Page 70 of The Deal

Chapter 24

Chloe

As the days pass and Alexander still doesn’t return, I become increasingly concerned. His one day has now turned into four, and I don’t have a phone, so there’s no way to contact him.

I’ve asked his men for updates, but none of them can give me the answers I’m desperate for. I think Marco’s getting tired of me. Whenever he spots me coming, I barely have to open my mouth before he snaps,“No news.”

I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind, the same way I did when I didn’t know where my father was, or if he was okay.

It’s been years since I’ve had the time to sit down and watch television. I’m not particularly interested—too restless to stay still—but I’ll admit I’ve caught myself flipping through all the news channels. If something has happened, surely they’d report it. My mind keeps going to the worst possible places … especially at night as I lie in his bed alone. The worst part is not knowing.

I make my way into the kitchen. I’ve spent a lot of time in here the past few days. “Can I help you with something, Carmella?” I ask, taking a seat on one of the barstools. She’s currently kneading dough on the countertop.

“Of course,dolcezza,” she says, smiling. “You can help me roll out the pasta once I’ve finished kneading if you like.”

“Please, I’m bored out of my mind.”

“I’d be happy to put you to work, but I don’t think Mr Mancini would appreciate that.”

Just hearing his name sends those annoying butterflies fluttering in my stomach again. “What are you making? That’s a lot of dough.”

“Ravioli. I usually make a few hundred at a time.”

“I remember doing that with my mum when I was younger. We’d also make big batches of homemadesugo di pomodoro.”

Carmella flicks her head to the side where two large bags of tomatoes sit on the bench. “That is my next job.”

“Oh, can I help with that too? I wish I’d had enough foresight to keep my mum’s old recipe book. It was full of handwritten recipes her mother gave to her.”

By the time we lost the house and nearly everything we owned, my hatred for her had become palpable. I wanted nothing to do with the personal belongings she left behind in her hasty retreat. The only thing I kept were the jewels I found in my drawer—purely for their monetary value. Well, that’s what I’ve always told myself.

“You’re welcome to copy some of my recipes. My mother gave them to me before I left Italy … they are written in Italian, though.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’d like that.”

“Are you still in contact with your mother?”

“No,” I reply, turning my face away.

I’m elbow-deep in a large pot of boiling tomatoes when I hear it—the unmistakable thrum of a helicopter overhead.

“Alex,” I breathe, setting the spoon down and wiping my hands on my apron before untying it and slipping it over my head.

“Go,dolcezza,” Carmella laughs, giving my backside a playful slap as I rush past. “I’m sure he’s just as eager to see you as you are him.”

I sprint toward the back of the house, barely avoiding knocking one of the guards over as I fling open the back door. “Sorry!” I squeak, not pausing for a second as I keep moving.

I zip past the pool, manoeuvring between the outdoor furniture as I go. By the time I reach the grassed area, Alexander has already exited the chopper.

His back is to me, and he doesn’t hear me call out his name over the loud noise of the rotors. The sound swallows my voice as I frantically wave my arms in the air, trying to get his attention.

I’m only a few metres from him by the time he turns in my direction. He smiles when he sees me, but that expression fades to concern as he notices the urgency in my approach.

As soon as I’m within reach, I launch myself into his arms. He crushes my body to him for the briefest time before placing me back down on my feet.

“Bella,” he says, cupping my jaw in his big, strong hands. A frown now mars his handsome face. “Has something happened?”

I shake my head, unable to find the words. The sight of him overwhelms me so much that tears well up in my eyes before I can stop them.

---