Page 74

Yet, the answer sticks in my throat, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t spit it out. The silence drags on, and Thomas waits patiently. I’m not sure what’s running through his mind, and I don’t even want to know. I need a bit of time to process my own feelings and thoughts.
“Francesca,” he says. “You-”
“Thomas,” I gasp. “Someone is coming; I think it’s Valentino. I have to go. I’ll call you back when I have the chance. Take care.”
I hang up and the oppressive quiet of the room envelops me. Almost in a daze, I go and sit on the bed. My hands are shaking. For years I thought I was in love with Thomas. I thought my love was so strong it would last forever. Like an oak tree, growing and growing. I saw myself bearing his children, I imagined myself growing old with him. Grandchildren sitting around a large Thanksgiving dinner. I saw laughter, I saw happiness, I saw a simple but good life filled with both of us helping to make the world a better place. I had so many dreams, so many plans, and now I see clearly that they were all made of sand. Years of building, gone because the tide came in during the night and washed it all away.
A tide called Valentino Barone.
All my childish dreams have been destroyed and can never be rebuilt again. The tide has washed away Thomas’s castle of sand too, but he doesn’t know it yet.
I feel pity for him.
He was the constant anchor in my life, reminding me that there is good in the world. Thomas would rather stay poor than work for government publications that don’t value human rights. With his degree and academic excellence, he knows he can work anywhere he wants, but he has always advocated for the good of the world, and no matter how much these organizations were willing to pay him, he never wavered. That’s who Thomas is.
Valentino is nothing like Thomas.
Thomas would never hurt a fly. In contrast, Valentino got his name “Silent Night” by killing men. Skinning them and plucking out their hearts like they were pigs if the stories flying around are to be believed.
He is nothing like Thomas.
I lie back on the bed and shut my eyes. Instantly the image of Valentino sitting in the armchair while the three men stand over him appears in my mind. The violence in his eyes as he stares at Tom Hawkins, the total dominance he exuded even though he was in the inferior position of sitting while the other men loomed over him. He didn’t shake at their threat. Instead, he turned it around and made them quake like helpless prey before a snarling wolf.
I feel a sliver of desire heat my blood and gasp.
Why’s the thought of Valentino’s power turning me on?
Yet, the tighter I shut my eyes, the clearer the image becomes in my head. There’s only one person who sets flight to the butterflies in my stomach. Only one person whose presence I crave in moments of quiet and loneliness like this. Only one person that makes me wanton with desire and need.
That one person isn’t Thomas. It’s Valentino Barone.
And suddenly, I can’t hide from the truth anymore. I’m in love with Valentino.
I’ve fallen in love with him.
My eyes fly open, and I sit up, but before I can contemplate the gravity of my realization, my phone rings again. This time, I slink away from it, fearing it is Thomas calling again. But what if it’s Valentino?
I snatch the phone and peer at the screen. It’s neither Valentino nor Thomas; it’s an unsaved number. I stare at it for a few more seconds before tentatively swiping my finger on the screen to take the call.
“Hello.”
“Francesca.”
I recognize the voice instantly. “Nonna Isadora.” I frown with confusion.
“How are you, my dear?”
“I’m fine, Nonna Isadora. Thank you. How are you?” Anxiety lodges itself in my throat because I know she’s not calling to ask about my welfare. She wants something, and I can’t imagine what she could possibly want from me.
“Matteo is dying,” she says suddenly. And in that short sentence, I feel her pain and horror.
“What?” I gasp in shock. Matteo is dying? How? Why? Oh my God. Then… why is she calling to tell me that?
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Should I call Valentino? Does he-?”
“He knows.”
This time, my heart skips. “He knows?”