Page 42 of Scarlet Angel

CHAPTER10

SCARLET

Quiet reigns in the house, and I hear my every movement. Each step on the floor, the creak of a chair, the brush of my fingers against the velvet drapes. The dreary weather looming through the panes is a far cry from the southern Italian sun, but a week into an English fall, I prefer the clouds mixed with the occasional pitter-patter of rain. Warmth fills the soulless rooms when the fireplaces come to life at night, and the scent of burning wood perfumes the air inside and out. I’ve also discovered a penchant for cuddling under throws while reading, something I didn’t do back home as I was so often sitting at a desk in the office.

A week has passed since Lina and I went to London to go through Willow’s belongings. Other than her clothes and art, there was nothing of hers to retrieve. She hadn’t lived here long before her past—our family—brought her down. I don’t understand all the details surrounding her death. But I understand enough to know our family’s sick culture is to blame. Our capo’s brother wanted her, and when Leo killed him while defending his wife, Massimo struck out for revenge. Maybe he only wanted to kill Leo. Perhaps in Massimo’s mind, Willow is collateral damage. Or perhaps he wanted revenge for her choosing someone other than his brother, a man forty years older with violent tendencies.

A sickness permeates the famiglia. Sure, books and movies romanticize the mafia life, but when it comes down to it, it’s a life where women are subservient and treated as a commodity. When I bring the family down, there will be no regrets. A world where women aren’t allotted equality is a world in need of change.

I shipped Willow’s art—the same art that I packed and shipped to her after her move to London—back to my aunt and uncle. To Orlando, I sent her sketchbooks, as they included her doodles and random quotes and thoughts she jotted down that he would appreciate. And for myself, I kept her clothes. It felt wasteful to throw them away. Her wardrobe sits in the trunks she shipped, stowed in the guest suite’s closet. Keeping all of her clothes may not be prudent, but I’m not ready to go through each item. Purging her belongings makes her death feel that much more real. It may be years before I can bring myself to sort the trunks.

While her life ended far too early, the knowledge she discovered love before her death is comforting. Neither of us expected love to blossom from her arranged marriage. Admittedly, her parents didn’t arrange the marriage. She begged Leo to help her avoid a forced marriage to a monster. At least, Willow told me she was happy. She said he told her that he loved her.

Love or lust, it had been new, and her time here was so limited there wasn’t anything noteworthy of hers in the condominium. Interestingly, Leo didn’t have any photos either. Or perhaps he did, and someone else removed his personal effects before I arrived.

In the flat, I found an empty walk-in safe with the door ajar. Nick mentioned he’d been through Leo’s office to remove any business-related documents. It’s conceivable Nick possesses more emotion than he lets on and he gathered photographs and mementos. I snapped photos with my phone of their wedding and messaged the photos to Willow on her wedding day, but I assume she hadn’t had time to print them and get them framed. Or perhaps she printed them and that’s something else Nick grabbed.

Security accompanied us to the flat. Lina wanted to leave, and she wasn’t allowed. I get his sister is far younger than him, but she’s still in her mid-twenties. His controlling tendencies are reminiscent of my family’s culture, a troubling trait given I’m trusting the man. But he hinted there are more serious issues with Lina, so I’ve remained quiet.

In London, I asked her a bit about it.

“He’s a nutter,” she’d said. “The way he goes on when I have a cocktail, you’d think I snorted coke.”

“Why do you put up with it?” My question had been an honest one.

“He’ll cut me off.”

“Why not earn your own money?”

She’d smiled like I was the naïve one. “You’ve no idea how expensive London is, do you? Besides, I am working. I just need a bit more time for it to take off. Then I won’t need his money. But until then…” She smiled and took my arm, treating me like a girlfriend. She read me wrong, because I’m not the linking-arms gal-pal type, but I played along. “Let’s go shopping, shall we?”

I narrowed my eyes. I can only assume my face relayed judgment.

“I promise you. It’s for the job. And it’ll make Nick happy. He loves to buy gifts. Makes him feel important.”

Those two have some serious sibling issues, but it’s not for me to resolve. I’ve been keeping my distance, eating by myself often. I found a library stocked with historical fiction, and that’s where I’ve been spending my days.

Nikolai leaves and returns without my knowledge. The chef might mention it, or sometimes Lina will. The occupants of this estate are like ships maneuvering through a harbor.

My phone vibrates, and the nameCatarina Gaglianoflashes on my screen. My attention doesn’t stray from the device. No, I watch it as if a spider might crawl from beneath the black box. One, two, five seconds later, the screen goes dark. A minute later, the screen lights again. With a swipe of my index finger, the screen displays a message.

Catarina Gagliano

Did you receive my message? When is your return flight?

Never. That’s when.

I let out a sigh and tap out a response.

Me

I’m extending my stay. I don’t have a return flight yet.

Catarina Gagliano

You need to schedule your return flight. Your uncle has requested your return.

I type, then delete, then type. Her name lights the screen, and I’m careful not to touch the device, lest I accidentally answer. It rings twice, then silence resumes.

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