Page 63 of Dangerous Deception

I should have called more.

Texted more.

He’d been so clear the last time we spoke properly. He wanted me to be Raffaele’s wife and he didn’t have time for me anymore. Did he do that to make it easier on me? Was he sick back then as well?

It’s difficult to separate what happened to my mother from how terrible my father sounded when begging me to come home. I felt like I was right back in my childhood shoes, listening to her wasting coughs and haggard breaths.

“It will be okay,” Raffaele says as we climb out of the limo in front of my father’s home.

“Will it?” I’m barely able to look at him as I slam the door, then I turn and sprint up the steps toward the front door.

The doorman answers after the third knock and I hurry inside, heading straight for my father’s study where he usually spends his time this late at night. Assuming he’s even able to keep up his old routine. My heart leaps into my throat when I shove open the door and find the room empty and cold, not a single hint of life.

“Papà?” I call, moving to the next room and the next.

I’m about to break into a run and sprint through the entire house when I finally come across him in the kitchen. He’s wrapped up in a thick robe, huddled on one of the chairs with a steaming mug of tea clasped between his hands.

“Papà!”

He jolts in surprise and turns, his eyes wide, then he breaks down into a rough coughing fit. Only, it doesn’t sound as deathly or as waspish as it did over the phone all those hours ago.

“Addie! Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

I hurry next to him and clutch his arm, looking over his face for the signs of illness that have twisted me with worry since the end of our phone call. “Tell me, what’s wrong? How is yourhealth? Do I need to get you anything? Raffaele can help get you into the best hospital, okay? I’m here and I’m going to take care of you.”

“Oh, that’s my Addie,” he croaks softly, but his voice isn’t as cracked as it had been on the phone.

Slowly, I sit down next to him. “Papà, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just got a little bit sick, that’s all.” He smiles warmly and clasps my hand in his. “It is so good to see you.”

“But you…” I scan his face, unable to fathom how all in all, he looks fine. A little under the weather, but nowhere near at death’s door like I’d been envisioning on the plane home. “You soundedterribleon the phone.”

“It’s nothing,” he continues. “I just grew very sick, but oh, my daughter. Seeing you again is the best medicine. Look at you!” He leans back and frowns. “You’ve had far too much sun.”

“Papà,” I insist. “Tell me the truth. You sounded awful, and I was so scared. I thought something terrible had happened, so we rushed straight here. Raffaele was lucky he could get us flights so quickly.”

Something flickers across my father’s face, something dark that’s immediately swallowed by a sudden coughing fit. I tighten my grip on his hand. My brow dips painfully with worry.

“A cough, the sniffles. Weakness and the like,” my father explains quickly. “The doctor says I’m fine.”

“The flu,” comes Raffaele’s voice from the doorway. “You have a summer flu?”

My father’s eyes narrow slightly. “If you want to call it that, sure.”

I retract my hand, studying my father as he shoots a sharp look at Raffaele. “You… you just have a cold?”

“No, my dear.” My father’s attention is back on me. “It’s much worse than that and I was scared too. I feared the worst, and never seeing you again would break my heart, Addie.”

Confusion mingles with the worry in my chest, and a warm curl of nausea makes the back of my neck tingle.

I’m tired.

We’ve been non-stop since getting the call. In less than twenty-four hours, Raffaele got us on a plane halfway around the world and we drove straight here, all because I thought my father was dying. He’s not.

He just has the flu.

“Papà, you scared me,” I say tiredly. “I thought… after Mama, I thought?—”

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