Page 66 of A Game So Reckless

It’ll give me something else to think about.

Something other thanhim.

Stepping into my deliciously fuzzy pink slippers, I pad out of my room. Mamma’s bedroom door is open, but she isn’t in it. I hear the espresso machine rev up downstairs and know that must be where she’s ended up.

I go to her room to turn off the TV, or to at least turn the volume down, when the words spoken by the news anchor glue my feet to the spot.

“The body of a twenty-seven-year-old man identified as Connor McNair from Toronto was discovered in Georgian Bay very early this morning,” the stone-faced blonde woman says from her news desk. “The victim of an apparent drowning, police theorize that McNair had a watercraft accident, as a damaged paddleboard was found not far from the scene. Police report that alcohol appears to have been a factor, and that McNair was not wearing a life jacket…”

I slam my hand against the TV’s power button, breathing hard. Is that why Mamma’s up so early? Did she hear something?

Oh. God. Was she the one who found him?

A male voice from downstairs makes my blood pressure spike. It can’t be Darragh. The police?

But, no. This voice is a familiar one. And it’s not familiar because I was hearing it in my ear just last night.

It’s Papà.

Now I know why Mamma is up.

I head for the stairs, slowing my steps in an effort to be quiet as I descend towards the kitchen. I’m close enough now that Papà’s voice is shaping itself into words instead of just jumbled sound.

“Nearly got my head blown off, is what,” he says. There’s a pause, and then a slurp, as he presumably takes a sip of the coffee Mamma made him. “The bikers out there are getting a little too fucking feisty for my liking. We’ve still got the Port of Montréal, but things are shaky. I wouldn’t be surprised if a war breaks out in the next six months. I’m going to have to start diversifying if-”

The wood beneath my feet suddenly creaks, and I swear under my breath as Papà instantly ceases. Sighing, I continue down the stairs, not bothering to be quiet this time.

“Good morning, Papà,” I say. I give him a bright smile and blow him a kiss as I breeze by.

He grunts in response, taking another sip of his espresso and draining the small cup.

“Your papà is taking us home today,” Mamma says.

“Two of my guys are outside,” he says, handing Mamma his empty cup. “Danny will drive your vehicle back, Carlotta. Phil will drive the three of us.”

Papà, who’s been sitting on a bar stool at the marble island, stands and regards me with a heavy stare. “Make yourcaffèand then pack your things, Valentina. I have shit to do in the city. We leave within the hour.”

* * *

Two weeks later, and you’d never guess that August ended. A September heat wave grips Toronto, making it seem like summer will last forever.

At the same time, I feel like August was ages ago. Like everything that happened at the cottage was some kind of alternate reality. Something that happened in another lifetime entirely.

I haven’t seen Darragh once since we left.

I hate how much I think about it. Mulling over possibilities of where he is and what he’s doing. I wonder if he still goes to his new property to sleep every night. That’s what he said that first time I saw him there. That he bought the place so he could “get some fucking sleep,” whatever the hell that means. Maybe he needs the sound of the waves to let him drift off.

It surprises me that a man in his line of work doesn’t know there are drugs for that.

“Valentina?”

Lucia, Giulia, and Deirdre are staring at me from their chaises longues at the side of the pool behind our house.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Jesus, girlie. You are completely out of it these days!” Giulia says, leaning over to poke my bare shoulder from her seat.

We’re all in our swimsuits, except for Deirdre, who’s got on a flowy, long-sleeve bathing suit cover-up and a floppy sunhat the exact same shade as her brilliant blue eyes. “Elio didn’t want me to burn,” she told me when she first arrived earlier this morning.

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