first meeting on the yacht over and over in my mind as I lay in my bed alone, wishing that she were in it with me. I missed her soft hair, pressing up against my arms as she lay between them. I missed her skin, that delicious shade of walnut brown always smooth and perfect. I missed kissing her. I missed listening to her laugh and unwinding with her after a stressful day at the office.

I waited another day before calling Xander again, but I wasn't too thrilled with how long he had been taking to respond to me. And as for my brother...

Calling Ames had proved fruitless and I wondered if he had simply been lying about sending me to Sicily for my own good. I couldn't help it. I had never had radio silence like this, and my suspicions were raised. I'd learned that Carmichaels can always surprise you.

In the middle of the night, I received a phone call. Xander's name flashed up bright on my phone and quickly doing the math I calculated it was around 7:30 p.m. in New York.

"Where are you?" He asked.

"Some greeting," I mumbled.

"We need to make it quick."

"Go on."

"I did not want to be the one to have to tell you this," he whined, sniffling with the perpetual cold he seemed to have.

Impatiently, I snapped, "tell me what Xander? Spit it out."

"I'm sorry Richard. Your brother is dead. The police are saying he's killed himself."

My mouth went dry. My head spun against my will and all I could muster up to reply to my cousin was, "Bye, Xander."

"Wait! Don't go. I have more news."

I snapped again, "what?"

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