Page 55 of The Sound in Silence

“Erico. You’re not who I expected.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Funny. Heard congratulations are in order for the newFamigliaBoss. The news travelled quickly to us.”

“I had no doubts of that, but thank you. And on yours as well.” Days after my wedding to Ariella, Lorenzo handed over control to Nico, according to our intel.

“What has you calling today, when I’m sure you’re very busy?”

Another sip of my drink before responding. “Ariella.”

“Is she okay?” he asks with a bit more alertness than before. My flash of annoyance is quickly quelled since it goes to show how many people care for her well-being; a fact I’m curious if she’s aware of.

“She’s well. Settling. She’s found some hobbies around the mansion to keep her busy. She’s the purpose of my call but not the focus, per se.” I pause, bringing up my calendar on my laptop, noting the date two days after my three back-to-back races. “You must be aware the anniversary of Ariella and Della’s mother is approaching.”

“I am. Della and I will be taking a trip to the cemetery where she’s buried.” He pauses, his next statement said with bite. “Their dickhead of a stepfather never brought them to visit.”

If he’s taking Della there, then the stage is set. “Well, that’s why I’m calling. I’m seeking permission to enter your territory, on that afternoon, so she may pay her respects. I’ll bring a single soldier with me, and no weapons but my personal one—you understand.”

“Considering Della’s been hinting at having her sister come up, absolutely. It’ll be good for the two of them to have each other. If all goes well, I’d say we make it an annual standing agreement.”

This right here is the reason Corsetti over Volkov is preferred. Nico’s much simpler to deal with. There’s more humanity in his own dark heart, which softens for his wife. A weakness to anyone who wishes to do him harm, but given who my own wife now is, it makes him valuable to me. The power the Russians control isn’t worth the nuisance to gain it.

“We’ll tentatively set that plan,” I agree, “and we’ll be there in a few days.”

“I’ll have my driver pick you up on the airfield. I’ll text you my pilot’s information and yours can set the trip up with him and our airfield. See you then, Rossi.”

“Goodbye, Corsetti.”

A much more productive phone call than the one with my mother.

Downing the rest of my drink, I consider the rest of my tasks. Contracts Father started but never finished, that I now need to handle.

Shit to keep me busy and away from my wife.

* * *

Dinner is the same as lunch, only spent in the dining room. Unable to help myself, I continue to bombard her with questions, and am pleasantly surprised when she starts asking more of her own.

Afterwards, she gets ready for a swim while I retreat back to work. Except instead of sitting at my desk, I’m too busy observing her from my office windows, hating with every fibre of my being how fucking impossible it’s becoming tonotwatch her.

When the sun dips into the ocean, I’m about to demand she come inside, but then she wisely grabs her towel and leaves the pool. She wraps her body in the towel, covering her tiny, wet bikini that held way too much of my focus. Today’s swimsuit was a pale blue.

Once she’s inside the house, I get prepared to leave for the long drive to my race. According to Carlotta, Ariella heads to bed early each night. Which is strange because it’s not like she’s a super early morning riser, so it’s curious how much she sleeps. No matter because it means she won’t be up to inquire about my absence.

At dinner, she texted, asking about my own hobbies, which I semi-lied about and claimed I enjoy running. Ido, as it’s my preferred form of cardio, and something I complete every morning, but certainly not a hobby. Admitting I race to a woman who lost her mother in an accident feels insensitive.

Before exiting the mansion, I text Jack Scuttle, a fifty-year-old married man and Ariella’s new bodyguard, requesting he remain in the house until I return. He’s who I should have chosen as her guard from the beginning.

When I spot his car pull up to the front of the mansion, I throw him a quick wave and speed off in my McLaren 360. At the end of the road, I message Caladin, informing him I’m on my way with an estimated time of arrival.

The leather wheel beneath my grip feels smoother with the promise of what’s coming. My shifting is smooth, effortless, as my speedometer climbs.

Every sense in my body attunes to the vehicle.

It’s a thrill like nothing else in life.

It’s adrenaline fuelling parts of me hidden from the rest of the world.

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